FIC: Everything Fades In Time (1/1)

[Kimber <kacoe@xxxxxxx>]

TITLE: Everything Fades In Time (1/1)
AUTHOR: Kimber (kacoe@xxxxxxx)
DISCLAIMER: All BTVS characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
SUMMARY: A very dark piece. Willow runs into an old friend.
SPOILERS: none
DISTRIBUTION: The usual suspects. Anyone else, e-mail me please.
AUTHOR?S NOTES: This is probably the darkest piece I've ever done. It's about as far
away as I've ever gotten from my usual writing style and feedback would be greatly
appreciated.

-----------

Had you asked me five years ago why I was here ? I wouldn't have answered you. " I " in
the sense of me, who I am now and what I've become.

This is every bar in every town in every state in every frickin country in the whole wide
world. There's bad wood paneling on the walls, a dart board in the back, two pool tables
and a jukebox that plays music from an era I never lived in ? and some people just want to
forget.

The stench of stale beer and staler cigarettes hangs in the air like some oppressive
prison guard just daring you to breath so he can reach down your throat and squeeze your
lungs till you choke ? or just don't care anymore.

I'm nursing my whiskey that stopped tasting like whiskey and more like shoe leather a few
glasses ago. There's another woman at the end of the bar and she's got that look. The
look of despair and terror and fear and disgust and 'bartender ? set me up again', echo's
through my ears and I know. I know. I know. The tilt of her head, the straightness in
her back and the draw of her breath ? I know it all.

And I drink down my shoe leather to try and forget.

Diving back, back, backward in time to a place like this only not. Replace the jukebox
with a band, and the smell of beer and cigarettes with the scent of little boys trying to
get into pretty girls pants ? Replace the feeling of depression with sexual tension and
you're there and God damn what a glorious time my youth was. Misspent and misused and
wasted and worn down and she looks over and my heart is in my ears and she say, 'Hey, it's
been a while.'

And my world just crashes down to the sea like a frickin plane with one wing. I'm
spiraling out of control. Damn her beauty and grace and to hell with those eyes that bore
right through me and I say, 'yeah. It has.' I swallow down the words "fucking coward"
like I did the shoe leather. Sometimes my inner voice really pisses me off.

Her eyes are on me, through me in me like a God damn drill and I can hear the whirring
behind my eyebrows and feel the screwing up and down my spine and she's about to speak ?
but stops ? and just smiles that Goddamn smile I got lost in such a long time ago. It's
my shit luck the map I made to get outta that smile is probably in a dump somewhere under
a dirty diaper and a discarded newspaper and I sigh and think to myself, "Ain't life a
bitch."

'You hungry?' she says and I laugh to myself. Christ, hungry for what? Life, love and
the pursuit of some sort of socially acceptable happiness? Hungry for you and those
cupids bow lips I used to have wet dreams about and your skin that must be as smooth as
silk and I'm damned again when I can't tear myself away from that smile. I shrug
noncommittally and say, 'sure'.

"Fucking coward."

So we're headed down the street and fall in step like old times ? her on the right and me
on the left. Isn't that just the way life goes sometimes? She's the beautiful right to
my awkward left, the blonde perfection to my red nightmare and everything that's cool and
Chosen and so right in the world. She's everything I'm not.

'You coming?'

I'm broken from my inner banter by her smile and her perfect blonde head cocked to the
side looking at me quizzically. Off in dreamland again while she's tryin' to steer me
'round the curves. I turn and nod like one of those toy dogs you see in people's cars and
follow her in.

A waitress takes down the order we're placing from the greasy menus that have probably
seen better days. She's got that far off look in her eye and I know all too well what
she's thinking; "Anywhere but here,". Right on sister. She nods and heads off to the
kitchen like the trained dog she was never meant to be and I wonder if the coffee will be
good cause the atmosphere is lacking and company, well, the company used to be my world.
Isn't it funny how everything seems to shrivel in time?

'How have you been?' she finally asks with that same smile plastered on as her perfect
pink nails curl around the coffee cup that's just arrived.

'Guess I've been better but I really can't complain.' Is my reply. I could complain but
what would be the use? She'd give me a sympathetic smile and nod in all the right
places. I can't believe people get paid to do that shit. Nod and smile, nod and smile.
Smile, nod and frown just for a change of pace.

'What brings you here?' I ask. From the slight change that moves across her face I know
what it is before she even gets a chance to answer.

'Nest. Not too far from here. Thought I'd wait till the sun was high and burn them out'

Christ, how sadistic is that? Burn the undead bastards outta their home without a
warning. Reminds me of someone else but not her. Someone else that could ignite my blood
and make my feel alive. If I ever said that out loud I'd probably drop dead on the spot.
I was never one for admitting my desires nor acting on them. "Fucking coward" my inner
voice chimes in. I smirk. It's right.

She sees the look on my face and know I know it's, 'Faith taught me that. The element of
surprise. Never let them see you coming.' She smiles when I nod my head in expected
recognition of the sociopath bitch that tried to gut me like a fish.

Isn't it funny how you never forget some things? I remember the smell of the knife she
held to my throat. It smelled like warm metal and the scent was mixed in with blood from
a cut on my head, warm musty books her sweat and vanilla. She had the nerve to wear
something as sweet smelling as vanilla on a night when I almost got gutted like a fish.
The nerve of some people.

'Come with me.' Rolls off her tongue and out of her mouth as if it's an invitation to some
exclusive Hollywood party. I look up at her like she has two heads and I'm desperately
trying to ignore the third and she has all the guts and gall and nerve to say it again and
make it familiar this time. 'Come with me, Will,' she pleads.

I nod my head like that damn plastic dog again and my inner voice kicks its feet up onto
its desk with a wry smile and says "You'll *always* be a fucking coward."

We pay for the coffee, splitting the bill as always and on the way out I smile at waitress
no-name and whisper 'Anywhere but here'. She nods in understanding. Then the bell calls
her back to the kitchen like the trained dog she was probably always meant to be.

The nest is close and I realize that it's about four blocks from my apartment. The damned
are everywhere and no where, I guess. She pushes though the makeshift door like a bullet
out of the barrel of a gun and I notice two things.

The first is that she was actually looking forward to this. . .I'll be damned. Well, not
really. It shouldn't surprise me that there's a Slayer who has a lust for blood. Or
would that be dust?

The second is that the attack, the barging though the door much in the style of John
Wayne, the look in her eyes and the way she plays with them before burying the stake in
their pathetic polyester shirts. I feel the wool being pulled away from my eyes and I
finally see. . .she actually enjoys this. I watch her dust the last two stragglers and
there's a glint in her eye I haven't ever seen before. It must be the thrill of the
Slaying, the adrenaline rushing though her body and the hot blood pumping in her veins.

She saunters over towards me and she's breathing a little heavy and she says, 'Nothin like
a good slay.' And smiles that damn smile again.

'I'll bet,' I reply with a bit of sarcasm and a whole lot of "not interested".

She looks though me and sees something. 'What happened to you?' She asks.

'You're kidding right?' Is all the lameness I can come up with. Damn her for twisting my
tongue into knots that boy scouts would be proud of.

'Will'

'Don't!' I warn her a little loudly and a whole lot pissed off. She has to do this now
after five years? She couldn't have done it two years ago, or three or four or. . .I feel
her hands on my shoulders and I give her a look that tries to convey the disgust and
desire I feel all at once. I think she gets the message cause she backs off a few paces.
I mentally give my inner voice a dirty look and say "Who's the fucking coward now?"

It doesn't respond.

We're walking now like nothing happened. I shouldn't have expected any less but a little
more than this had crossed my mind. She just lets it go Just. Like. Everything. Else.
We're turning now away from the planned route and I stop in my tracks. This was not what
I was expecting. Not at all.

'What?' she turns to me with the confusion squarely planted in the irises of her eyes.
She still doesn't get it after all this time.

'I think we're done here.' I say with not enough conviction and way too much emotion in
my eyes. Damn her.

She walks up to me determinately all fire and brimstone streaming off of her expression.
'We've only just begun.'

There's something there I never noticed before. Desire. I'll be damned yet again. If I
had a dollar for every time she damned me into this little box filled with unchecked
emotion and yearning and fantasy's and well, there goes that train of thought. I get
derailed by her impatience and her hand firmly grabbing mine and yanking me into a house.
I was about point out the fact that we were breaking and entering when I notice
something. A picture of the gang in the hallway. She had this planned all along.

'Damn it, Will.' She hisses out. And there it is. Anger, seething hatred, love,
confusion and remorse all balled up and constricted and tied into. . .Three. Little.
Words.

'Damn you,' I say. 'Damn you and your self righteousness and your self pity and your
running away. Look at yourself before you go condemning me to even more hell than I'm
already in.'

She grabs me and shakes me. Hard. As if shaking me would get rid of all the. .
.everything. Get rid of all the everything. I feel the walls crumble just a little bit
and my resolve weakens. She's the only one. The only one who can do this to me and my
convictions and beliefs and the walls I worked for five long years to build. Brick by
brick by brick by. . .

Her hands are in my hair now and she's a breath away. Her forehead presses against mine
and I can feel her hot breath caress my cheeks and it cools the burning tears that began
to roll down my cheeks God knows when. I grab onto her biceps for fear of falling,
tumbling, soaring into those eyes that melt my resolve every time. Those eyes that are
trying to bore into mine. I know because I can feel them through my eyelids.

'Will,' she breaths out like some sort of desperate prayer to some God who stopped
listening so long ago. 'Don't shut me out.' Her hands travel out of my hair and down to
my cheeks and her thumbs are caressing away the tears that I've shed. I want to tell her
it's useless and that she's just making a path for more to come but it's of no use now.
Nothing is.

'Aren't you sick and tired of being sick and tired?' She whispers out. The words almost
fall away before reaching my ears. Almost. I know what she means all too well. Tired of
waking up feeling like you're living in someone else's skin. Sick of walking down the
street and being just another helpless hopeless face in the crowd. There was a time when
I was someone, when my life meant something but now. . .Now it's slipped away with the
years and the words that were never spoken and the promises we never kept. . .she never
kept. . . still ring hollow in my mind. 'I'm tired of the lies. Five years of lies and
I'm finally done with it all.' She whispers just before tilting her head, 'but not done
with you,' and pressing her lips against mine with a passion I thought trickled out of her
such a long, long time ago, 'Never done with you.'

I finally screw up the courage from deep down inside of myself to look at her and I see
she is crying too. Buffy was always good for some tears but now they're streaming down
her face like there's an endless supply behind those big hazel eyes. My hands get a mind
of their own and now it's me wiping away the wetness from under her eyes knowing that
there will be more. So. Much. More. And yes, her skin is just as silky as I imagined
it.

I realize all at once or maybe not even at all exactly what we're doing and how I'm
touching her and there's a faint tingle still on my lips from where she pressed hers to
mine and I back off.

'Now who's running away?' She bites out angrily.

'I. . .,' the words fall away. There's really not much I can say at this point to help
or hurt the situation any. I drop my head and grab for the table to steady my legs that
have suddenly taken on the consistency of jell-o. 'It doesn't matter,' I say in
resignation. 'Nothing much matters anymore.'

My inner voice does a little jig and grins manically at the fact that once more, one more
time in one more little significant way I turn out to be exactly what it expected. A
"fucking coward."

She turns away and is retreating from me the way I ran screaming from her so many years
ago. She didn't run away, I did. I ran from all the passion and promise and
possibilities. I just can't let her go. I'll never be able to let her go again after I
kick my brain into fifth gear and string 5 coherent letters together to form the lifeline
I've been searching for all this time. 'Buffy.' I reach for her and pull her to me and
hold on as if my life depended on it. Somehow it does.

I can still smell the stink of stale beer and staler cigarettes in her hair but it doesn't
matter now. There's a scent there deep down that is distinctly and forever Buffy. Years
of oppression and depression and desire well up inside of me all at once and I nip at her
neck and suck on her earlobe and my hands are suddenly everywhere and no where all at
once.

She turns around as if suddenly aware that I may actually be in this because I want it. .
.need it. 'Need you,' she manages to say in between searing kisses.

We make it as far as the living room and she pulls me down to the ground with her and now
*her* hands are everywhere and I can tell she wants me. I can feel it through the
camisole top she loves to wear without a bra, smell it when I dip my head down to trail
light kisses across her taunt abdomen and I hear it in the moan that escapes her throat
when the zipper of her leather pants are finally down and my fingers crawl into the
promised land.

I'm on her, in her, all over her and words don't do justice to the tiny space between
emotion and response or the line between need and desire. I realize suddenly that the two
of us are moaning and as she arches into my hand I clamp down on hers and wonder only for
a nanosecond exactly how it got there and when.

Short intermission for the clothing that's left clinging to our bodies and she's kissing
me in a way that I'd only dreamed of and never dared to think would come true. I push
into her once more with delicate fingers but this time it's slow and deliberate and the
look on her face tells me everything. She's always wanted it all along.

'Will,' she breathes out between the moaning and writhing and gasping for air.

I kiss her and my hips pick up the slow rhythm her fingers are tapping out between my legs
and her eyes. . .her eyes betray the sureness of her touch and I can tell she's deathly
afraid of waking up any moment with her own hand in the cookie jar and I whisper, 'It's
always only been you,' and I kiss her chastely and the fright and fear slowly fades from
her eyes. 'Even though we've never done this before,' I kiss her again with more
certainty and more passion and a little bit more tongue, 'You could always make me come.'

The words hit her like a mac truck and she increases the pace and so do I and she's more
ready than she's ever been. She says my name, moans *my* name and that's all the
incentive I need to break though the walls we built against each other. We reach the
summit together and I cry and cry and cry. . .and my walls crumble to dust the way only
the Slayer was capable of.

And for once my inner voice just sits back and grins.

------

The first rays of the morning sun beat though the curtains and dance across my lovers
back. Contentment and exhaustion sent us both into a peaceful rest after making love over
and over again.

The scars are still all across her back from when she was captured and tortured for weeks
by a demon with an S&M obsession. Everything fades in time I guess, even these scars I'm
tracing with my finger along her back. It all fades in time.

I barely rested in the weeks that she was missing. Sleep and food and drink were just
pesky things that got in the way of my seeing her face again. Once she was found. . .it
was as if she were lost. Something died inside of her in the weeks she was gone and once
I found her I lost her all over again bit by bit and piece by piece in the days leading up
to her leaving. Until there was noting left. Till now.

Now she stirs under my touch and rolls over and gives me the most curious look of
confusion, then understanding then fear. I bend down and try to convey everything and
nothing all at once with the morning kiss I've always dreamt of giving her. I pull away
and look at her and I think she understands. Everything fades with time.

'Got anything to drink?' She mumbles through the haze of just waking.

'Sure. Orange juice okay?'

She smiles and says, 'I was thinking more along the lines of whiskey.'

I touch her cheek and brush some errant hair away from the face I will never get enough
of. 'I think we've both done enough forgetting, Will. Now is the time to remember.'

She smiles a little sadly and nods her head almost imperceptibly. 'I thought I could
forget, but I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes I saw your face.'

I know the feeling. 'Do you hate me?' I ask for some unknown reason. Hate me for not
finding you soon enough and letting you slip away from me and hate me for letting you get
captured in the first place. Despise me for not protecting you the way I always swore I
would. Disgusted by me because I didn't have the guts to tell you how I wanted you for so
long such a long time ago. After all this, I still need to know.

'Yes' she softly replies. 'But I just can't stop myself from loving you too.'

And maybe, just maybe. . .that's the way it should have been all along.


~*FINIS~*

--
Your humble bard,
~~Kimber

::: I WALK, I TALK, I SHOP, I SNEEZE :::
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