Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, yada yada yada. All belong to Joss
Whedon, Fox, ME and no doubt countless other multinational corporations.
Notes: I live in sunny Scotland so I only saw Dead Things the other day, this is my own personal view on potential Buffy thoughts before/during/after the ep. If you hate it, shoot me and if you don't, tell me :o)
Fear and Loathing in Sunnydale
It's not him she hates, not really, not anymore. Sometimes she likes him, some days she almost loves things about him. Like the way he walks, comfortable with who he is, striding from his hips in that way that makes him swagger. Or how he's so utterly desperate to make things alright for her, to make it easier on her.
But she can't hate him. Maybe it would be easier if she did, just like old times. Or maybe it would be easier if she'd staked him all that time ago when she'd had so many chances. But it's different now. He loves her. It's not even a matter for debate anymore, the fact had tripped off of Tara's tongue as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was right though. She does like what he does to her, she's addicted to it. And she trusts him. She trusts him to look after her, to give her what she needs, to watch her back and to protect her sister. She trusts him to know her, even though she hates the fact that he knows her better than anyone, better than she knows herself. Why does she run from him after they've been together? She thought about it once, retracing thoughts and brain patterns as though she was retracing steps to find a lost earring. She remembered it though, and it was simple: gentleness comes after. It's the great unwritten rule that he longs so much to play by, she sees it in his face and it terrifies her. Rough and wild and violent, all things they should be together, all things that make it ok, that keep them vampire and slayer instead of lovers, instead of Romeo and Juliet, Samson and Delilah, her and Angel.
She knows he has it in him to be tender and gentle, sweet and loving. She remembers his look of utter amazement as she walked down the stairs that night in her house after they'd brought her back. His shaking hands holding her injured ones so lightly, a ghost of a touch that wished to heal her but wasn't permitted to.
To let him be gentle with her would be catastrophic, and so she runs the second it gets close, scrambling to get away from the floodgates that she knows he can open. The ones she'd never be able to close. But part of her wants to let him, and sometimes she almost forgets that she should run just so she can watch his face as it changes in the afterglow from passion and desire to love in all its twisted intensity. She listens to him fumbling for words that he's forgotten how to say in these moments, or maybe he never knew how to say them at all, at least not to a human.
What terrifies her most is that one day, he'll get the words right. One day she'll curl against him instead of scrambling on the floor for her underwear, instead of running away. Even though she knows what he is and a fraction of what he's done, and she knows him well enough to know that he's not sorry and that he never will be. Some hideous part of her feels comfortable with that and almost respects him for it.
And somewhere in her head, she hates herself for that.
Notes: I live in sunny Scotland so I only saw Dead Things the other day, this is my own personal view on potential Buffy thoughts before/during/after the ep. If you hate it, shoot me and if you don't, tell me :o)
Fear and Loathing in Sunnydale
It's not him she hates, not really, not anymore. Sometimes she likes him, some days she almost loves things about him. Like the way he walks, comfortable with who he is, striding from his hips in that way that makes him swagger. Or how he's so utterly desperate to make things alright for her, to make it easier on her.
But she can't hate him. Maybe it would be easier if she did, just like old times. Or maybe it would be easier if she'd staked him all that time ago when she'd had so many chances. But it's different now. He loves her. It's not even a matter for debate anymore, the fact had tripped off of Tara's tongue as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was right though. She does like what he does to her, she's addicted to it. And she trusts him. She trusts him to look after her, to give her what she needs, to watch her back and to protect her sister. She trusts him to know her, even though she hates the fact that he knows her better than anyone, better than she knows herself. Why does she run from him after they've been together? She thought about it once, retracing thoughts and brain patterns as though she was retracing steps to find a lost earring. She remembered it though, and it was simple: gentleness comes after. It's the great unwritten rule that he longs so much to play by, she sees it in his face and it terrifies her. Rough and wild and violent, all things they should be together, all things that make it ok, that keep them vampire and slayer instead of lovers, instead of Romeo and Juliet, Samson and Delilah, her and Angel.
She knows he has it in him to be tender and gentle, sweet and loving. She remembers his look of utter amazement as she walked down the stairs that night in her house after they'd brought her back. His shaking hands holding her injured ones so lightly, a ghost of a touch that wished to heal her but wasn't permitted to.
To let him be gentle with her would be catastrophic, and so she runs the second it gets close, scrambling to get away from the floodgates that she knows he can open. The ones she'd never be able to close. But part of her wants to let him, and sometimes she almost forgets that she should run just so she can watch his face as it changes in the afterglow from passion and desire to love in all its twisted intensity. She listens to him fumbling for words that he's forgotten how to say in these moments, or maybe he never knew how to say them at all, at least not to a human.
What terrifies her most is that one day, he'll get the words right. One day she'll curl against him instead of scrambling on the floor for her underwear, instead of running away. Even though she knows what he is and a fraction of what he's done, and she knows him well enough to know that he's not sorry and that he never will be. Some hideous part of her feels comfortable with that and almost respects him for it.
And somewhere in her head, she hates herself for that.