Stay...

For angel_afterlife

Twice in a single day Wesley had asked me if I had wanted him to stay, and twice I had replied with the answer I thought we both wanted to hear. After downstairs, and Charles, I had been so frightened of anything ever remotely resembling alone that the words had come tumbling out with a force I thought I had forgotten. And then, in the part after the alone, but before the together? I had whispered the word 'Stay', when what I really had wanted was for him not to go. And no matter how much that might sound like the same thing...it really isn't.

And then I discovered that intent was secondary, at least to the arms that held me close. Only to then sense my need to be myself, to touch and test the alone I was so afraid of, before reaching out for Wesley's warmth once more. Was he that assured that I would always come back? Was he that brave? Did he trust me...more than I trusted myself? Whatever it was, I burried myself there inside that strength, swearing silently that I would save it to return just as soon as I possibly could. And somewhere in the give and take of it all that was sometimes soft, and sometimes good, and that always made me ache I found something to hold on to. Someone that made me want again. Perhaps one of the best things I had known, in all of my time...not just the past few days. But then that was when I remained still enough to think, something I was still fighting against.


"I missed you." I remembered saying that after one moment, but before the next. I used to thrill in the double meaning of words...to love the different sides of things. But this just wasn't the kind of missing that came from much to little too late. This was an over my head, passing in the darkness, painful kind of regret that came from being that last to see. How had I missed Wesley, and for so long? I knew that my hands were eager, and worked to fill in my eyes' failings with determined touch. It was good, tender...overcompensation. Until it became something else again. Until it returned to the part where it didn't matter.

Just before we fell asleep, I caught one last look at the stars and remembered working to just look, and not worry on the seeing. Wesley's arms were wrapped tightly around me, and I could feel his breath warm and solid, gliding through my hair. I don't think that it was accident that somehow he had placed himself firmly between me and the rest of the hotel. After all, it wasn't the sky that hurt...but what was downstairs. That was when I finally cried a little, the tears just as silent as I knew they would be. The feeling behind them was different, and not unwanted, but the wetness was still there.

I didn't want to be this weak again. I wasn't sure if I could get through it. Not when suddenly...hopefully? Not when it might not be just me. When I woke up I wasn't suprised to find that I had shifted in my sleep, I had never been one to stay in one place. But I was startled to find my face burried in Wesley's chest, and to feel, more than hear, the beat of his heart. Arms and legs were unsettled things, often opinionated on where they rested. Finding that place face to face, where sleep was welcome and allowed had always seemed to me a rare occurance. It took work and knowing...and certain amounts of time. And yet we had stumbled upon it without even a thought.

I felt myself smiling...really smiling, and was caught up in the strangness of it. I think I might have touched my own mouth if it hadn't meant waking Wesley. So...I didn't. But I couldn't go back to sleep either. If I could wake up, then he could do the same just as easily. He could wake up, and get dressed, and leave. Wesley could go downstairs with the simple intention of facing the day...and all I could think was that I couldn't face being left alone.

I don't know how he got through that part.


And yet here I was, silently working and shifting from my bed, ready to do just such a thing to him...again. And maybe it wouldn't be like that for Wesley, maybe it wouldn't feel that way. Maybe it was just my own silly fears, the ones that were louder than the dark. I didn't want to leave without a word, but for some reason waking him didn't up feel like an option either. He just looked so...peaceful. I considered a placeholder of some kind, and for a moment my eyes moved over to Fiegenbaum, his back still turned to the bed. But it seemed rather juivenile an ill-fitting, so instead I leaned down to press my lips first to the exposed hollow of Wesley's shoulder, and then briefly to his mouth. In the time I had gotten dressed Wesley had turned slightly in his sleep, making the embrace unfairly easy for my part. "I missed you," I whispered once more, hoping there was enough awake behind his eyes that Wesley might remember the words. That wasn't just a placeholder...that was my place.

Slipping out into the hallway I slowly made my way down to the lobby, and then to the kitchen. It was suprisingly quiet, especially compared to the day before. I shuddered...trying not to compare it at all. Finding solace in action, I set about to making breakfast, my eyes constantly seeking the door. The results were more than even I could ever eat...more than everyone here could possibly eat.


But at least it kept me busy.

((open to anyone))

TM Application?

What's more important - self preservation or forgiveness?



It's funny, before really thinking about this I was so sure I knew the answer. After all all in did in Pylea was self persevere...or at least mostly that was all I did. There were a few other moments in there, carved out just for me, when there was a me to remember. I could spend hours pulling the littlest things together -- a bit of stone rubbed just the right way, some tree shaped like the one in my folk's backyard, or climbing into the deepest, quietest part of the cave just so I could make it not anymore. So that I could scream and yell and cry, and hear my voice the way it used to be. Only then I would realize that if other people can't hear, it doesn't make things quite the same.


But I got through it. Got through it long enough to get out, anyways. I know it isn't the same thing...not like me getting away on my own would be. But for the longest time that was as strong as it got on the inside, and it seemed to see me through. It was self-preservation, in the just enough way.

I just can't shake this association with self and selfish though. The portal, and Pylea, and the part afterwards where I pulled myself up was all about me. I'm not ashamed of that, it's what the situation needed. Something close to Ptolemy I guess, a well intended and thoughtful theory...but still a little of. After all, I'm not the center of things any more than the earth is, or will ever be.

Forgiveness is another matter. If self-preservation is for me, then the forgiveness is for them. A gal can forgive herself easily enough, though I think most people spend more time than not putting of such weighty thoughts. No, when I think of forgiveness...all I can think is what we allow ourselves to give to others. To give back what we have taken away in harsh words, and quick judgements...and false theories. To let go, and then to be heard.

Just like the screams in the cave, it doesn't mean nearly so much if noone else knows. It you don't tell them what you feel. And I guess that's why forgiveness is so much more important than self preservation. I had to persevere alone, but forgiveness...can be shared.






What is your weapon of choice?

My choice? My personal choice? Not just what chooses me because that is what is willing to work? That could maybe be one of the easiest questions I have ever had to answer.

A sword.


A big, broad, sparkling in the sun, hard and heavy to lift...you know you are making a difference sword. It would have to be sharp of course, and maybe carried by generations other than me. It could have already told a dozen stories or more, and I would only be adding to its legacy. Or it could be Angel's, or Cordy's, and then mine because I was there when it was needed, and I was able to help. And it would make me strong, because I couldn't be anything else to take it into my care. It would make me proud...and less afraid.

Of course that is anything but me, and when the time comes to fight more often than not I have the crossbow. It makes sense I suppose. I can attack from a distance, it is easier to carry, and when the time comes and I run out things to load it with it is a good enough excuse for everyone to shush me out of the way. To keep me safe, because they are afraid I can't do a thing like that on my own.

It happens a lot you know...and then I am pushed back and in the shadows, with nothing to do but watch.

And wish for a sword of my own.



What would you place in a personal ad if you were making one?


Well I wouldn't worry on word count for one. I would think placing a personal ad would be stressful enough without counting each and every idea that leaves your head, breaking it down into financially accountable segments. I would just accept that I would have to spend a bit if money, and that would be that. Besides, I would much rather tell to much of the story...than let too much of it go. Because sometimes when you leave things behind don't get them back.

As for the actual words I am so willing to pay for? I don't even know what I should call myself...

A recent reissue to the LA area? A Southern import? A bit too much of a lover of books and ideas? Curious, and looking to see what else there is out there? I am sort of glad I'm not doing this, because I don't even have the slightest idea how to start. Is it strange that as much as I can't seem to land on who or what I am, I do know what I want?

I like...hands. Warm, strong hands that are just rough enough on the edges to grab something and actually hold onto it. I like a him who will go to concerts with me, because the music always sounds better live. I like a someone who grew up around encyclopedias, and appreciates the way that each page can have its own feel and smell...depending on what's written on it. They don't have to love their family, but they do have to be ok that I adore mine. And I want someone who can laugh, and be able to share that laughter.

We don't have to hold each other at night, but we still have to touch.

And now all of this sounds just as vague and uncertain as when I was trying to desbribe myself. I think it is better to wait then, for whatever someone I would be looking for to collide with me. Or at least walk by so that I can get a feel for their hands, and hear their laughter. I'm sure the knowing would come easier then.

The more I think about it, the more I am a glad this is an excerise in the hypothetical, and not an actuallity.