Repost: Prisms Green

["mad-hamlet <Mad-Hamlet@xxxxxxx>" <Mad-Hamlet@xxxxxxx>]

Drain Brameged Inc. Proudly presents,
A Mad-Hamlet Production 

Prisms - Green

Anything can be raised to an art form. Absolutely anything. Let's 
take for example...oh...the Art of Ignoring Someone. Being able to 
ignore someone or something about someone for a short period of time 
is easy. In fact the capability to do so is practically built in. 

Ah...but if you want to ignore someone for a long time, say...years 
and years and additionally this is someone by all rights you should 
not be ignoring, that it is, in fact, someone you should be caring 
for. Why to maintain that sort of Ignorance takes...discipline, 
planning, will power and desire to succeed come hell or high water. 

Like any other art form is can also be taught and I had learned it 
pretty damn well. My parents had taught the Art of Ignoring to me and 
now, having mastered it, I ignored them. Lying in my bed, in the 
basement not bothered in the slightest by the fight going on over my 
head. Just working on my latest bit of 'Art'. 

But one cannot sacrifice everything for their work can they. No, 
particularly when someone is banging at the door leading to their 
hidey-hole. Which some people are. I clamber out of my bed, slip on 
my jeans and slowly climb the stairs. I can hear voices from the 
other side. 

"?good is he anyway? Comedy relief? It's not like she wanted any of 
you, any of us to know what was going on." 

Ah. Great, I get over an eight-hour shift, listen to my parents 
relive the top ten prize-fights of all time, and now, when I should 
be embracing moebius I get to suffer verbal abuse from a vamp. 

"He has to know, he has a right to know." 

That makes me pause. Right to know what? 

"That is out an' out bullshit Watcher, an' you bloody well know it. 
He has the right to know exactly what she wants him to know and not 
one bit more. Obviously, she doesn't want anyone to know, I just came 
across the problem. You think I want my life this complicated?" 

"She needs help, Spike. She has to come to grips with this and the 
best person to help her with that is the person who is almost family 
to her." 

I open the door. "She's not almost family." I say. "Willow is 
family." 

"Oh, nice entrance, Harris. Two thumbs up for dramatic overtones." 
Spike backs his jibe by actually giving me two thumbs up. 

"Happy Days ended years ago, Spike. Deal with it." I say and brush 
past the impotent one and approach Giles. "Yo, G-Man, what's up. Much 
as I like to see you and we're all bonded an' everything I gotta say 
I question yer sense of?" 

"Willow was raped, Xander," he says. 

"What?"

"I said 'Willow was raped.'" Giles repeats. 

"Actually, you said 'Willow was raped, Xander,'" Spike adds. 

And I throw up. Get my shoes too. Which really bothers me because 
they are nice shoes. 

I can't suddenly remember why I've thrown up either, just that I was 
throwing up, had messed up my shoes, was angry because I had done 
that and?oh...that's right. 

Throw up again. Don't nail my shoes this time though, which is good. 
Happy thoughts...lots of happy thoughts. Threw up, twice, didn't get 
my shoes this time. Good aim, Xander. Let's throw a party. 

Why? 

Cause I didn't throw up on my shoes twice after hearing how my best 
friend was ra..ra? 

Oh, God. 

Can't see...can't hear. Can feel though. Can feel LOTS. Loose thread 
in my shirt, small dry spot on the inside of my left pant leg, right 
behind the knee. Itched a lot at work. Bad dry spot. Gonna wash you 
right out of my pants. Acid burns in my throat...felt those...hurt? 
Can feel the moonbeams on my skin and the grass in my head. 
Hate..lots of that. There's a whole lot of hating going on and most 
of it, well, let's not by coy, all of it's spinning around in my 
guts. Got these big?fiery...well?yeah...fiery...ropey...ropes of 
hate. Burning and twisting...looping around ...choking me...and 
burning...and it's for everything and I wanna share it 
everything...and...I can hear again. 

"We don't have time for this." 

Hard blow hits me, left side of the face...now THAT is burning. Ow. 

I can see again?there's um?um...Spike, that's it, can see Spike 
holding his head. Muttering...must have forgotten about that chip. 
Silly vamp?chips are for kids! No, wait that's not funny. 

And it's quiet. 

And I'm back.

Maybe. 

"Giles?" I hear my voice. Wow, my throat is sore, what the hell have 
I been doing, screaming for the last few minutes? 

"Xander, are you alright? Can you hear me? You've been screaming for 
the last few minutes." 

Typical. 

"Yeah...yeah?" I manage to croak out. "I ...think I got a hearing 
problem." 

"No," That's Spike talking now. Lord, I hate that accent. "What you 
have is a denial problem. Willow...Red...the Witch?y'know who I'm 
talking about? Her? Yeah. Good. She was raped. Fact. Deal." 

Giles is glaring now...at Spike, of course, I haven't done anything 
to earn a full bore 'Giles Glare' since the first time I called him G-
Man. 

"Willow?" I'm muttering now. Glory be. 

"Yes." Spike says. 

"She...was?." 

"You're doing good, kid. Keep at it." 

"Raped?" 

"On second thought, maybe you do have a hearing problem. I could have 
ol' Ripper hear beat you about the head a bit. That might clear up 
some bedsprings." 

I stand up. Giles is backing away giving me a little breathing 
room...or swinging room. 

"Spike." 

"No...really? Where?" Always with the comeback. 

"Dru's dead." I say. 

"What?" Ah, that got his attention. 

"She came by today. Selling Avon products. Knocked on my door, asked 
if I'd like to the latest in Summer fashions. Reamed her with a 
broomstick, felt good too." 

"What?" Indeed, what...as in what the hell am I doing? Another snappy 
line, more witty banter. Is that all I'm good for? Is Spike right? 
Comedy relief? 

I grin...I'm grinning a lot...I don't think I can stop. 

"Actually, I'm just kidding. As far as I know she's off gallivanting 
with some denizen from below?like..someone from Kansas maybe. Just 
showing ya that I'm not the only one with hearing problems." 

Shut up...shut up...this isn't the time, but I can't stop, because if 
I do stop I might start screaming again, and never come back from it 
and that would be bad because right now, right now someone needs me. 

Shake my head a few times...clear it up...few deep breaths...get the 
heart pumping?better. 

"Ok..." I say. "Ok?what makes you think...no...what makes you know 
Willow was raped?" 

Giles steps forward. "Spike here?" 

"Phrase your words carefully 'Ripper'," Spike growls. "I don't care 
for another round of 'Dodge the Looney'." 

"Yes...of course." Giles starts over. "Spike was ..taking a 
walk...and, according to him, he saw Willow walking back to the 
campus. He claims that he could 'Smell the men on her'." 

"Not just that 'Ripper', not just that at all. I could...for lack of 
a better term...smell her shame. And blood, was running down the 
inside of one of her legs. Not just blood either. Throw in that I 
could hear her trying not to cry, plus the tears in her clothing?
well...as I said. Fact. Deal." He shrugs. 

I really...really...am wishing I had something more to throw up.

I settle for getting angry. 

"Who?" I demand.

Spike shrugs again. "Don't know that yet. But I got their scents 
locked in the skull and me, and 'Ripper' here, are doing a 
little?.hunting. Isn't that right?" 

"Yes." Giles says. "It is."

And that's what gets my attention. Not Giles the quiet, informative, 
librarian...researcher, coach...father figure. But Ripper, and it is 
Ripper, the demon summoner, the fighter the...the?damn, he said that 
scary. I can relate, I'm feeling pretty scary myself. 

"And when we find them?" 

Spike is smiling now, and it's not a nice smile at all. 

"Hunters don't usually go to the trouble of buying their prey snack 
cakes and ice cream after tracking them down, I see no reason to 
break tradition. Do you, Harris?" 

He's smiling at me now. I'm smiling back. 

"No, Dead Boy." I say. "No reason at all."