Over The Rock

The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
From Words' by Sylvia Plath

Mom! Please, I'm fine.

Honey, don't say that when you are obviously not fine'. And what an inexpressive word that is...

Yeah, inexpressive or not, I'm it.

Sweetie, its not good to repress feelings, especially in your age-band.

Willow quit trying to hide her tear-reddened eyes and hoped that the raw-blush had lessened from around them. To say that she quit trying to hide them was perhaps not correct because a wave of dark-red hair still masked her face from her peculiarly-concerned mother.

Uh, mom, I think I left some stuff at school...

Her mother straightened up immediately and moved away from her daughter.

That's not like you Willow, you know how important schoolwork is.

Yeah, I know mom. I'll just go and pick it up.

Willow waited almost a minute before she stood up from her seat. She knew it was almost a minute because she counted. Her mother had not offered to drive her to school, or reprimanded her about going out so late, or even shown any concern about letting her teenage daughter go out into a town which had a death rate exceeding its amount of twinkies brought. Or whatever the newspaper compared it to. Her involvement did not last long then...

Truthfully it did not bother Willow as much as it used to. It was probably one of those things that she'd tell her kids when they were getting needy, or her therapist. But not as life-threatening as Vampires, or overgrown Smurfs with the ability to incinerate anything they touched. She pointedly forgot about the pain throbbing in her chest. It was metaphorical after all, because there was no scientific reason for her to be hurting this much. It didn't make sense.

***

Yanna brushed raven, and if truth be told, slightly greasy hair from her face. In her occupied hand she held a home-made talisman which she waved every now any again over a candle. She read the smoke that appeared from the burning herbs and her brow furrowed in a frown that she knew made her look older.

In an abrupt movement she smothered the candle and let go of the talisman, her eyes fixing shut.

You've seen it Yanna?

Yes Uncle...

Then you had better hurry. And take the strength of our hatred with you.

Hatred will not repel him.

Then you had better take this also...

Enyos passed his niece a large cross, which had been resting obviously on his bedside table. It was a good thing that Sunnydale was thought to house a number of fanatical Christians otherwise people would be suspicious by the amount of crosses that turned up.
...And hope that it is not strength of faith alone that makes that artefact untouchable by him. He nodded towards the cross, Otherwise you will be as helpless as before.

Yanna sighed, but she did not have time to argue with her Uncle over the finer points of religion and Vampirism. She clutched the cross tightly in her hand and moved with reluctant swiftness back to the high school.

***

Buffy listened to the frightened conversation with disbelief, but also conviction. This could not be Angel, not the man she loved. Something must have happened to him, maybe a spell or a possession or something. He had taken than Egg-nog demon from Miss Calendar not so long ago, maybe that was controlling him. Angel would not have said the things that came from his mouth that day, nor would he have attacked her friends...

Buffy, being able to multitask sometimes, as long as it was not to do with schoolwork, had been thinking and listening to the conversation, so when she heard her name she jumped in. It was timed perfectly like a line in a movie.

I got a message for Buffy.

Why don't you give it to me yourself?

He spun around to face her and for the first time she saw that he was wearing his Vampire mask. She had once told him that she did not notice the difference between both of his faces, but now she knew that that would never be true again.

Well, it's not really the kind of message you tell. It sort of involves finding the bodies of all your friends.

This can't be you.

Gee, we already covered that subject.

Buffy flinched at the reminder of the words before but continued doggedly. Perhaps she could coax Angel to the surface and help him overpower whatever was controlling him. Or perhaps she could distract him long enough to attack.

Angel, there must be some part of you inside that still remembers who you are.

Dream on, schoolgirl. Your boyfriend is dead. You're all gonna join him.

Dead... It wasn't true.

Leave Willow alone, and deal with me.

***

Spike, why won't you come to bed? Miss Edith is afraid of the sun and the naughty grasshopper won't stop chirping...

Drusilla made waving motions with her hand as if they perfectly enunciated her words. They didn't, but it pleased Spike that she was safely detached again, and that she still wanted him in her bed. Which was also why it pained him to say,

Can't luv, I'm still half-a-bloody-Herbie.

Dru giggled and tosses her head back, staring upwards at nothing. It seemed like she was about to say something, but instead she stood there, swaying ever so slightly on her feet. Spike rolled his way over to her cautiously. He had seen her change moods quickly enough times not be close when she got into a rage. But she didn't seem to be angry, just absent. Or more absent than usual. He dragged the wheelchair around behind her and reached up.

It seemed like it had been so long since he had touched her, but now the velvet of her dress was enough to strengthen his resolve and he pulled her down onto his lap. She did not immediately snap out of her trance, but a soft smile shone on her lips. Finally she blinked a couple of times before sighing a name that made Spike's long-inactive stomach muscles contract.

***

His grip was rough, Angel would have never touched her like that. He smelt the fear on her like a badly applied perfume, only this smell was intoxicating. He lent closer to her, and whispered,

Things are about to get very interesting.

His lips were on hers violently for a brief second but even before he started he realised it was not a good idea. No, not a good idea... It was a bad idea. The kind of idea that made him grin in his sleep. But still he quickly shoved her away from him into a wall and backed out of the conveniently placed door. His last image was of her crouched on the floor with tears spotting her eyes. It was a start.

***

Buffy stared off into blank space. Those lips that had touched hers were familiar but different. It was a strange sensation. She knew that mouth so well, and yet they way that it had touched her tonight had been alien. How did that work? How could you know someone so well, and yet a shift inside their skin and it all becomes redundant. She still did not know what had happened to Angel, but the thing that wore his body had said.. Dead. And she believed it. Because if any part of that was Angel then he would have never let that thing hurt her.

She was content to just sit and contemplate thoughts like this because if she moved then things would change. They'd be different and however much she debated it in her mind she would not be ready.

Buffy sat quietly in the hallway of her school with her two best friends watching her anxiously for any sign of change. She hoped they saw none.