TITLE: Circles of Light (1/1)
SERIES: The Wheel of the Year
AUTHOR: Nymue
EMAIL: josette@aol.com
RATED: PG13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.
SUMMARY: Reflections, introspection and conversations on the past and future while preparing for a Candlemas celebration.
SPOILERS: Up through "Checkpoint" and "Blood Money."
NOTE: Incantation by Starhawk, from "The Spiral Dance."
NOTE2: Previous stories: http://dencity.com/le--sanctuaire
FEEDBACK: is much appreciated.
***
I am first, I am last.
I am loved and I am scorned.
I am life, I am death.
I am pure and I am soiled.
I am the knowledge
that hides within all questions.
I am what is, and I
am the seeking itself.
I am all that is within you
and all that is outside you.
I am the garment that shows you
the secret shape of your soul.
-- Gnostic prayer to Mary Magdalene
***
She walks the night.
The light of the moon is silvery and cold tonight, sharp and piercing like fangs or talons. There's a chill to the breeze that reminds her of the month and of her circumstances, but there is no need to sum it all up. She knows.
She has always known.
Deep inside, deep down to the farthest reaches of her being she has always known who and what she is. It was her surface self who denied the truth, the young girl and teenager who wanted desperately to be loved and to love in return. And denial is a strong force, stronger than some may think; but even in the heights, or depths depending on one's view, of denial she knew the truth.
She is not like the Others; she is not even like Others of her Kind.
Spike, she mused, knew some of it, understood some of it, just as Angelus had. Angel had known too, but somehow his denial had outmatched hers and … and because she loved him, and because she was angry, she tried to be someone else. She ignored her instincts and found someone nice, someone kind, someone she could have a "relationship" with, but it had been a lie from the start. Even then her shadow self, her true self had pulled back, unable to share the truth with someone whom she knew could not handle the whole package. But still, she tried; she fought, she ignored, she focused, she tried.
She failed.
Her shadow self, her true self, was emerging from the shadows and with her came a multitude of changes. The blood she had known so the hunt was the first, then came the magic and then the realization of power. Was this how Faith felt, she wondered. Was it this sense of power that made her give in to her primal self? Did it even matter?
She wasn't sure.
'You think you know … who you are, what's to come. You haven't even begun.' Words spoken in a dream and in reality, but she wonders … why a dream, why from Dracula? They were just as easily her words, words her shadow self had been speaking for years. Perhaps …
She stopped.
Perhaps that had been what the dream was telling her. Too far removed from the shadow of truth, she could no longer understand its message. The uber-Tara had said it had no voice … then they fought … she and her friends woke up. Yet, for all that, there was more of the First in her now … or rather now she could truly begin to comprehend the dream and what the uber-Tara meant, what the fight meant. They had been well matched, those two, and in the end it was not that one had triumphed but that she had accepted the shadow. She could not exist merely as the surface self … but the shadow could not stand alone either.
She had to be both.
She was both.
The surface and the shadow were becoming one.
***
"I thought the Buffster was coming," Xander commented, his eyes flicking to the three women with whom he shared the circle. "You know, maybe bring Dawn along and show her what's the what."
"And I thought Giles was supposed to be here," Anya said, her voice curious and exasperated all at once. "We closed early, lost money and further capital to be here."
Willow raised her eyes to look at her best friend and his girlfriend and for the first time since the previous summer, she was able to see Anya as something than Xander's 'orgasm friend.' Strange as it might be, they had a real relationship that had many weathered things, including the kind that broke others apart. Never let it be said that communication was a problem with them; considering Anya's unique situation, they probably the most open relationship of any Scooby -- past or present.
"Giles had some research to do," she explained, lighting the candles. "You know, sorting through all the stuff those Council people left behind for us. Since he has the magic shop now he can't spend all day working on it like he used to."
Tara finished braiding the strands of dried herbs and placed next to the brazier, then looked up at Xander. "And Buffy had to patrol … she s-said there was some funny activity down near the docks last night."
Xander raised his eyebrows. "New demon?"
Tara shrugged. "She didn't say and … "
"I think she wants to spend some quality time with her mom and Dawn," Willow confided. "You know, since the surgery … "
"Oh." Personally, Xander wasn't quite so sure. While Buffy no doubt did want some extra Mom and Dawn time, he couldn't help but wonder if she was still hurting over Riley just a little. Despite what she had told him after the Troll Fiasco about love, caring and Slayer/Normality, he knew that yet another desertion by a man she cared about had stung … still stung. That said man had left because he could not deal with Buffy -- all of Buffy -- only made it ten times worse. "So, tonight is Candlewhatsit?"
Willow smiled. "Candlemas, Xander, Candlemas. Also known as Groundhog Day."
Anya shuddered. "Groundhogs, bunnies … eeew."
Tara smiled at Anya's odd fear and handed Willow a long matchstick that the redhead promptly lit before passing it around the circle, each person present lighting one of two candles placed before them. Once its trip was completed, Tara tossed the flaming stick into the brazier, symbolically lighting the hearth fire. "This is the f-feast of the waxing light," she began. "What was born at the Solstice begins to manifest as the days grow longer."
"This is the time of individuation," Willow continued. "Within the measures of the spiral we each light our own light and become uniquely ourselves. It is the time of initiation, of beginning, when seeds that will later sprout and grow begin to stir from their dark sleep. We meet to share the light … "
***
Light.
There are times when he misses the light, the light of companionship, of love, of belief.
Of hope.
However, he knows that to surround himself with that light now would be utter folly. The others would only become infected with his darkness, or their light would be extinguished by the greater darkness that he readies himself to fight. No, better to send the light away, to douse the lamps and pull the plug than hurt innocent souls.
Souls that still believe, still hope.
Still feel.
Which is not sat that he does not feel -- he feels a great deal. It is his anger, his remorse and need to exterminate the others of his blood that wreak havoc on this city that have driven him to this holy war. A war in which, ultimately, there are no winners, only survivors. The problem is, as long as they go down, he no longer cares if he survives.
And so the light dims further.
***
"How is it that we're back in this freaky-ass club *again?*"
Wesley studied Gunn over the rim of his glass and shrugged. "It's the only place in this town where we can be completely safe from all manner of attacks."
"Besides, they serve killer drinks," Cordelia told him.
Gunn looked skeptical. "I'll give you that, but man, I'm still getting over our last experience. Why'd we have to come *here* tonight?"
"It's the second day of February," Wesley stated.
"Huh?"
Cordelia snorted. "Okay, so it's Groundhog Day. I didn't hear about the shadow and really don't care."
Wesley's eyes rolled heavenward for the briefest of seconds before they once more came to rest on his companions. They had already been through so much together, and alone, that he doubted for a moment what he was going to ask them to do. But as soon as the thought flitted across his mind it was banished; too much had happened and would happen. And the timing couldn't have been better. He cleared his throat. "Groundhogs aside, this is a time of when many people begin to look forward to spring, to a new beginning as it were."
A dark shadow of sadness and anger, held together by a strand of guilt crossed Cordelia's face. She looked down at her drink, then back up at Wesley. Gunn fidgeted and drained his glass, the sound of the glass meeting the tabletop when he slammed it down enough to draw a glance from a neighboring table. "Yeah, some beginning. Like we've done real great so far."
Wesley winced.
"But it's still a fresh start, and we're doing it by ourselves," Cordelia whispered. "Migraine-inducing visions, and all."
Gunn sat back in his chair and pondered the other two for moment, trying to remember just how he had come to be a part of this freaky, messed-up, fucked-up-beyond-all-recognition "us" that they were talking about. It wasn't like he didn't have a crew, but somehow these two and their former vampire boss had formed a motley mixed unit that actually accomplished more than a bit of dusting. And, if he was honest, he liked being a part of that unit; liked to be able to sleep at night knowing he'd done more than just dust some vamps.
Not that that wasn't something to be proud of.
"Okay," he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows up on the table. "Let's say I buy that … and I kinda do. What's the point of this little gathering? Cause listening to this guy sing is just killing my ears."
"He's not that bad," Cordelia objected, grimacing as the Host hit a particularly high note.
Gunn stared pointedly.
"Okay, okay," Cordelia muttered. "I stand corrected."
Wesley leaned forward, matching Gunn's stance as he laced his fingers together. "The point is that we not only accept that our situation has changed, but that we actively work toward developing a new future together."
"You asking me to give up my crew?" Gunn demanded.
"No, not at all," Wesley reassured him. "But I am asking that you consider us on that same level. There is, after all, still more evil to be fought in this city … and Cordelia and I cannot do it alone."
Gunn rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and sighed, swearing softly under his breath. Wesley didn't ask for much, nah, just all that he himself had to give. Sighing, he focused his gaze on the two who had come to mean more to him than he could have expected. "Okay, I'll give it a shot. A new beginning for the three of us, right? I'll drink to that."
"Here, here," Cordelia said, raising her glass.
"To us," Wesley murmured as three glasses clicked together. "And to our future … whatever it holds."
***
Hey Angel,
Whadda ya know, the guards are trusting me with an ink pen and some paper again. Guess they figure if I was gonna do something with it I'd have done it last time. Who knows?
I really wanna go into the pleasantries, A, tell you that the shrink has helped, and that I'm actually being allowed to take a couple of classes, but there's bigger news. CC told me last time she visited that you were going through some tough shit, and I believed her (you shoulda seen her face, A, she was wicked worried). And now you're not visiting or answering when I get to make my weekly shrink approved call … I know you got a life, or something, but there's trouble brewin'. Maybe your radio silence means you already know, but I gotta tell ya.
I've been having dreams, freaky, scary Slayer dreams and damn near all of it is about B. There's nothing specific, just fractured images that scare me shitless … but I can't seem to remember them long enough after I wake up. And although the new shrink might could help (Lenny got transferred to some other needy soul, but he says to tell you that you need to let them in, whatever *that* means), I can't see her really buying into the prophetic dreams stuff -- I didn't, until B told me about some of hers, and until right before I woke up in the hospital.
Anyway, let me know when you read this. Answer the phone, come visit or send CC … hell, I'm sure you could write to me for that matter. Something, though, A. I'm dead serious.
***
Official Log: 2.2.01: 2300. No agents lost on assignment, but there were three injuries and one (Agent Haddock) has been flown to the nearest medical facility capable of treating his wounds. All twelve Fyarl demons were eliminated and, since they are mercenaries, steps are being taken to trace their employer. Stop.
Personal Entry: Some days are harder than others, and Mom was none too pleased that I was incommunicado over the holidays because I had accepted a deep cover mission. Still, it's easier to deal with her displeasure than to remember what happened between me and Buffy. After the agony of withdrawal, time, distance and several hard talks with Graham, I have to admit that what happened was probably destined, although I hate that word. Buffy told me early on that she was a lot of things, and naively I thought I could deal with all of it -- she was just a girl, albeit a VERY strong girl that killed vamps and demons, right? I have never been so wrong. What's worse, I didn't see that it wouldn't work … no, I did that, but after meeting Angel I got stubborn, I thought that I could make myself into something else.
It's funny, all that time with Walsh, all that psychology and I forgot two fundamental rules of relationships: sometimes just being there doing nothing is more important than having someone cry on your shoulder, and if you try to be someone else it never works out. Both Buffy and I were trying to be something we weren't -- I was trying to be the superboyfriend for her when she wanted me to be normal, and she was trying to be something like normal for me when she wasn't. I'm not saying that I blame it all on her, I can finally admit that I had as much to do with our problems as she. And our problem was that we were not what the other needed, not really. Maybe love does conquer all sometimes.
Just not with us.
End Entries: 2.2.01: 2342.
END