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Making Amends

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[30 Jan 2005|10:31pm]

With the possibility of meeting the Slayer so easily, I have to say, I was quite overjoyed.
Avoiding physical contant, however, was the hard part.
That's the bad thing about choosing a lover.
But, then again, we all end up like that sometime, don't we?

I kept my malicious grin to myself as we got a cab and departed for 'home'. We made small talk, and I did my best to ignore everything she said, except for the parts about 'Slayers'. That seems to be the only object of my..
quote-unquote 'affection' these days.

My mind was scheming with ideas, all with little unplanned variables that could easily put a wrench in the works.
But, right now, none of those mattered.
What matters now is keeping your identity to yourself until the time is right, and playing all your cards, without making any bets.

We turned a corner in the ride that was seeming endless..

((Sorry if Willow-mun is upset about my small usage of her character to move along the plottiness and make a post!
If she is, I'll just change it.))
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[London] -- from the diaries of Rupert Giles [29 Jan 2005|04:38pm]

[ mood | thoughtful ]

Two days after Willow left, I returned to London. I didn't plan on going back so soon -- in truth, I'm not sure I intended to go back at all. A telephone call changed my plans, and my intentions, in the space of a few minutes.

As a sort of "Watcher Emeritus," I have an office at the Council's London office, even if I don't have many real, official "duties" there. I'm responsible for editing and preparing for distribution the diaries I kept as Buffy's Watcher -- suitably edited, of course. There are personal matters in my journals, written up at the time, that don't touch upon Slaying, or Watching, and I would never dream of including in them final, revised version.

That was my intention, at least. The Watchers' Council is running on an undercurrent of shocked helplessness, although most people try to maintain some semblence of normality. A series of seismic shifts have started to occur, and at present, there isn't any end in sight.

It started with reports from the far corners of the world, or, rather, a lack of them. A number of potential Slayers, and their Watchers went unaccounted for when the Watchers' reports to their nearest field office were uncommonly late in arriving. What seemed like simple carelessness in the hinterlands turned out to be something far more sinister, when matters were investigated.

Potential Slayers, and their Watchers, are being systematically murdered by person or persons unknown at the present time.

The Council's illusion of control is being severely eroded with each new death reported from the field, but the final straw, for me, was hearing about Faith being attacked while in prison. Faith survived the attack, but pre-empted the possibility of future attacks in situ by escaping from custody, and becoming a fugitive. A rash solution, granted, but not an entirely uneasonable one, under the circumstances.

I picked up the telephone and started dialling. Even if I wanted to do, there was no way I could avoid ringing Buffy any longer.

[Open to: anyone in Sunnydale who might pick up the telephone at the Summers' house]

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[23 Jan 2005|11:25pm]

After a...not so restful night, I was glad when it finally started to get lighter outside. I'd spend most of the night packing things. Why waste time when you've nothing else to do anyway. Wasted some time on the internet, looking up things that might indicate what we're up against. But I couldn't find anything new. I was tempted to send an e-mail to Willow, but it was such an old address, that I wasn't even certain if it was the right one. Besides, it's not as if we're really old friends and I had no idea what to say. It's odd how we seem to loose touch with Sunnydale unless there's an apocalypse looming around the corner. And vice versa.

I think Faith had that dream again several times during the night. But I wasn't certain. Everytime I went to check on her, she was sleeping and not trashing around on the bed. Which was good, since that would give her wound time to heal. I've very little doubt that stab wound is as good as healed by the time she gets up. Bringing up my hand, I rub it over the scar on my throat. Certainly could've used some of that healing when Justine slit my throat.

So, we're both going to Sunnydale. And we're both looking so very much forward to it. Only not really. The place where both our downfalls began. Hers was a bit faster then my own, granted, but that's where it's all started. That's where the better Slayer and the better Watcher were. The better team, the number one team. While Faith and I were never good enough. Couldn't even come close to being second best. Laughed at, mocked, ridiculed. Can you tell how much I'm looking forward to going there?

But like Faith said. I've nothing better to do. And it was something in her eyes that made me say yes when she asked me to come along. I'm not certain, but I think she's actually afraid to go there. She'll never admit it of course, but she is. Can't say I blame her for that. Though I myself find that I don't really care. It would seem I don't care about much these days. And since no one really needs me here, and I don't have a lot of money for my daily drunken binges, I might as well tag along.

Sipping some morning tea, I lean against the wall and stare out the window. The world is starting to wake up. And when Faith wakes up, we'll have some breakfast and then we'll have the joy of driving over to Sunnydale to tell them the good news. I'm sure they'll be so happy to see me again. Hell. I'm sure they'll be *thrilled* to see Faith again, who should be in jail.

(Open for Faith. Obviously)
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[20 Jan 2005|11:20pm]

[ mood | bored ]

You know, I'd say it's been quiet here in Sunnydale if I didn't already know that I'd be jinxing life here. Oh, wait, what do I care? See, cuz the Slayer can just go handle it with her best buddies and the man-whore Xander.

Xander. Damn. I mentioned him again. That's another mai tai that I owe Hallie. Great. But, come on, a girl doesn't just get over being left at the altar - never mind. Moving on. Moving on, yes. Like, to money. Money is of the good. Right? Yes. So I've been busy at the Magic Box, what with Giles finally gone and over in the Mother Country. About time! I mean, he was dallying around here forever and, wait. Where was I?

Right. The money. So business has been semi-booming at the shop. Nothing too unusual sold, which is good. Although, I mean, some of the really freaky stuff you can find on Ebay now. Which is sort of creepy, knowing that some psycho across the globe could be packaging and selling the next apocalypse. But, hey, no skin off the back of the newly ex-ex-demon, right?

So, how goes the vengeance biz, Anya? Right, no one ever asks. At least Buffy and Dawn still talk to me. They sort of have to, seeing as I'm the owner (sole proprietor, thank you!) of the Magic Box now. And Xander? (Damn, another mai tai!) Yeah, well, he's around. We sort of...co-exist. Anyway, they should be back from meeting Willow anytime. And I'm sure they'll come around here to fill her in on all the weird happenings around Sunnydale.

And maybe someone else knows about Angelus. You know, he of the tight leather pants? Though the leather pants are nowhere in sight. Yet. And it is cause for concern. Wonder if D'Hoffryn knows yet. Just because I'm all vengeance-having again doesn't mean I'm completely morally bankrupt. Well, okay. Morals are boring. It's just usually, when Angelus is around, he tries to end the world. Which is not good for business. Vengeance or capitalistic. *sigh* We'll see.

Think I'll go count some money. Am bored.

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First post.. [19 Jan 2005|10:09pm]

"You know.. it's strange.." I said, my girly voice slightly annoying, "How much a person can brighten up and believe the dumbest thing... without examining all the angles?"
I sighed to myself.
Practice, practice, practice.. makes you look like a Witches dead girlfriend.

I guess I had nothing to go on.. except I did. She's so simple.
So girly. So.. good...

I hate it.

I can't stand it! Argh. Oh well.
Good things come to those who wait.. I allowed myself an evil grin.

"Oh good," I said, shoving people out of the way. "Here comes the plane."
I wanted to be the first thing she saw. The first.. and the last.

Oh yeah! That comes later. Hopefully after li'l miss Slayer and all her goody-too-shoes buddies come begging to my feet, heads detached from their bodies.

Oh.. the possibilities.

I allowed myself a small wave and a shy smile as the one I'd been looking for came off the plane.

((Open for Willow..I hope I did good at this!))
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[19 Jan 2005|03:05pm]

[ mood | scared ]

I've been working with Giles for the past few months to control my power. It really has been great of him to do this for me even after... well... what I did. I can't help but think that inside his head he considers me a murderer. Well, I am, so maybe that would make sense. I'm really hoping I can make amends with everyone when I get back. But I have to say, England was absolutely gorgeous. It was really nice to get out of Sunnydale and reflect on everything. Giles also taught me about my power; things that I did not even know. The power lies in me. I can't get rid of it, but Giles taught me to control it.

I am on my way home to Sunnydale, and I am very nervous about confronting my friends, especially Xander. I still can't believe how I let my power get so out of control that I both physically and emotionally hurt my friends. Giles has also taught me about self-forgiveness, but I'm not sure that I actually can completely. Making eye contact with them for the first time will be difficult. But Xander pretty much risked his life to tell me that he loved me. Now that takes courage. But the whole after-effect scares me. Maybe he thought about it and changed his mind about how he felt? Maybe he hates me? And Buffy. I'm so scared of facing Buffy.

Now Dawn always looked up to me. I ruined that "role model" type figure I thought I was, or should have been. I probably hurt her too.

But one of my biggest fears is going back home and not having Tara there. I'm going back to all the memories. In England, it was a bit easier because I had nothing to remind me of her. Now I will pass the shops we went to, place we ate at, and rooms we were together in. I know people are going to bring it up and ask about it. Especially aquaintences who don't know the situation. It's been a little while since her death, but I've been so focused on keeping my powers under control I haven't been through the grieving process. And I don't want anyone to comfort me because I feel like I don't deserve it.

Well, here it goes. The plane will be arriving soon.

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All the things I should have said to you [17 Jan 2005|05:04am]

My feet slipped over the dewy grass as I ran, I didn't even know how far or how fast but it was never far or fast enough. They always caught one, always. Just as I saved my own skin, another girl went down. Cold hands pressing her into the grass, the silver glint of a blade shining in the moonlight. I didn't know how I could still be propelling myself forward so fast and still somewhere in my mind's eye I was still stuck with that one girl. Fear flashing across wide eyes, panic forcing blood to rush and her heart rate to quicken. Then it was over in one fell swoop, a pale hand splayed across the grass for the rest of us to see.

My eyes opened with a start, and I gasped in a breath as I looked around the room. I wasn't running, I wasn't even outside. I was still in Wesley's apartment, in his bed, in his clothes. My fingers strayed beneath the covers, and ran over the jagged edge of the stitches that were holdin' my skin in place. I could feel that the skin had already started to heal and mend itself back together. Gotta love that slayer healing, already felt way better than I had before.

Throwin' the covers off, I pulled up the pale blue button down shirt and examined the pale flesh underneath. Black thread lacing itself down my side where those fuckers had stabbed me. Oh yeah, definitely gonna have a big scar from that one. At least now I matched. My fingers brushed the scar on my abdomen softly, that one scar that just wouldn't go away. The one that had sent me into a coma for eight months.

Seriously, I'm startin' to think I'm like a cat or something. Gotta have nine lives maybe, or maybe I'm just the luckiest chick ever. Naw, that couldn't be right- my luck always ran short except twice. The first time when that garbage truck passed under my apartment after B stabbed me in the gut with my own knife. The second time? When Wesley showed up to drop in for a visit to his favorite ex-psycho slayer.

I didn't wanna be, but I couldn't help it. Seemed all kinds of suspiscious that Wes of all people would show up on the one day that demons decide to attack me in prison. I felt wicked guilty feelin' that way, mostly cause all of my feelings about Wes were centered around guilt. And also? Cause I knew if it wasn't for Wes, I'd probably be dead. If not the first time when the lame council of watchers asked him for his help, definitely this time if he hadn't stitched me back up. Christ, I was wearin' his shirt and sleeping in his bed. Well...not anymore. I didn't know what I was gonna do next, but this? It had to stop. Mostly cause, I just felt so fucking guilty I couldn't stand it. I'd hidden away from all of this for so long it was like a bitchslap right in the face, ya know? These things...I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with them. Seemed like they were ready to deal with me though. Got the stab wound to prove it.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I wrinkled my nose at how pasty pale they were. It wasn't very often I got to examine my own flesh in the last few years. Mostly it was other chicks tryin' to examine my flesh and really? I wasn't down with that. In prison you fall in line, you're either someone's bitch or you had bitches. Well, I might have been a bitch but I wasn't anyone's damn bitch. Pretty much the reason why every chick in the joint wanted to throw down with me. Tried to stay all zen about it though- at least until Wes showed up just in time for my untimely release. Nothin' about bein' here felt zen or anything close to it. So what if I had some free time and read some of those new age books in the library while I was doin' my time. Nothin' wrong with expanding your horizons or whatever.

Standing up I walked out of the bedroom and idly down the hall. It wasn't long until I found Wesley sitting at the kitchen table with a tea cup in his hand and a book in front of his nose.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Ain't that the truth.

"Hey." I said hoarsely, looking around in his kitchen. Wondered if he had any pop-tarts. I hadn't had pop-tarts in like forever, or maybe the crunchy cereal with the marshmellows.
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[13 Jan 2005|07:02pm]

It's dark down here, down here in the dark,
rip-a-rip-lo and a hey nonny nay.

I shiver. It's cold. Cold all over. My flesh was always cold though, wasn't it? Well, not always; for a few short years I was warm. I was a man. Now the only life I have is what I've sucked from others, taking their sweet pulsing force between my teeth and my tongue, scraping away until they're empty bottles.

The dead are stacked up around me. I can't see them all the time, but I know they're there. Hundreds of them, wall to wall in this basement. And they're all cold, like me.

Cold except for this spark in my chest. I can almost see it if I press my hand to my heart; a light seems to shine through. A burning light. A hungry light. A light that wants to eat me up.

And in the darkness, whispers.

Sometimes it's my mother.
"You're so tender, William. Tender like a little lamb just before it's speared to death and served up for dinner." Her smile was wolfish. "Drusilla should just have fed on you and left you in the gutter. Oh, don't cry, my darling," she said softly, almost tenderly. "You know it's true, don't you?"
I nodded. She was right. Mother was always right.
"You couldn't keep me, so you killed me. That's right, isn't it?"
No, no, it wasn't... I just wanted to love...

I killed the things I loved.

I let them die, it was the same thing. Kill, neglect, one and the same, like my neglect of her, Dawn. Her shining blood on my hands, in my nostrils, on her dress.

"She looked lovely, didn't she?" said Mother. "Good enough to eat."
"Shut up!"
"You couldn't even save the girl you loved."

"You let me die, Spike."
She stared at me.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
"Sorry? You think sorry is enough? I had to kill myself and you're sorry!" She laughed.

"You're pathetic," she said.
"You're pathetic," Mother said.

And then there was another voice in the room, one that was familiar. Hated. Strong.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

((Open for FE:Glory))
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from the diaries of Rupert Giles [09 Jan 2005|03:15am]

[ mood | restless ]

Alchemy once blended base metals into golden
Now what once was gold is transmuted into stone
Into lead and stone...
It seems too quiet, now Willow's gone again.

I suppose this is what they mean by "empty nest syndrome." There were times in the past six years when I coveted my privacy and my secrets like a miser, hoarding them away in places I fervently hoped would remain undiscovered. Now I do have privacy, and what's left of my secrets, and it all seems like fool's gold, to me. I'm bored. I want something to happen. But, as it has been said: "be careful what you wish for."

Read more...Collapse )

Yes, the coven in Devon was a not so clever subterfuge on my part, but I don't believe (I hope) Willow never realised that. She already paid heavily enough after shutting Amy Madison out of her life to listen to my problems.
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It's been awhile... [08 Jan 2005|05:07pm]

[ mood | cynical ]

Being cast out isn't as great as people make it out to be. I don't feel like a rebel. Nor should I feel like one, I suppose. I feel guilty, my mistake destroyed a lot of lives. Even when I think I'm doing the right thing, I end up doing the wrong thing. And yes, I feel hurt. Hurt because my friends, my chosen family didn't even ask my side of the story. They all assumed and lined up right behind Angel. And in an ironic way I can understand even that. But it still hurts. The mistake I made hurts even more.

Which is why I'm currently on my way to the Woman State Penitentiary I suppose. To look into another mistake I made. Not that Faith is a mistake, but I've made a lot of mistakes when it comes to her. I never saw them of course, especially not after she tortured me for hours on end. But Angel was right for once there. It was a cry of help. And she accepted it when someone reached out to give her that help. And that someone wasn't me. Back then I was unable to look beyond how much she had hurt me, to see how much I had hurt her.

There's nothing like crawling into a bottle day after day to open ones eyes. And as relaxing as it is to explore the bottom of whiskey bottles, it gets tedious after a while.

So, here I am on my way to see Faith. She was brave enough to step onto the rocky road called redemption. Stupid word, 'redemption'. Can anyone truly achieve that? I guess I'm going to fine out, since I'm find myself the road to such an achievement. I want to see how she's doing, how she's managing. Because if Faith can do it, then there is hope for me. Right? One can hope. I'm ashamed to admit I've not visited her since that night in the rain. At first I didn't want to, didn't care. Then I though I was probably the last person she wanted to see. She had Angel. Makes me wonder who long it has been since he's visited her.

As I park the car into the parking lot, I notice there aren't many other cars around. The path to making amends in prison is most certainly a lonely one. I lock the car and start toward the gates. I don't know why, but I've a feeling I'm being...watched. Narrowing my eyes I glance around, my hand hovering on the gun hidden in its special holster on the small of my back. There's nothing or no one of course. Maybe I'm just being paranoid. That would always be a possibility.

Getting into the prison and more importantly, into the visiting area is disturbingly easy. All I have to do is state my name, who I wish to visit and walk through some detecting gate. Then again, they probably don't know about demons. Or weapons made by demons, which detecting machines won't catch. I'm glad to see the vast amount of money I've payed for this gun and holster are indeed paying off. And I still have this feeling of being...monitered. Odd.

Shrugging, I sit down in the plastic, sterile chair. Glancing around while I wait for Faith to show up. If she shows up, that is. Wouldn't that be ironic as well. Being cast out by the cast out.

(Open for the Faithness)

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[06 Jan 2005|07:47pm]

It had been hot in the desert, hot and dry and I could feel the sun even though I was in the night. The sun constantly waiting, like a predator, to gnaw away my skin and bones and eat me up. Maybe I wanted it. The end, the nothing. Better than the pain. She made me weak, the bitch, first by making me love her, then by dying, then by coming back. I spilt buckets of salt over her. Salt and water. As if I could wash her from my eyes. But I couldn't. And I tried to -

I tried to -

I wanted to be a better man. The kind of man who wouldn't. Not her. Never her. I thought it would be easy. Bring it back, the man, inside me. Grow a conscience. But -

It's in me all the time. The spark. I can feel it burn against my ribs. It sizzles every time I move, and... Yes. The pain. I never thought it would be like this. All these people whispering in my ears, reminding me of what I've done.

I'm back here, where it all began, where she is, but I'm too scared to find her. So I crouch alone in the dark, and listen to the whispers. Feel my cold heart be burnt through with this spark.

I want to rest.
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