Title: A Faithless Rhapsody
Author: Jane McCartney
Disclaimer: Do I look like a genius? Perhaps (Cough! Cough! Ahem) but not a god, eh? Of course Buffy's characters aren't mine, but Joss'. Though I'm still inclined to believe that the man made a diabolical pact and sold his soul to the Devil, to get them first. Damn!
Classification: A Buffyverse three chapter fanfic, from Buffy's POV.
Rating: PG13
Feedback: If I could, I'd marry all that give it. As Spike would say, 'nuff said.
E-mail: janemccartney@bol.com.br
Distribution: Anywhere, I don't mind, just credit me and inform me where it's at.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone who made this what it is today. And, of course, a big special thanks to Theo – with the English grammar and all the required adaptations. Once again, he's saving my butt in this project.
Author's Note: It's a different kind of fiction, with a different proposition, I guess. Deals with Buffy-Xander friendship and, as a good old Beatlemaniac, there'll be three of their songs following each of the three chapters. Buffy's POV. Well, be nice with me. Uh, pleeease? Remember, even when Theo was a big help helping me with the English, he couldn't change the whole fic, and English isn't my native language.
Summary: Buffy's silent cries to feel are getting her deeper and deeper into a powerful web of lies and isolation, from which she may not be able to get out later. Who will catch her when she falls?
***
What would you think if I sang out of tune
Would you stand up and walk out on me
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song
And I'll try not to sing out of key, oh
~~~~~~
I'm being eaten alive by the cascade of thoughts and emotions that my mind's being blitzed by, when my gaze travels throughout the room for an ephemeral, brief second.
Smiles, laughs, general happiness. I think I'm gonna be sick.
Willow, smiling. Check.
Dawn, smiling. Check.
Tara, smiling. Check.
Giles, cheering. Check.
Anya, receiving money for a customer and smiling. Oh well, check.
And then I see him.
He's not smiling. Everyone else is, but not him. That catches my attention.
He's staring at me. Questioningly, confusedly gazing at me with an intensity I thought I could never see in someone – unless the $1,000,000 question of 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' was on screen.
I could even risk saying that he didn't buy my sweet, cute little fairy tale of how I feel now. And how I'm glad, happy and full of joy – that I can run singing through the meadows, and basically make everyone's day.
Well, I'm a liar. A big one. And the worst part is that I think he knows it.
And that's why he's here right now, staring at me with those deep, wide brown eyes.
I think he's mad at me.
Whatever. I don't care. Why should I? Damn him! I'm the one they brought back from the dead. He has someone, he's happy – at least, he should be.
He's alive.
They all are. I don't care if he's mad at me! I really don't. Really.
Should I care? Hell, no! I couldn't give a damn about him being mad, 'cause I lied. I won't. I don't!
C'mon Buffy, let it go. You're not gonna convince anyone anyway.
Everyone else leaves, but I think he invented some lame excuse to stay for a while longer with me. Something about catching up on what was the what in Sunnydale, while I was gone – a role which nobody else seemed to desire, 'cause they'd probably found it too painful to even contemplate.
And so, here we are. Just the two of us, walking aimlessly through the darkened streets of Sunnydale.
Shit.
~~~~~~
I get by with a little help from my friends
I get high with a little help from my friends
Going to try with a little help from my friends
~~~~~~
I make an attempt to put this big, wide smile onto my lips, and place my faker's mask on – the one to act out this aged, tricky game of happiness that I've become so used to playing with the people I loved.
"So..." My voice's probably sounding as cheesy as some freaking character of Dawson's Creek, but I don't really care.
After all, I've got a lie to hide and a mask to be worn.
"So," he replies to me somehow innocently, his incredulous gaze becoming pretty obvious though.
"Beautiful day, huh? A lot of sun," I say. Okay, I'm not exactly Meryl Streep, but that's not really the point. He's supposedly blind, isn't he?
Hell yes, he needs to be. He has to be. He is. I know he is.
And pink, fat pigs can actually sprout wings and fly too, of course.
"I'm sure Captain Peroxide's overwhelming with the joy," Xander grins. Though I can see he's faking it, he's acting.
Hey, that's my game, doesn't he know that? That's Buffy's game!
Emotionlessness, hiding, continuous lies, masks...
Damn thief!
"Yeah, I bet he is," I reply, smiling openly.
My face's practically frozen with that stupid grin. And I feel like Cher or any other of those women who spend truckloads of money to maintain a Barbie doll face, but end up looking kinda like Michael Jackson.
"How's Anya?"
Constantly changing the subject's always a pretty important rule, if you're trying to fool someone into playing this game.
"Anya? Uh, Anya's great, wonderful actually. She's all in awe about the wedding, you know how women are about that kind of stuff..."
"I can imagine," I say. "Did she choose her dress already?"
"Nah, but she said that the bridesmaids' ones are already picked out. I'm supposed to see it tomorrow. Wanna come?"
"Yeah, I'd love to!"
Translation: I'd like to. I don't love anymore.
"I'm sure they'll be beautiful," I utter next.
"What?"
"The bridesmaids' dresses. You know – Anya, former demon, short, blond hair and an 'Uncle Sam' poster on her bedroom's wall?"
"Oh. Gotcha. Me too."
Silence. A long one. I hate it – which is always the worst part, when you're hearing nothing but your own inner voice.
What the hell's my problem? Xander's been my best friend along with Willow for so long, and I can't even be happy for him that he's getting married!
I always thought I'd be there for him, like he was always for me. But I'm not a good person, and I'm learning this now. I loved him, but I can't feel. I know I can't.
I want to, though. I know I do. And I wanna love him again. I need to.
I've got to.
C'mon Buffy, don't hear it. Don't hear the voice. Just talk. Fake it. Ask something. Lie. Anything. Just do it now. Just don't crash.
"Why, Buffy?"
Don't crash.
"Why what?"
Don't crash.
"You know what I'm talking about."
Don't crash.
"Gee, sorry Xand, but I don't."
Don't crash.
"Buffy, c'mon. Don't do this to yourself."
Why does his voice sounds so cold and dry?
"Xander," I know I'm cracking a little, and I totally hate myself for it.
I know that he didn't miss that desperate note in my voice, he's pretty good at catching things like that.
Like with my first day at UC Sunnydale, my breaking up with Riley, and every other time I didn't even know what was wrong with me before he did.
I miss this. I miss this so much, I can barely stand seeing him. I want his love, his friendship, his care, everything Xander's given me – while I'm throwing it all away.
What the hell's my problem? Why can't anybody tell me?
It's just that, sometimes, I wonder if it'd be easier if I could share my pain with someone else – but I know I'm being just selfish. Oh, spare me, I'm so goddamn weak...
Why would I want to hurt anyone else with my own non-feelings? My gloom, my despair, my continuous inner battle?
Is that why I don't deserve Heaven? Because I'm an utterly self-seeking person?
I'm so sick of my own thoughts.
And I need a break. From me.
How the hell am I supposed to do that, anyway?
Whatever.
~~~~~~
What do I do when my love is away
Does it worry you to be alone
How do I feel by the end of the day
Are you sad because you're on your own
No I get by with a little help from my friends
Get high with a little help from my friends
Gonna try with a little help from my friends
~~~~~~
I want to kill something; I want to relieve the pressure of my non-feelings on some nasty, bumpy demon. It's like perfect Slayer therapy, an addiction and its momentary relief, and it's actually pretty efficient.
But it's morning now, and that freaking sun's shining down with its full vigor of strength.
Damn daylight!
And what's it got to make everything better? Xander's looking at me, and I just know I'll not be able to prevent myself holding it in anymore. He'll know I'm lying, and I'll screw everything up.
I know that he knows.
"I know that you know."
Did I just voice that out loud? Ah, crap.
"I know that you know that I know," he retorts promptly, never diverting his eyes from mine.
Even though my gaze is futilely trying to hide from his, of course. Xander just doesn't give up, he needs to make me that vulnerable.
And I totally hate it.
"I know," my voice is so low that I wonder if he can actually hear me.
Turns out that he can, and apparently perfectly well.
"Why'd you do it, Buffy?" he demands, but I think he already knows the answer.
You know what, Xander's a total jerk. It's just a question to make me suffer more, I know it is.
"I don't know," I rapidly divert my glance from his.
"That's a lie," Xander sharply reply. "Another one."
Yeah, well, you don't have to tell me! Like that's the smartest crack I've ever heard in my entire life! Both of them!
I keep silent, though.
Oh, I'm such a coward.
"Buffy, listen, you don't have to do it."
I know he's worried, but I think he's feeling guiltier than that.
He should be, 'cause I can't feel guilty anymore. Nor anything else.
And I know I don't blame him; but, what the hell, I need to blame someone now.
I need to. Or I'll crash and burn. And there's no demons to off at this particular moment of the day.
I wonder if Mr. Punching Bag's open for an afternoon little visit?
It's okay, Buffy. Just act. You're good at that. Just don't crash.
"What am I supposed to do then, Xander? Can you honestly tell me? 'Cause I'm getting tired of all this, I really am! You... you don't know what it's like. No one knows. It's... it's the worst thing someone could imagine, and I'm dying, Xander, but my body's not. I wanna blame you, but I can't. And I'm so lost; I don't know what to do anymore. So then, does Jimmy Olsen have a hint? Anything you'd like to share? Yeah, I didn't think so..."
Shit, I'm the worst actress ever.
~~~~~~
Do you need anybody
I need somebody to love
Could it be anybody
I want somebody to love
~~~~~~
"Buffy..."
Xander's voice is pure misery, and I'm now acknowledging the fact that my sudden breakdown was probably a rough thing to handle.
Well, big surprise. What did he expect, anyway? Flowers strewn along the ground, a sudden cloud over my head for dramatic effect – and then blissful tears of joy, for him opening my eyes to how *wrong* I am?
Nope, sorry Buffy. Nothing's ever smooth for you. It's like Destiny's decided that you get the ugly pasta for breakfast, lunch and dinner, 24/7.
And it's a terrible paradox.
Gross.
I really need a break. Really.
But, hey, congratulations Buffy!
Now you've apparently succeeded into drawing Xander into your own little hellish world. May I say, yay?
Guess I'm a selfish bitch, that's what I am.
And I can't stand seeing Xander like that.
He's not crying, through. He's not sobbing, weeping, or doing any of the melodramatic things with passenger guilt and future promises of restitution.
He just keeps staring at me. What, is there something stuck in my teeth?
Do I have 'loser' written on my forehead?
Have I got toilet paper stuck on my shoe?
Something in my hair, maybe?
And why, just why do I feel so naked in front of those bottomless eyes of his?
I wanna comfort him; I don't wanna see Xander hurting – not when I know I've caused his pain.
Nonetheless, wasn't that my lie's primary aim? If I were someone out of reach for salvation, I'd at least make everything easier for them, right?
Am I a bitch?
Who am I, after all?
Why can't I hear an answer?
I catch Xander's hands on mine in an unforeseen soft squeeze, and I suddenly know I'm more warm and protected.
I know, I know, it was supposed to be the exact opposite – my primary intention was to protect him.
From me.
And my own little hellish abyss.
I know I've screwed up again, but I honestly don't care. 'Cause the cold winter's passing away, and everything seems more colorful now.
"How did you know it?" I ask, in a meek demand. Or whatever the hell that's supposed to mean, anyway.
My voice is practically a distant whisper, and once again I wonder how he's even able to actually hear me.
Xander grins at me. And now, it's an original and true Xander-smirk.
I like it. And I grin back at him.
It's been a long time since I've done it for real, and it doesn't feel odd, or wrong.
"It's pretty lame, actually," Xander retorts. I think he's blushing.
"I'm the Queen of the Damned, remember? Anything lame's gonna feel right at home. C'mon, spill." Was that really a joke on my part?
OK, a bad one, not even a funny one.
But I'm joking. And not faking it either.
Wow, that's certainly news.
It's even comical, strange at least: barely minutes ago, I'd been caught in the middle of Buffy's little drama world and sunk into a bottomless pool of sorrow and woe.
But my whole attention's now uniquely focused onto Xander's words.
He sighs. "OK, OK, I'll tell you. But it's lame, I'm warning ya."
And I wait. Maybe I can't feel anything, but I'm definitely feeling better.
Or whatever that's supposed to mean. Anyway...
"It was in our sophomore year, probably a few weeks after we first started to hang out together – uh, yeah, sometime around then."
I frown. I don't have the slightest clue of what he's talking about. He grins at that.
"I wanted the last slice of pizza, same as you," he pauses, looking away and then at me. His warm brown eyes seem to be smiling at me, almost as if they were embarrassed, in amused shame.
He passes a hand through his dark hair, and let it fall down through the air. I grin, puzzled. And I demand, "What? I ate it first as fast as I could, or something?"
"Worse," he answers, looking straight at me, dramatically.
I punch him lightly, "No way, you're making this up!"
"Well, Ms. Summers, I hate to remind you of this shameful part of your past, but you actually hid it under the table and waited till I was out of sight, and then devoured it. That's it. No compassion, no mercy, you just stuck it down your throat and poof... that was the end of a poor, innocent slice of pizza."
I can't help but raise a defensive eyebrow. "I did not."
He smirks nimbly, "Uh, I'm pretty sure that a trace of tomato sauce on the left corner of your mouth kinda disagreed with you, back then."
Damn. Now I'm blushing.
I open my mouth to retort – say something, anything – but the damned words can't seem to come out of my mouth.
And then, there I am.
A Slayer with the urges, the capacity of feeling once again; and who was now blushing while she remembered a distant, happy past, when the simple fact of the red line of a vegetable's sauce was capable of immediately lifting her spirits up.
A past where her greatest pain was to feel, as much as she did, each brand- new moment that life offered from its obscure and unpredictable days.
Every smile, every pain, every passion.
When a drop of rain, a simple street cat's meow or a scream of excitement, surprise, fear, joy – a warm, faraway place where things were genuinely felt, and sensed with such powerful strength that I didn't think I'd ever be able to hold it all together.
Yeah, that was me, and what I used to think I hated. And that's what I want back.
Life certainly travels through bizarre, odd channels.
~~~~~~
Would you believe in a love at first sight
Yes I'm certain that it happens all the time
What do you see when you turn out the light
I can't tell you but I know it's mine
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends
Get high with a little help from my friends
I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends
~~~~~~
We keep on walking for several seconds in utter silence, and then I finally turn towards Xander's face.
I raise an incredulous eyebrow. That's inevitable. "Tomato sauce's the reason why you discover I'm lying?"
"Yeah – I mean, no," he began, obviously caught off-guard.
I don't let my raised eyebrow drop, and I nod slowly as if I was waiting for him to be coherent – which is what I'm pretty much doing, actually.
"Yes and no," Xander says more calmly, then looks at me accusingly. I just stare back, with that faked innocence and a childish gaze.
"What I meant was, since that exact moment – I've always known whenever it is you're lying."
I open my mouth to reply with a confused 'what', but Xander never gives me that chance to do so.
"You always pass your left hand through your hair on the right-hand side, and then you look back firmly at the person straight in the eyes for a few seconds, until they're supposedly convinced."
I look blankly at him, and then I attempt to whisper an immediate protest – but once again, my voice seems to completely and magically disappear, leaving my mouth wide open and that stupid expression on my face.
Well, that's. Just. Great.
Xander just grins at me, with certain cleverness. "I know what you're thinking. You want me to prove it, because you're not gonna surrender that easily."
"No, I don't!" I retort rapidly, but his grin seems to have got bigger – like, a thousand times larger than a moment before.
What I didn't notice was, my left hand passed through a lock of hair from the right-hand side of my head, and for a brief instant, I looked straight at him, convincingly. Or so I thought.
How the hell did he know all that?
"How the hell did you know all that?"
"Ah, Slayer, a magician never reveals his tricks," he chuckles, amused, but then he looks with a serious gaze at me. I even think I'm freezing, stopping dead in my tracks.
Damn effective.
"It's what I call friendship, Buffster."
The streets of Sunnydale are our endless stage, and we walk along them for incessant hours. I slip my arm onto his shoulders, letting my body hang onto his.
And we walk.
And walk.
And walk.
Arms linked, with a certain sensation of rightness. We're friends. Yeah, friends. We loved each other as friends. We'll fight for each other as friends. Always. Forever.
Until the end of time.
~~~~~~
Do you need anybody
I just need somebody to love
Could it be anybody
I want somebody to love
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends
Gonna try with a little help from my friends
I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends
With a little help from my friends
~~~~~~
But he knows, I'm sure. We both know I came back wrong.
And that maybe even the strongest friendship won't be able to fix me. Probably won't.
I'm doomed.
I'm haunted.
I'm damned.
I'm wrong.
I'm living death.
Finally I fall down to the pavement, shouting wildly. People are getting scared, crossing the street to avoid the crazy little blonde who's tired of not feeling.
Why can't I just be part of the world?
Why do I have to feel so goddamn empty?
Why can't I love?
Why can't I care?
I yell at Xander furiously; everything I've been keeping inside so strongly for so long, finally exploding out into one big blast of anguish, revulsion and tormented agony.
I want to feel warm. I need to. I've got to.
But I won't. Never again. And I know it.
Messy hair and blank eyes diverted from the world, and suddenly I'm concentrating only on the deep gray coloration of Sunnydale's asphalt. People are staring, looking, pointing but I don't care. And this time, I really don't.
I don't see Xander's eyes at any moment – I know I'd not be able to stand that. I scream out insults, accusations, to hide my fears.
I've finally crashed.
But I don't cry, though. Not even once.
***
Hey, again! Please, review. Pretty please?
Well, now it's missing only one chapter. And, if someone here reads my other fic, Loose Ends, too - I'll probably update it today, or tomorrow.
Ah, and a special thanks to: little miss muffet, Ryo Angel and little_me - Starway man too, of course.
Author: Jane McCartney
Disclaimer: Do I look like a genius? Perhaps (Cough! Cough! Ahem) but not a god, eh? Of course Buffy's characters aren't mine, but Joss'. Though I'm still inclined to believe that the man made a diabolical pact and sold his soul to the Devil, to get them first. Damn!
Classification: A Buffyverse three chapter fanfic, from Buffy's POV.
Rating: PG13
Feedback: If I could, I'd marry all that give it. As Spike would say, 'nuff said.
E-mail: janemccartney@bol.com.br
Distribution: Anywhere, I don't mind, just credit me and inform me where it's at.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone who made this what it is today. And, of course, a big special thanks to Theo – with the English grammar and all the required adaptations. Once again, he's saving my butt in this project.
Author's Note: It's a different kind of fiction, with a different proposition, I guess. Deals with Buffy-Xander friendship and, as a good old Beatlemaniac, there'll be three of their songs following each of the three chapters. Buffy's POV. Well, be nice with me. Uh, pleeease? Remember, even when Theo was a big help helping me with the English, he couldn't change the whole fic, and English isn't my native language.
Summary: Buffy's silent cries to feel are getting her deeper and deeper into a powerful web of lies and isolation, from which she may not be able to get out later. Who will catch her when she falls?
***
What would you think if I sang out of tune
Would you stand up and walk out on me
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song
And I'll try not to sing out of key, oh
~~~~~~
I'm being eaten alive by the cascade of thoughts and emotions that my mind's being blitzed by, when my gaze travels throughout the room for an ephemeral, brief second.
Smiles, laughs, general happiness. I think I'm gonna be sick.
Willow, smiling. Check.
Dawn, smiling. Check.
Tara, smiling. Check.
Giles, cheering. Check.
Anya, receiving money for a customer and smiling. Oh well, check.
And then I see him.
He's not smiling. Everyone else is, but not him. That catches my attention.
He's staring at me. Questioningly, confusedly gazing at me with an intensity I thought I could never see in someone – unless the $1,000,000 question of 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' was on screen.
I could even risk saying that he didn't buy my sweet, cute little fairy tale of how I feel now. And how I'm glad, happy and full of joy – that I can run singing through the meadows, and basically make everyone's day.
Well, I'm a liar. A big one. And the worst part is that I think he knows it.
And that's why he's here right now, staring at me with those deep, wide brown eyes.
I think he's mad at me.
Whatever. I don't care. Why should I? Damn him! I'm the one they brought back from the dead. He has someone, he's happy – at least, he should be.
He's alive.
They all are. I don't care if he's mad at me! I really don't. Really.
Should I care? Hell, no! I couldn't give a damn about him being mad, 'cause I lied. I won't. I don't!
C'mon Buffy, let it go. You're not gonna convince anyone anyway.
Everyone else leaves, but I think he invented some lame excuse to stay for a while longer with me. Something about catching up on what was the what in Sunnydale, while I was gone – a role which nobody else seemed to desire, 'cause they'd probably found it too painful to even contemplate.
And so, here we are. Just the two of us, walking aimlessly through the darkened streets of Sunnydale.
Shit.
~~~~~~
I get by with a little help from my friends
I get high with a little help from my friends
Going to try with a little help from my friends
~~~~~~
I make an attempt to put this big, wide smile onto my lips, and place my faker's mask on – the one to act out this aged, tricky game of happiness that I've become so used to playing with the people I loved.
"So..." My voice's probably sounding as cheesy as some freaking character of Dawson's Creek, but I don't really care.
After all, I've got a lie to hide and a mask to be worn.
"So," he replies to me somehow innocently, his incredulous gaze becoming pretty obvious though.
"Beautiful day, huh? A lot of sun," I say. Okay, I'm not exactly Meryl Streep, but that's not really the point. He's supposedly blind, isn't he?
Hell yes, he needs to be. He has to be. He is. I know he is.
And pink, fat pigs can actually sprout wings and fly too, of course.
"I'm sure Captain Peroxide's overwhelming with the joy," Xander grins. Though I can see he's faking it, he's acting.
Hey, that's my game, doesn't he know that? That's Buffy's game!
Emotionlessness, hiding, continuous lies, masks...
Damn thief!
"Yeah, I bet he is," I reply, smiling openly.
My face's practically frozen with that stupid grin. And I feel like Cher or any other of those women who spend truckloads of money to maintain a Barbie doll face, but end up looking kinda like Michael Jackson.
"How's Anya?"
Constantly changing the subject's always a pretty important rule, if you're trying to fool someone into playing this game.
"Anya? Uh, Anya's great, wonderful actually. She's all in awe about the wedding, you know how women are about that kind of stuff..."
"I can imagine," I say. "Did she choose her dress already?"
"Nah, but she said that the bridesmaids' ones are already picked out. I'm supposed to see it tomorrow. Wanna come?"
"Yeah, I'd love to!"
Translation: I'd like to. I don't love anymore.
"I'm sure they'll be beautiful," I utter next.
"What?"
"The bridesmaids' dresses. You know – Anya, former demon, short, blond hair and an 'Uncle Sam' poster on her bedroom's wall?"
"Oh. Gotcha. Me too."
Silence. A long one. I hate it – which is always the worst part, when you're hearing nothing but your own inner voice.
What the hell's my problem? Xander's been my best friend along with Willow for so long, and I can't even be happy for him that he's getting married!
I always thought I'd be there for him, like he was always for me. But I'm not a good person, and I'm learning this now. I loved him, but I can't feel. I know I can't.
I want to, though. I know I do. And I wanna love him again. I need to.
I've got to.
C'mon Buffy, don't hear it. Don't hear the voice. Just talk. Fake it. Ask something. Lie. Anything. Just do it now. Just don't crash.
"Why, Buffy?"
Don't crash.
"Why what?"
Don't crash.
"You know what I'm talking about."
Don't crash.
"Gee, sorry Xand, but I don't."
Don't crash.
"Buffy, c'mon. Don't do this to yourself."
Why does his voice sounds so cold and dry?
"Xander," I know I'm cracking a little, and I totally hate myself for it.
I know that he didn't miss that desperate note in my voice, he's pretty good at catching things like that.
Like with my first day at UC Sunnydale, my breaking up with Riley, and every other time I didn't even know what was wrong with me before he did.
I miss this. I miss this so much, I can barely stand seeing him. I want his love, his friendship, his care, everything Xander's given me – while I'm throwing it all away.
What the hell's my problem? Why can't anybody tell me?
It's just that, sometimes, I wonder if it'd be easier if I could share my pain with someone else – but I know I'm being just selfish. Oh, spare me, I'm so goddamn weak...
Why would I want to hurt anyone else with my own non-feelings? My gloom, my despair, my continuous inner battle?
Is that why I don't deserve Heaven? Because I'm an utterly self-seeking person?
I'm so sick of my own thoughts.
And I need a break. From me.
How the hell am I supposed to do that, anyway?
Whatever.
~~~~~~
What do I do when my love is away
Does it worry you to be alone
How do I feel by the end of the day
Are you sad because you're on your own
No I get by with a little help from my friends
Get high with a little help from my friends
Gonna try with a little help from my friends
~~~~~~
I want to kill something; I want to relieve the pressure of my non-feelings on some nasty, bumpy demon. It's like perfect Slayer therapy, an addiction and its momentary relief, and it's actually pretty efficient.
But it's morning now, and that freaking sun's shining down with its full vigor of strength.
Damn daylight!
And what's it got to make everything better? Xander's looking at me, and I just know I'll not be able to prevent myself holding it in anymore. He'll know I'm lying, and I'll screw everything up.
I know that he knows.
"I know that you know."
Did I just voice that out loud? Ah, crap.
"I know that you know that I know," he retorts promptly, never diverting his eyes from mine.
Even though my gaze is futilely trying to hide from his, of course. Xander just doesn't give up, he needs to make me that vulnerable.
And I totally hate it.
"I know," my voice is so low that I wonder if he can actually hear me.
Turns out that he can, and apparently perfectly well.
"Why'd you do it, Buffy?" he demands, but I think he already knows the answer.
You know what, Xander's a total jerk. It's just a question to make me suffer more, I know it is.
"I don't know," I rapidly divert my glance from his.
"That's a lie," Xander sharply reply. "Another one."
Yeah, well, you don't have to tell me! Like that's the smartest crack I've ever heard in my entire life! Both of them!
I keep silent, though.
Oh, I'm such a coward.
"Buffy, listen, you don't have to do it."
I know he's worried, but I think he's feeling guiltier than that.
He should be, 'cause I can't feel guilty anymore. Nor anything else.
And I know I don't blame him; but, what the hell, I need to blame someone now.
I need to. Or I'll crash and burn. And there's no demons to off at this particular moment of the day.
I wonder if Mr. Punching Bag's open for an afternoon little visit?
It's okay, Buffy. Just act. You're good at that. Just don't crash.
"What am I supposed to do then, Xander? Can you honestly tell me? 'Cause I'm getting tired of all this, I really am! You... you don't know what it's like. No one knows. It's... it's the worst thing someone could imagine, and I'm dying, Xander, but my body's not. I wanna blame you, but I can't. And I'm so lost; I don't know what to do anymore. So then, does Jimmy Olsen have a hint? Anything you'd like to share? Yeah, I didn't think so..."
Shit, I'm the worst actress ever.
~~~~~~
Do you need anybody
I need somebody to love
Could it be anybody
I want somebody to love
~~~~~~
"Buffy..."
Xander's voice is pure misery, and I'm now acknowledging the fact that my sudden breakdown was probably a rough thing to handle.
Well, big surprise. What did he expect, anyway? Flowers strewn along the ground, a sudden cloud over my head for dramatic effect – and then blissful tears of joy, for him opening my eyes to how *wrong* I am?
Nope, sorry Buffy. Nothing's ever smooth for you. It's like Destiny's decided that you get the ugly pasta for breakfast, lunch and dinner, 24/7.
And it's a terrible paradox.
Gross.
I really need a break. Really.
But, hey, congratulations Buffy!
Now you've apparently succeeded into drawing Xander into your own little hellish world. May I say, yay?
Guess I'm a selfish bitch, that's what I am.
And I can't stand seeing Xander like that.
He's not crying, through. He's not sobbing, weeping, or doing any of the melodramatic things with passenger guilt and future promises of restitution.
He just keeps staring at me. What, is there something stuck in my teeth?
Do I have 'loser' written on my forehead?
Have I got toilet paper stuck on my shoe?
Something in my hair, maybe?
And why, just why do I feel so naked in front of those bottomless eyes of his?
I wanna comfort him; I don't wanna see Xander hurting – not when I know I've caused his pain.
Nonetheless, wasn't that my lie's primary aim? If I were someone out of reach for salvation, I'd at least make everything easier for them, right?
Am I a bitch?
Who am I, after all?
Why can't I hear an answer?
I catch Xander's hands on mine in an unforeseen soft squeeze, and I suddenly know I'm more warm and protected.
I know, I know, it was supposed to be the exact opposite – my primary intention was to protect him.
From me.
And my own little hellish abyss.
I know I've screwed up again, but I honestly don't care. 'Cause the cold winter's passing away, and everything seems more colorful now.
"How did you know it?" I ask, in a meek demand. Or whatever the hell that's supposed to mean, anyway.
My voice is practically a distant whisper, and once again I wonder how he's even able to actually hear me.
Xander grins at me. And now, it's an original and true Xander-smirk.
I like it. And I grin back at him.
It's been a long time since I've done it for real, and it doesn't feel odd, or wrong.
"It's pretty lame, actually," Xander retorts. I think he's blushing.
"I'm the Queen of the Damned, remember? Anything lame's gonna feel right at home. C'mon, spill." Was that really a joke on my part?
OK, a bad one, not even a funny one.
But I'm joking. And not faking it either.
Wow, that's certainly news.
It's even comical, strange at least: barely minutes ago, I'd been caught in the middle of Buffy's little drama world and sunk into a bottomless pool of sorrow and woe.
But my whole attention's now uniquely focused onto Xander's words.
He sighs. "OK, OK, I'll tell you. But it's lame, I'm warning ya."
And I wait. Maybe I can't feel anything, but I'm definitely feeling better.
Or whatever that's supposed to mean. Anyway...
"It was in our sophomore year, probably a few weeks after we first started to hang out together – uh, yeah, sometime around then."
I frown. I don't have the slightest clue of what he's talking about. He grins at that.
"I wanted the last slice of pizza, same as you," he pauses, looking away and then at me. His warm brown eyes seem to be smiling at me, almost as if they were embarrassed, in amused shame.
He passes a hand through his dark hair, and let it fall down through the air. I grin, puzzled. And I demand, "What? I ate it first as fast as I could, or something?"
"Worse," he answers, looking straight at me, dramatically.
I punch him lightly, "No way, you're making this up!"
"Well, Ms. Summers, I hate to remind you of this shameful part of your past, but you actually hid it under the table and waited till I was out of sight, and then devoured it. That's it. No compassion, no mercy, you just stuck it down your throat and poof... that was the end of a poor, innocent slice of pizza."
I can't help but raise a defensive eyebrow. "I did not."
He smirks nimbly, "Uh, I'm pretty sure that a trace of tomato sauce on the left corner of your mouth kinda disagreed with you, back then."
Damn. Now I'm blushing.
I open my mouth to retort – say something, anything – but the damned words can't seem to come out of my mouth.
And then, there I am.
A Slayer with the urges, the capacity of feeling once again; and who was now blushing while she remembered a distant, happy past, when the simple fact of the red line of a vegetable's sauce was capable of immediately lifting her spirits up.
A past where her greatest pain was to feel, as much as she did, each brand- new moment that life offered from its obscure and unpredictable days.
Every smile, every pain, every passion.
When a drop of rain, a simple street cat's meow or a scream of excitement, surprise, fear, joy – a warm, faraway place where things were genuinely felt, and sensed with such powerful strength that I didn't think I'd ever be able to hold it all together.
Yeah, that was me, and what I used to think I hated. And that's what I want back.
Life certainly travels through bizarre, odd channels.
~~~~~~
Would you believe in a love at first sight
Yes I'm certain that it happens all the time
What do you see when you turn out the light
I can't tell you but I know it's mine
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends
Get high with a little help from my friends
I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends
~~~~~~
We keep on walking for several seconds in utter silence, and then I finally turn towards Xander's face.
I raise an incredulous eyebrow. That's inevitable. "Tomato sauce's the reason why you discover I'm lying?"
"Yeah – I mean, no," he began, obviously caught off-guard.
I don't let my raised eyebrow drop, and I nod slowly as if I was waiting for him to be coherent – which is what I'm pretty much doing, actually.
"Yes and no," Xander says more calmly, then looks at me accusingly. I just stare back, with that faked innocence and a childish gaze.
"What I meant was, since that exact moment – I've always known whenever it is you're lying."
I open my mouth to reply with a confused 'what', but Xander never gives me that chance to do so.
"You always pass your left hand through your hair on the right-hand side, and then you look back firmly at the person straight in the eyes for a few seconds, until they're supposedly convinced."
I look blankly at him, and then I attempt to whisper an immediate protest – but once again, my voice seems to completely and magically disappear, leaving my mouth wide open and that stupid expression on my face.
Well, that's. Just. Great.
Xander just grins at me, with certain cleverness. "I know what you're thinking. You want me to prove it, because you're not gonna surrender that easily."
"No, I don't!" I retort rapidly, but his grin seems to have got bigger – like, a thousand times larger than a moment before.
What I didn't notice was, my left hand passed through a lock of hair from the right-hand side of my head, and for a brief instant, I looked straight at him, convincingly. Or so I thought.
How the hell did he know all that?
"How the hell did you know all that?"
"Ah, Slayer, a magician never reveals his tricks," he chuckles, amused, but then he looks with a serious gaze at me. I even think I'm freezing, stopping dead in my tracks.
Damn effective.
"It's what I call friendship, Buffster."
The streets of Sunnydale are our endless stage, and we walk along them for incessant hours. I slip my arm onto his shoulders, letting my body hang onto his.
And we walk.
And walk.
And walk.
Arms linked, with a certain sensation of rightness. We're friends. Yeah, friends. We loved each other as friends. We'll fight for each other as friends. Always. Forever.
Until the end of time.
~~~~~~
Do you need anybody
I just need somebody to love
Could it be anybody
I want somebody to love
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends
Gonna try with a little help from my friends
I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends
With a little help from my friends
~~~~~~
But he knows, I'm sure. We both know I came back wrong.
And that maybe even the strongest friendship won't be able to fix me. Probably won't.
I'm doomed.
I'm haunted.
I'm damned.
I'm wrong.
I'm living death.
Finally I fall down to the pavement, shouting wildly. People are getting scared, crossing the street to avoid the crazy little blonde who's tired of not feeling.
Why can't I just be part of the world?
Why do I have to feel so goddamn empty?
Why can't I love?
Why can't I care?
I yell at Xander furiously; everything I've been keeping inside so strongly for so long, finally exploding out into one big blast of anguish, revulsion and tormented agony.
I want to feel warm. I need to. I've got to.
But I won't. Never again. And I know it.
Messy hair and blank eyes diverted from the world, and suddenly I'm concentrating only on the deep gray coloration of Sunnydale's asphalt. People are staring, looking, pointing but I don't care. And this time, I really don't.
I don't see Xander's eyes at any moment – I know I'd not be able to stand that. I scream out insults, accusations, to hide my fears.
I've finally crashed.
But I don't cry, though. Not even once.
***
Hey, again! Please, review. Pretty please?
Well, now it's missing only one chapter. And, if someone here reads my other fic, Loose Ends, too - I'll probably update it today, or tomorrow.
Ah, and a special thanks to: little miss muffet, Ryo Angel and little_me - Starway man too, of course.