The chariot drag.
That's what it made me think of that night, being in the philosophical mood that I was. Back and forth, over and over, fueled on pure rage. Hector killed his only friend, I slept with his only love - never mind that she would never love him back, like I told him - and the end result was the same.
Back and forth. Over and over.
I've never particularly liked the Iliad in the first place. It's all full of heroes killing each other for no reason, falling in love at first sight. Too much like Sunnydale, really.
But that night - Lindsey was channeling that certain spirit that made me think of it. He'd forgotten there was anything in the world but hate (in his world there wasn't, not anymore) and he wanted to...well, drag my body behind a chariot for three days. Luckily, my corpse is just a tiny bit more lively than Hector's was. Idiot should've known I'd beat him. Again. And now I feel guilty for not being nicer...He smashed my face in with a sledgehammer and would have killed me and I feel bad for destroying his hand. Again.
It's not so bad, though. It didn't feel the way it did in all those long weeks without my friends reminding me about the part of me that's still human. It felt - the way it used to. Like Lindsey was a little boy being put in his place.
That's what I mean. He doesn't belong here. I could see him as a cowboy, especially after that night. Strolling down Main Street in leather and spurs, looking for the guy who wronged his woman. The guy who holds up his hands and says 'Look, I don't want trouble...' Me.
All that over some whore stretched out on top of a piano, always wanting the only guy who *isn't* madly in love with her. Turning shy and sweet around him only.
All right, I can see why he did it. If someone had used Buffy that way - well, *I* did, but there wasn't much I could do about it at that point. Poor kid has all the wrong instincts.
He wanted to shoot at me before someone had finished counting to ten. He wanted to drag me across the Dardanian Plain and smirk that nasty little smirk of his as my body collected more and more dust.
And still I didn't kill him. Epiphany, remember? And...what would be the point? He'd be happier in Heaven or Hell or just plain in another body. The cruelest thing could be to leave him alive, to have to know day after day that he doesn't belong where he's stuck until he dies.
Not that I wanted to be cruel. There are other things, too. Maybe someone with a big heart will find him and see what's wrong and try to show him that the world isn't all bad. Maybe someone will put a light back in those blue eyes, pit that fiery will against evil instead of good.
I could do that, for Lindsey.
Maybe.