Riviere. A BtVS Songfic. Standard disclaimers apply.
Riviere, is written and performed by Deftones. to listen to it, try this link: y o u t u be . c o m /watch?v=wlwhsrVGGoM
just remove the spaces. it was the only way it would allow the link. .
no, that vid doesn't belong to me, either. :) just this story. well, you know the drill.
...
She haunts the roads
She waits for a new face
He watches her from the darkness, as she walks through the cold, deserted streets. Ever since she had come back, her face had become this hard mask that could seemingly only reflect distaste. He had talked to her, earlier in the day, and knew that what she must be feeling inside must be unspeakably worse, that it renders her incapable of putting up a believable front.
And as he watched her, as she patrolled, all he could think was he would like nothing better than to tell those well-meaning friends of hers EXACTLY what they had done.
And the sad part was, they kept expecting things to get better, not seeing that she was only going through the motions, trying to meet their expectations, hoping vainly that something, anything would make all this misery worth it.
Her arms red and injured
She wants to rest, but she can't till we have faced
He remembers the ragged wounds on her knuckles. The uneven chips in her nails. Looking at her, seeing...knowing she was an unstable shell, trying desperately not to break. He could feel her barely holding it together, despair literally threatening to swallow her whole.
Their eyes meet, and she recognizes the look on his face, and the emotions that it contained. Empathy. Disgust and outrage on her behalf towards her friends for what they had done and how they had done it. And a desire to protect her so fierce, he had to step out or do/say something he was going to regret. Knowing it wasn't her he should spew all that poison to.
That moment, she understood. He was on her side, more so than any of the others. It was why she was able to open up to him about where exactly they had taken her from, as she lied to her friends' faces.
Because in that moment, she knew. He would never have allowed them, never would have risked pulling her back to life, no matter how much he 'believed' he loved her, if it meant that she would hurt like this.
I've cut your armies down and torn your heart
He would raze the world, bleed it and burn it. He would and could do all those things and more...for her, and whatever sense of 'love and loyalty' she believed him to feel for her...and she would've been right, except it wasn't some superficial feeling, like she kept insisting, just because he had no soul.
He would do it in a heartbeat. No hesitation. And she knew it. She felt it. In that one look.
And he knew it hurt her that the one person who truly understood, who had given her exactly what she needed...wasn't human. wasn't alive. wasn't even someone she considered a friend. That the people who had brought her to this slow, agonizing torture called "being alive" were the ones who should have, but didn't.
He wanted to wring the bloody life out their bloody necks.
You wait.
And so she deals with it, one moment at a time, slowly but surely swinging between apathy and despair, her friends watching expectantly for some positive development, ridiculously in denial or misunderstanding the cause of her obvious suffering.
I wait.
And he watches her, keeping his distance in the beginning, not wanting to push her to give more than she could. And this pulls her to him tangibly. He feels her conflict and confusion, causing her to send mixed signals, until he has quite had it already, and starts pushing her buttons.
He understands himself well enough, knowing what it was that made him do it.
That, and he wasn't a bloody saint. He saw a chance to get a semblance of what he wanted, what he needed, and he could no longer play pretend at being good.
After all, she had kissed him twice, despite all her protestations, afterwards.
Outside, awake.
His door bangs open, and there she stands, waiting, with this false pretext of a fight. Of course he was home.
It was inevitable.
In truth, it was a long time coming.
I've cut your armies down and torn your heart
And it is violent. And savage. And glorious. It exploded with a blinding, vivid brilliance. No hesitant, polite motions. No pretensions. No lies or fear.
Everything they were, everything they couldn't say, laid bare with each drink of intoxicating, heady release.
In this moment, they knew and they saw each other, more clearly than everyone else.
You wait.
Daylight will come. And reality will seep in. She will once again cloak herself in guilt, self-disgust and excuses. when it does.
I wait.
But in the darkness of night...in these times between dreams and waking...he is able to strip her of her trappings, physically and emotionally, and give her what she needs to feel most.
Joy.
Passion.
Completion.
Freedom.
Outside, awake
Even now, he listens for her footsteps. Aware of her presence, despite the distance.
She was coming, pulled by the bonds between them. No longer able to deny that it wasn't nothing.
Hands clasp. Lips meet. And it all begins anew.
She haunts the roads
And while he knows that he has worn down her resistance, that she freely allows him to both give and take, her misgivings still exist and her belief in his flaws are unchanged. She is resigned to the leash she has allowed him to put on her, knowing the one she holds over him is more painful to wield.
Because while it wasn't nothing, it wasn't quite love, yet, either. And even she dies slowly, knowing his desperation to change that is what pushes both of them into it.
She waits for a new face
Because no matter how good it felt... to finally find sanctuary, they both knew this couldn't really last.