Title: Emotional Control
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These are Joss Whedon's characters. I know he would never do anything so petty as sueing some stupid little writer of mediocre-at-best prose just cause it happens to be based on his ideas. I said I wouldn't write Xander and WIllow anymore but I can't help it. I'm sorry, Joss, but you brought this on yourself.
Distribution: If for some odd reason you want to put this on your web page, just let me know and be sure to credit me and then go ahead.
~*~
Margaruite, are you grieving
Over goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! As the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder.
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaruite you morn for.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins
~
He was stroking her hair, that much she knew. She felt him supporting her weight, and he was stroking her hair as if he could soothe the turmoil that had stripped away all her control.
It's all about emotional control, she had said once, concentrating on spinning a pencil in the air. Her friend watched, sprawled casually beside her.
Neat.
Then her lover walked in and the pencil flew like an arrow, earning a smirk from her friend.
So much for emotional control.
She had loved him, painfully and overwhelmingly.
A photograph of Oz burning in a bowl… she snatched it up and doused the flames. She couldn't go through with it. She couldn't hurt him.
Chanting in Romanian she restored Angel's soul. She channeled the spirit of a long-dead medicine woman through her weak and aching body, and then Buffy disappeared because she'd sent Angel to hell. Pure intentions aside, it was Willow's doing that he suffered all his time there.
Tara. Together clasping hands in fear, throwing a 300 lb. vending machine against the door. Looking into her sky-blue eyes and feeling the fear melt away. Tara, her honey-blonde hair and shy brilliant smile. Tara's scent of incense and honeysuckle shampoo. Tara's warm, feather-soft skin and sweet, gentle voice.
Your shirt.
No.
Your shirt.
No don't think about it make it go away I don't want to see her blood spray across in a graceful arc like someone threw a water balloon and stained me forever no think about something else think about…
Xander. Xander's stern but loving eyes and unflappable sense of humor even in the worst of times
If you're gonna start killing people kill me
Because I love you
No matter what you do to me I love you even if I can barely speak or walk because of what you're doing to me I love you
No. The words he was trying to say to her coming out as stammering redundancies because he couldn't convey what he wanted to when she was busy attempting to kill him don't think about that now, think about think about…
Back in school when she was innocent
Weak, pathetic, neurotic- but innocent.
Better to be the victim than the perpetrator, she knew now
Desperate to go back in time to a more familiar pain than this but then her mind veers away again, searching for a safer place.
Buffy holding her head in her lap when Oz left
Telling her to get up when she crashed the car and broke Dawn's arm
Only a broken arm
Nothing time won't heal
Time did heal it
But some things never heal
Unless you make them,
Unless you bring them back
Did you slit its throat?
No
No
No.
None of her thoughts are safe.
She just wants to be dead and not think anymore, to be in hell where she belongs
With Glory and Darla and Kakistos and Acathla
Because she's one of them now, evil, demonic.
But she isn't dead, she's not in hell or even in jail for what she's done. Faith is in jail. Shouldn't she at least be in jail?
Stop
Thinking.
She starts to hum to herself and closes her eyes tight trying to stop the images from coming in front of her and her voice is strangled and she feels Xander move in closer to her, protecting her from evils that could never match her own.
She is too tired to form words to go with her tuneless song and tears flood her eyes but she doesn''t move and Xander wipes them away and she knows he doesn't even realize he's crying himself. Stupid of him, wasting his time on another bad girl like Ampada or Faith or Anya or her. She disregards his pointless emotion and listens to the song in her head.
"Don't cry, Willow. We're gonna help you."
He sounds broken, just like she feels. It occurs to her that he has just lost his best friend, and she would feel bad if she could but next to the things she's done this is nothing and the added guilt is just another drop in the bucket.
"I love you, Wil. No matter what."
She closes her eyes tighter. She doesn't want to hear this.
"Don't say that."
"I have to."
There is a long silence, and she listens to his heart beat and feels his chest rise and fall. It should be comforting but instead somehow it reminds her and she can't get the feel of Tara's blood and Tara's limp body off her skin and she finally cracks under the weight of it all.
"I miss her! I gave her vengeance and I still miss her! And it's never gonna go away. And I killed someone and it didn't make it go away. Make it go away, Xander. If you love me kill me. Kill me dammit Xander KILL ME!" she rages against him but she's too weak and too drained to struggle against his desperate embrace.
"I love you Wil…" he chokes against her shoulder like a broken record. She understands it's the only way he can respond and he wishes that there were something better he could say but there isn't and he's doing the only thing that he can. And then she gives up and starts sobbing in silent exhausted gasps because she doesn't have the power to be angry anymore and without the anger to protect her there is nothing but raw agonizing aching grief and a gaping bleeding chasm in her soul that she wishes she could fall into and disappear forever and just forget.
~
He is still holding on to her with all his strength when they arrive. He doesn't know who they are or where they have come from but somehow he knows they're going to help. Thirteen women form a circle around them and throw colored powder on the ground and chant and join hands. Then Willow's power leaves and it seems to hurt her, because she spasms in his arms, shrieking in renewed anguish. Buffy and Dawn are there outside the circle but they aren't saying a word. The power drains, a mix of golden light and black fog spiraling up into the sky and disappating like a scattered cloud of insects. Thunder rolls overhead though the morning is clear and sunny. The witches from England hang their heads and a few of them wipe away tears and they walk away silently before disappearing into thin air.
Xander watches all of this but doesn't see it.
The only thing he sees is his Willow, five years old, crying her heart out over broken crayons.