"Not Just A Punk Song"
Author: Starla
Email: Starla@Buffymail.com
Notes: This sucks. I'm sorry. It's just - bad. And the emotion isn't
too good, and I didn't really get across what I wanted to say. Whoops.
I walk with purpose, one-two-three-four stride, and when I smash through the doors of that big old hotel, I feel the phantom echoes of that damned infernal music in my blood.
((It's not real - I just want to feel))
I wish it had worked; I wish I could have plundered Spike's mouth and felt it in my veins, but I didn't, and there's not much I can do about that.
I want Spike, I'll admit that; but it's not my body that's starving for sensation.
So, hello, L.A, hello, mate of my soul, so lovely to see you again.
And there he is, pouring coffee into a mug, and shouting instructions to someone in the next room. The instant he feels my presence, he looks up. "Buffy? What are you doing?"
I don't break my stride as I walk right up to him. "Walking through the fire," I tell him, a split second before my lips close over his, and for a moment, it's heaven all over again, spark of recognition, homecoming of the heart.
I kiss him.
I kiss him.
I kiss him.
And, oh, isn't this everything I've needed since I ((arose)) woke in that damn coffin, and scraped my hands bloody on polished oak and rotting silk?
He seems to lose himself in my kiss for a moment, the coffee cup falling to the floor with a smash, forgotten. His arms inch around my waist, and he pulls me closer, closer, his hands biting into my back, gentleness, tenderness, thrown aside in the desperate insanity to just be close to one another.
It's been so long.
I pull away and press my forehead to his, and feel myself really smiling for the first time in god-knows-how-long, and I feel laughter bubbling up inside me, because, hello, life, how I've missed you.
"That's what I call letting it burn," I say, burrowing my face in his neck, feeling this bizarre warmth seeping into my cheeks.
Woah. I think those are tears. Who knew I was still capable of those?
"Buffy," he whispers, his voice thick with confusion and wonder and that rapidly disappearing ache for me. "Buffy."
"All of Sunnydale burst into song," I tell him. "It was this whole big thing."
His eyes are dark as black coffee as he studies me, and his forehead creases. "You're-"
"Alive?"
"I knew you were alive already," he snaps, hating the reminder that I was, at some point, rather blatantly not-alive.
"Really? That makes one of us."
And isn't that true? I've felt dead for as long as I've been re-alive. I felt dead the last time I saw him, and even his kiss wasn't enough to awaken this sleeping beauty, then.
I guess it's all at the surface, this time. I guess, before I came here, I could feel my heart beating, and the fire close to my skin, and just about every part of me waking up again in the face of so much --
Stuff.
There's a lot of stuff in life, have you ever noticed that? In death, there's not much at all. There's warmth, and there's contentment, but there isn't really much *stuff*, and if I had had a proper human consciousness there, I probably would have been bored out of my mind.
It's funny, though. When you're there, there's no need for stuff, or for tangible human company, because you can feel it all, anyway. There's no boredom. There's no uncertainty.
There's too much damn uncertainty in my life.
I snuggle in against Angel's chest, and look down at the coffee, splattered over our shoes, bits of mug stretching from us to almost the other side of the desk. "You spilled your coffee."
"You took me by surprise." I can still hear the bewilderment in his voice.
"I think it's part of my new dramatic, theatrical persona. I'm considering calling her 'Buffionia Del Los Summertos' and giving her a harem of lovers." I smile up at him, feeling young and goofy and chatty, and for a moment, it's like I never knew the taste of heaven at all. "You wanna be one?"
"You're all... happy."
"I wouldn't go that far," I say, and feel my good mood slipping. "Hey! You're swinging my mood!"
"I don't mean to - swing," he objects, "Just - last time you saw me, you were kind of..."
"Icy?" I suggest, and then roll my eyes, "Have I not sufficiently explained the 'Walking Through Fire' thing?"
"That'd be a no," he tells me. "I got lost at 'burst into song'."
I kiss him again, because I can feel myself growing numb once more, and I don't want that.
I'm not stupid; I know Angel can't fix everything. I know that this - me being here, falling into his armsmouthlove, won't make everything okay permanently...
What's got me feeling good is more that I know it's possible that I *can* fix things. I'm giddy at the prospect of not being a lost cause when it comes to human emotion.
"I'll explain it all, sometime," I promise him, with a quick kiss. "So... what's been happening with you?"
"I got another woman pregnant."
See? There goes anger. Wheeee! Go me.
No, wait, there goes anger. "What the hell?" My fingers tighten painfully on his back. "Angel, you're the epitome of the barren wastelands! What do you *MEAN* you got another woman *PREGNANT*??"
"I'm not sure I need to explain the concept of reproduction to you, Buffy."
"In relation to you, you better damn explain it." My lips tremble. "Who is she? Are you..." I feel my stomach bottom out, and for a moment it's like jumping and falling all over again. "In love with her?"
"I'm in love with *you*!" he tells me, horrified, as if he can't fathom that I doubt his devotion. "I- I don't know what I feel about her."
"Who is she?" I repeat, gritting my teeth and my fists and my very soul.
"Darla."
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
"Either you're hallucinating, or they just don't make death like they used to."
"Resurrection."
I pout, "And here I thought I was the only one."
His hand reaches out and smoothes over my hair. "If you don't want to be here, I understand. If you've changed your mind about-"
"Walking through the fire?" I ask. "No, I'm just going to let it burn."
After all, I just gotta find me a song I can stand to sing.
I figure, as long as Angel's nearby - but not doing any vocal back up whatsoever, because I've heard him sing, and it's a thousand times worse than even Willow - I can get him to help me with my melody.
Y'know - as long as I'm in the neighbourhood.
The End