Title: Climb 1/? (B/A, A/Other)
Author: Starla ([email protected], [email protected])
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, and buds own the rights to this stuff.
Distribution: If you have my stuff, take it....Rae, Freda, Cav, LoD.....I can't list them all. I'm lazy. Just take it.
Summary: Buffy goes to Angel, who is living a regular human life, for help. Unless otherwise indicated, Buffy POV
Timeline: Splits off from BtVS at the end of s4, though some s5 events still happened.
Author's Notes: I had a *minor* (MAJOR) dilemma with this fic. It was 3/4 done when all the text just...disappeared. And *yes* I tried clicking undo. So I've written it again. And it isn't as good.
Feedback: I *need* it. With all the stress this fic has put me through, I just want some confirmtion that it was worth it. Please?
Dedication: To bulletproof, for the emotional trauma this fic has been putting her through, Cav, for nudging me along in the beginning, and not being afraid to tell me I suck, and Lisa, for taking up beta duties halfway through. Lub yas.
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Part One
*^*^*
I didn't know how long I'd been standing there. I could feel the wind whipping around me, over me, through my hair, which I'd grown longer and longer until I couldn't stand it anymore. About a month earlier, I'd had it all chopped off, leaving a simple, clear, elegant shoulder length cut. It was more /me/. A warrior's haircut, designed for unimpeded movement and grace, but also the ability to hold up an extra stake. Sounds glamourous, huh?
I bit my lip as I stared at the door. It was cold, but that wasn't why I couldn't move. It wasn't why I was frozen with my hand, curled into a fist, raised halfway to the door. No, not the cold.
Frozen by fear.
That's right. Me,the Slayer, the Chosen One, Champion of Light and Saviour of the World, was frozen in fear by the thought of seeing my former lover.
I was about to do something that I'd promised myself I would never do again.
I was running to Angel for help. Seeking comfort and refuge through him. With him. In him.
It wasn't something I wanted to do, but I'd come to a point where I had no other choice. It had been so long since we'd seen each other... I was bursting with curiousity, longing to know about him and his new life....as a human. Angel, human, it boggled the mind.
In the three years since his sushi...shanshu, whatever, I hadn't seen him, hadn't spoken to him. I'd had no contact with him in five years. I'd wondered about him, of course. Fantasized about his life as a human. I wondered whether he missed me, whether he ever thought about me.
And here's where the earth-shattering, bone-rattling fear came in.
On the flipside of my curiousity, was my dread. I worried that he would turn me away, thus confirming for me, the *end* of *us*.
At least where I stood now, alone and apart from him, but unknowing, I could have my dreams, and almost believe that they were true.
But if he rejected me like that, then there was no going back. Back would be a no-go. I'd be jolted back into the harsh reality of emptiness and loneliness that my life had become. There would be no refuge, and no escape.
As it was, I virtually lived for my work. I rarely socialized outside of the Scooby circle...I hadn't been on a date in more than a year. I spent a lot of time training, still more patrolling. I'd taken to reading all of Giles' books whenever I got a spare moment... I'd even learned French and Latin.
I'd thrown myself into my slaying, and it showed. When I fought now...
I remember being in Faith's body, remember being surprised by how much weaker than mine it was. Faith had maybe a third of my strength. But she knew how to use it. She strove to be the best, to outshine me, and as a result, I never knew the difference.
I'd taken on her fierce determination. I think once you accept that this is it, this is what you are, your purpose, you really *have* to get that motivation going. Because you know that there is so little time for you, and you have to make an impression upon the world before you go, otherwise it will be like you never existed.
In the scheme of things, the Slayer's lifespan is just the blink of an eye, the shot of a gun. You haven't got a lot of time, so you have to spend the time you do have damn wisely.
Whenever I wasn't slaying, I was a receptionist, for a psychiatrist, Dr. Reatine. He was a kindly, fuddling sort of man, who reminded me a little of Wesley in his post-Angel Investigation years. He made me laugh.
When I'd told him that I would be away awhile, he'd looked at me, his kind eyes searching my face, and he'd just said, "Good Luck", as if he could tell how hard this would be for me. I liked that about him.
Now, standing in Conneticut, in front of a red-painted door with shiny brass numbers, I savoured those words of comfort. closing my eyes against the rush of fear, I knocked on the door.
Everything seemed to go in slow motion while I waited for someone to answer. I felt my fisting clenching nervously at my side- in, out. In, Out. In, Out.
I realized that my breathing was coming in the same tense pattern as my fist clenching, and-
Before I could finish my thought, the door opened.
Author: Starla ([email protected], [email protected])
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, and buds own the rights to this stuff.
Distribution: If you have my stuff, take it....Rae, Freda, Cav, LoD.....I can't list them all. I'm lazy. Just take it.
Summary: Buffy goes to Angel, who is living a regular human life, for help. Unless otherwise indicated, Buffy POV
Timeline: Splits off from BtVS at the end of s4, though some s5 events still happened.
Author's Notes: I had a *minor* (MAJOR) dilemma with this fic. It was 3/4 done when all the text just...disappeared. And *yes* I tried clicking undo. So I've written it again. And it isn't as good.
Feedback: I *need* it. With all the stress this fic has put me through, I just want some confirmtion that it was worth it. Please?
Dedication: To bulletproof, for the emotional trauma this fic has been putting her through, Cav, for nudging me along in the beginning, and not being afraid to tell me I suck, and Lisa, for taking up beta duties halfway through. Lub yas.
*^*^*
Part One
*^*^*
I didn't know how long I'd been standing there. I could feel the wind whipping around me, over me, through my hair, which I'd grown longer and longer until I couldn't stand it anymore. About a month earlier, I'd had it all chopped off, leaving a simple, clear, elegant shoulder length cut. It was more /me/. A warrior's haircut, designed for unimpeded movement and grace, but also the ability to hold up an extra stake. Sounds glamourous, huh?
I bit my lip as I stared at the door. It was cold, but that wasn't why I couldn't move. It wasn't why I was frozen with my hand, curled into a fist, raised halfway to the door. No, not the cold.
Frozen by fear.
That's right. Me,the Slayer, the Chosen One, Champion of Light and Saviour of the World, was frozen in fear by the thought of seeing my former lover.
I was about to do something that I'd promised myself I would never do again.
I was running to Angel for help. Seeking comfort and refuge through him. With him. In him.
It wasn't something I wanted to do, but I'd come to a point where I had no other choice. It had been so long since we'd seen each other... I was bursting with curiousity, longing to know about him and his new life....as a human. Angel, human, it boggled the mind.
In the three years since his sushi...shanshu, whatever, I hadn't seen him, hadn't spoken to him. I'd had no contact with him in five years. I'd wondered about him, of course. Fantasized about his life as a human. I wondered whether he missed me, whether he ever thought about me.
And here's where the earth-shattering, bone-rattling fear came in.
On the flipside of my curiousity, was my dread. I worried that he would turn me away, thus confirming for me, the *end* of *us*.
At least where I stood now, alone and apart from him, but unknowing, I could have my dreams, and almost believe that they were true.
But if he rejected me like that, then there was no going back. Back would be a no-go. I'd be jolted back into the harsh reality of emptiness and loneliness that my life had become. There would be no refuge, and no escape.
As it was, I virtually lived for my work. I rarely socialized outside of the Scooby circle...I hadn't been on a date in more than a year. I spent a lot of time training, still more patrolling. I'd taken to reading all of Giles' books whenever I got a spare moment... I'd even learned French and Latin.
I'd thrown myself into my slaying, and it showed. When I fought now...
I remember being in Faith's body, remember being surprised by how much weaker than mine it was. Faith had maybe a third of my strength. But she knew how to use it. She strove to be the best, to outshine me, and as a result, I never knew the difference.
I'd taken on her fierce determination. I think once you accept that this is it, this is what you are, your purpose, you really *have* to get that motivation going. Because you know that there is so little time for you, and you have to make an impression upon the world before you go, otherwise it will be like you never existed.
In the scheme of things, the Slayer's lifespan is just the blink of an eye, the shot of a gun. You haven't got a lot of time, so you have to spend the time you do have damn wisely.
Whenever I wasn't slaying, I was a receptionist, for a psychiatrist, Dr. Reatine. He was a kindly, fuddling sort of man, who reminded me a little of Wesley in his post-Angel Investigation years. He made me laugh.
When I'd told him that I would be away awhile, he'd looked at me, his kind eyes searching my face, and he'd just said, "Good Luck", as if he could tell how hard this would be for me. I liked that about him.
Now, standing in Conneticut, in front of a red-painted door with shiny brass numbers, I savoured those words of comfort. closing my eyes against the rush of fear, I knocked on the door.
Everything seemed to go in slow motion while I waited for someone to answer. I felt my fisting clenching nervously at my side- in, out. In, Out. In, Out.
I realized that my breathing was coming in the same tense pattern as my fist clenching, and-
Before I could finish my thought, the door opened.