Title: Contact
Author: cimorene
Rating: PG to be safe
Summary: How does the Scooby Gang react to the First's presence? (Season 7)
Spoilers: Generally, up to "Get It Done"
Archiving: Anywhere, just tell me and keep my name and email attached.
Feedback: Please! This is my first fanfic, and I'd love to hear anything
you have to say.
Contact
There's been an unusual amount of contact in the Summers home recently.
The younger girls, one of whom will someday save the world, spend all of
their time together.
Before, they would cuddle up together to watch a movie or whisper secrets in
the dark because it was only natural for a group of preteen girls who'd been
ripped from their homes. They used to hug each other without hesitating, to
lend a shoulder to cry on without reserve.
Now, they hesitate for just an instant before making contact. It's an almost
imperceptible twitch, but they all do it. The doubt has insinuated itself
into their subconscious: What if she's not really her? None of them have
ever experienced anything like this before, and they can't live normally, or
what passes for normally here, while they know that one among them may not
be who she appears to be, may in fact be the root of all evil. Most of them
can't even perceive what evil is - they're too young and have only touched
the surface of the dark underworld.
Dawn, for her part, tends to curl up next to Xander or Giles. They're the
closest she's had an older brother or a father, and they've always protected
her. She knows that they probably won't be able to do much to protect her
when it comes down to it, but its nice pretending to believe that someone
will stand with you before evil.
She knows what evil is, nearly died because of it, seen those she loves hurt
or bewitched or killed by it.
Passions has nothing on this, yet she continues to watch, because it's a
lifeline she has to cling to. When you know that the world will soon far
apart around you and your life already has, over and over, it becomes easy
to envelope yourself in the world of the Cranes and Lopez-Fitzgeralds, in
Harmony, New England, as town with a nomenclature almost as ridiculous as
Sunnydale.
Xander has developed the nervous habit of slapping people on the back,
something nobody believes is the innocent jovial body language he passes it
off as. Several of the younger girls have given him odd glances, but no one
says anything; no one ever will.
He looses himself in a world of bandsaws, drill presses, and lathes every
day. In the California sun, he can almost forget the uber-vamps and Firsts,
of Chosen Ones and little girls. Almost.
Xander's seen evil, it's been part of his life ever since the "Very suave.
Very not pathetic" start to sophomore year. But until recently, he hasn't
needed to watch his friends for signs of it.
Willow and Kennedy have become nearly inseparable. They cling to each other,
mostly just holding hands or leaning against each other for support, whether
emotional or physical. They need both now; Willow works without rest,
searching every source she can find for information about the First, and
Kennedy has been actively training the other girls ever since Buffy found out
that she'd been honed for this all her life.
Willow knows evil, deep, intimately. She's tasted it, swam in it, reveled in
it. She knows what evil can do, and because of it, she holds on all the
tighter to others.
Kennedy knows evil, intellectually. She's had a lifetime of the Slayer's
Handbook, of memorizing the difference between a lur-ite and a mur-ite demon.
She can easily recite the most prolific killers in history, supernatural or
not, and will tell you exactly where to put pressure when snapping a neck.
But she's never looked into the eyes of evil. She doesn't know that the hand
she's holding has committed unbelievable horrors. She's innocent; for all
her knowledge, she knows nothing.
Anya, for her part, kicks everyone who walks by the sofa, making sure in her
own way that they're still safe. Again, on one complains. They know her
reasons, and some even wish for the freedom to be so open with their own fears.
Anya has touched evil, seen evil, been evil, and has no desire to return to
evil. She's the only one who knows what Willow knows, who feels the
seductive calling that she knows is only just beginning. The evil that Anya
fights is inside of herself - the whispers of the past centuries that come
to her in the middle of the night serve to remind her of her resolve to
fight. If only she knew what to fight, and had the strength to do it.
Giles watches over all of this with careful eyes. He offers no contact
except for a constant hand on Buffy's shoulder. He knows that he should be
doing more, that he's a father to all of them, but for the past few days,
he's devoted himself to his Slayer.
Buffy touches no one. She remembers the time when she freely hugged Willow,
when she would lean on Xander and Giles for support, when she would goof
around with Dawn. Now, she withdraws into herself, pulling a veil of reserve
between herself and others.
She knows that this should disturb her; she also knows that it should disturb
her friends. But they are too wrapped up in their own affairs to think long
on it. After all, they're all preparing for the upcoming fight: the fight
she knows may be her last.
She knows she shouldn't think this way- Slayers die though too much
pessimism, too much optimism, or too little of either. But she's faced the
First before- in the form of a mentor, her mother, and a young girl. She
knows what it is capable of, and at the same time knows that her experiences
have merely scraped the surface of what's to come.
Buffy is intimately acquainted with evil. In her darker moments, she wonders
how much evil is in her. After all, why else would she entertain thoughts of
how easy it would be to let the line of Slayers die out, to end the suffering.
She's tired of being the one to hold the line, the one to whom the burden or
saving the world falls.
She knows that it will happen again. She'll once more have to deal with the
now-cliché apocalypse.
Evil surrounds her, surrounds her home. Its tendrils have worked their way
into every aspect of her life. She's used to it by now, but she tries not to
see it, not to touch it more than necessary.
Evil shadows the Summers residence, advances on it. They all know this;
this is why they touch each other, reaching for the temporary comfort
another's warmth brings.
In these times, the knowledge that the people you live with are real is
all the comfort one needs.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, you made it through the whole thing, so it can't be all that bad.
Please, leave a review, or if you feel so moved, drop me a line at
cimorene42@hotmail.com.
Author: cimorene
Rating: PG to be safe
Summary: How does the Scooby Gang react to the First's presence? (Season 7)
Spoilers: Generally, up to "Get It Done"
Archiving: Anywhere, just tell me and keep my name and email attached.
Feedback: Please! This is my first fanfic, and I'd love to hear anything
you have to say.
Contact
There's been an unusual amount of contact in the Summers home recently.
The younger girls, one of whom will someday save the world, spend all of
their time together.
Before, they would cuddle up together to watch a movie or whisper secrets in
the dark because it was only natural for a group of preteen girls who'd been
ripped from their homes. They used to hug each other without hesitating, to
lend a shoulder to cry on without reserve.
Now, they hesitate for just an instant before making contact. It's an almost
imperceptible twitch, but they all do it. The doubt has insinuated itself
into their subconscious: What if she's not really her? None of them have
ever experienced anything like this before, and they can't live normally, or
what passes for normally here, while they know that one among them may not
be who she appears to be, may in fact be the root of all evil. Most of them
can't even perceive what evil is - they're too young and have only touched
the surface of the dark underworld.
Dawn, for her part, tends to curl up next to Xander or Giles. They're the
closest she's had an older brother or a father, and they've always protected
her. She knows that they probably won't be able to do much to protect her
when it comes down to it, but its nice pretending to believe that someone
will stand with you before evil.
She knows what evil is, nearly died because of it, seen those she loves hurt
or bewitched or killed by it.
Passions has nothing on this, yet she continues to watch, because it's a
lifeline she has to cling to. When you know that the world will soon far
apart around you and your life already has, over and over, it becomes easy
to envelope yourself in the world of the Cranes and Lopez-Fitzgeralds, in
Harmony, New England, as town with a nomenclature almost as ridiculous as
Sunnydale.
Xander has developed the nervous habit of slapping people on the back,
something nobody believes is the innocent jovial body language he passes it
off as. Several of the younger girls have given him odd glances, but no one
says anything; no one ever will.
He looses himself in a world of bandsaws, drill presses, and lathes every
day. In the California sun, he can almost forget the uber-vamps and Firsts,
of Chosen Ones and little girls. Almost.
Xander's seen evil, it's been part of his life ever since the "Very suave.
Very not pathetic" start to sophomore year. But until recently, he hasn't
needed to watch his friends for signs of it.
Willow and Kennedy have become nearly inseparable. They cling to each other,
mostly just holding hands or leaning against each other for support, whether
emotional or physical. They need both now; Willow works without rest,
searching every source she can find for information about the First, and
Kennedy has been actively training the other girls ever since Buffy found out
that she'd been honed for this all her life.
Willow knows evil, deep, intimately. She's tasted it, swam in it, reveled in
it. She knows what evil can do, and because of it, she holds on all the
tighter to others.
Kennedy knows evil, intellectually. She's had a lifetime of the Slayer's
Handbook, of memorizing the difference between a lur-ite and a mur-ite demon.
She can easily recite the most prolific killers in history, supernatural or
not, and will tell you exactly where to put pressure when snapping a neck.
But she's never looked into the eyes of evil. She doesn't know that the hand
she's holding has committed unbelievable horrors. She's innocent; for all
her knowledge, she knows nothing.
Anya, for her part, kicks everyone who walks by the sofa, making sure in her
own way that they're still safe. Again, on one complains. They know her
reasons, and some even wish for the freedom to be so open with their own fears.
Anya has touched evil, seen evil, been evil, and has no desire to return to
evil. She's the only one who knows what Willow knows, who feels the
seductive calling that she knows is only just beginning. The evil that Anya
fights is inside of herself - the whispers of the past centuries that come
to her in the middle of the night serve to remind her of her resolve to
fight. If only she knew what to fight, and had the strength to do it.
Giles watches over all of this with careful eyes. He offers no contact
except for a constant hand on Buffy's shoulder. He knows that he should be
doing more, that he's a father to all of them, but for the past few days,
he's devoted himself to his Slayer.
Buffy touches no one. She remembers the time when she freely hugged Willow,
when she would lean on Xander and Giles for support, when she would goof
around with Dawn. Now, she withdraws into herself, pulling a veil of reserve
between herself and others.
She knows that this should disturb her; she also knows that it should disturb
her friends. But they are too wrapped up in their own affairs to think long
on it. After all, they're all preparing for the upcoming fight: the fight
she knows may be her last.
She knows she shouldn't think this way- Slayers die though too much
pessimism, too much optimism, or too little of either. But she's faced the
First before- in the form of a mentor, her mother, and a young girl. She
knows what it is capable of, and at the same time knows that her experiences
have merely scraped the surface of what's to come.
Buffy is intimately acquainted with evil. In her darker moments, she wonders
how much evil is in her. After all, why else would she entertain thoughts of
how easy it would be to let the line of Slayers die out, to end the suffering.
She's tired of being the one to hold the line, the one to whom the burden or
saving the world falls.
She knows that it will happen again. She'll once more have to deal with the
now-cliché apocalypse.
Evil surrounds her, surrounds her home. Its tendrils have worked their way
into every aspect of her life. She's used to it by now, but she tries not to
see it, not to touch it more than necessary.
Evil shadows the Summers residence, advances on it. They all know this;
this is why they touch each other, reaching for the temporary comfort
another's warmth brings.
In these times, the knowledge that the people you live with are real is
all the comfort one needs.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, you made it through the whole thing, so it can't be all that bad.
Please, leave a review, or if you feel so moved, drop me a line at
cimorene42@hotmail.com.