Re: Fic: Sleepovers

[mike <wizathogwarts@xxxxxxxxx>]

Gritty and visceral.  I like it!

Willow's perspective and thoughts were wonderful and I hope you can follow up soon.

 

Bright Blessings

bearshadow2 <bearshadow@xxxxxxxx> wrote:

> Title: Sleepovers
> Author: Exiled
> Spoilers: None
> Rating: PG for a near-rape scene. Otherwise this part is G.
> Feedback: Yes, Please!  I live on it! (Poster's note: E to the author 
> is constrained at this time. FB on the list and hopefully she'll see 
> it!) 
> Archive: Please Ask.
> Pairing: Buffy and Willow
> Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just torturing them for you.
> Summary: A night at the Bronze doesn't go as planned.
>
> Hi everybody. I'm posting this for a fic author you all know and 
> (hopefully!) love who cannot at this time post to the lists 
> herself. "Exiled" is a new nom de plume. "IG" is the initials of who 
> you know. 
>
> Note the second. I did post this at Howard's post testing group--and 
> it looked like hell--and I can't figure out how to fix it. So--sorry 
> if the line breaks are random and if anyone can tell 
> me how to
>  fix 
> them I would be most appreciative! 
>
> **********
>
>
> "Hey Will. Where is she?" Xander asks sitting down at the 
> table.  "She said she was just going to do a quick patrol and come 
> back."  I can see the worry in his brown eyes.  I just stare at him 
> as a list of appropriate responses runs through my mind.  I want my 
> response to be caring, as in how one female best friend feels for 
> another female best friend, just not too caring like how a best 
> friend that wants to be more than a best friend would . . . .  Now 
> I'm confused.
>
> "Earth to Will," Xander waves his hand in front of my face to get my 
> attention.  "She's over an hour late and that's just not like 
> her . . . or it is like her, I guess?" he finishes lamely.  
>
> I finally figure out my response; I should act concerned just not to 
> concerned or worried.  I don't want anyone to figure out my secret.   
> This
>  is Oz's
>  big night and I need to make sure that I'm supportive to 
> my boyfriend; he's my cover so that no one figures out that I'm gay.
>
> "Xander, it's El Niño out there, it's raining and you know how Buffy 
> hates to show up at the Bronze with wet hair."  That's a reasonable 
> assumption considering it's raining buckets and has been for two 
> days.  Still, Buffy did say she would be right back, maybe 
> something's wrong?  No, it's just the weather that's holding her up.  
> The school even declared today as casual Friday, so everyone in their 
> right mind wore jeans and sweats—even Buffy.  
>
> "I don't know Willow, I think something is up," he persists.  And now 
> I'm beginning to get more than a nagging feeling that he could 
> right.  No, I'm just picking up on his worry,.
>
> "Don't you know that Oz has his cool solo coming up in the next song 
> and I worked on my "encouragement face" all homeroom instead of 
> s
> tudying
>  for that "pop" Trig quiz Miss Gonzales always springs on 
> us?" I snap at him to shut him up.  Of course the fact that Buffy 
> insisted on helping me with my "encouragement face" just added to the 
> fun. 
>
> "Ok, ok, Will," he says holding up his hands.  
>
> "Hey loser, dance with me," Cordelia saves the day and drags him off 
> to the dance floor. 
>
> And I'm left alone to think about how Buffy looked this morning.  It 
> was enough to get my teen hormones raging.  She had on faded jeans, 
> an old UCLA tee, with a gray hooded sweat shirt. Her hair was pulled 
> back in the most haphazard pony tail I had ever seen.  
>
> And she was absolutely stunning.  With no make-up, no trendy clothes, 
> with her hair falling down and framing her face . . . she was the 
> most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.  The noise of the 
> Bronze fades as I remember her laughing this morning.  Xander was off 
> flir
> ting with
>  Cordy so it was just Buffy and I sitting face to face 
> trying out different expressions.  
>
> A missed note from the stage makes me realize that I let 
> my "encouragement face" falter and I look up to see Oz frowning.  Why 
> does such a nice guy have to like me?  I know I'm using him. Why 
> can't I love him back the way that he loves me?  Why do I hide behind 
> Oz instead of just having the courage to tell Buffy the truth?
>
> Then it just hits me, I've been so caught up in pretending to be 
> supportive of Oz, so that my secret about Buffy won't be revealed, 
> I've been ignoring the growing feeling that something is horribly 
> wrong with my Slayer.
>
> I've known that something was wrong, I just ignored it `cause  . . .  
> oh what does it matter why!  I have to go, I have to leave, now!  The 
> crowd is stifling me.  The door, I have to get to the door.  I know, 
> I just know that something is
>  wrong
>  and if I don't find her . . . I 
> jump out of my chair, pushing it over, and I slam right into Xander 
> knocking him into some jock. 
>
> "Will what the . . .?" is all I can hear Xander say as I start 
> pushing through the crowd of people trying to get to the door.  A 
> girl is too slow in stepping out of my path so I shove her over; she 
> falls into another girl . . . .  
>
> I hit the steel exit door at a full sprint and push it so hard that 
> it bounces off the wall. That too, is of no importance as the cold 
> rain soaks through my coat the second I hit the street. 
>
> Buffy!  Where is she?  Left-right? Did she say Restfield or 
> Shadyrest?  Which way to go—do I go left or right—what were Buffy's 
> exact words this afternoon during Chem?  Time, she could be bleeding 
> waiting for me to come find her!
>
> Did she say she was going to patrol Restfield or Shadyrest?
>
> "Hey sweet thing how about a light?" A 
> huge man
>  with dirty hair 
> sticking out of a Petterbuilt cap asks me from under the overhang of 
> the Bronze's roof, he looks like a cliché, dirty jeans that end at 
> filthy worn boots.  
>
> He wags a cancer stick at me; I think he feels that it makes him 
> look . . . gag! Sexy. Well newsflash dummy, cigarettes are gross, 
> dirty, and they smell!  Only I don't say that, "No, thank you," I 
> answer, dismissing him.  
>
> Shadyrest, yes, it must be Shadyrest.  I'm yanked around. Pulled into 
> an embrace by the man, his putrid breath in my face.
>
> "Oh, I think you do," he breathes more foul beer and cigarette breath 
> into my face.  I don't have time for this idiot.  I know he's human 
> because his body is hot, nearly steaming in the cold rain. I don't 
> have I have to find Buffy!  
>
> I have to swallow down the bile that rises up in my throat to answer 
> him.  "I really don't and I have to go," I tell him, s
> tarting
>  to 
> struggle. I gotta find Buffy!  Why can't this creep understand that I 
> have to go?  He's just so strong! All my struggling is just making me 
> rub against him.
>
> "Yes, you do," he starts to pull me down the street. Do what?  Yes I 
> do what?  I know there's an alley on the other side of the Bronze 
> because that's where Vamps like to take their victims.  I know that 
> if he gets me into the alley then bad things are going to happen!  
> Oh, my god what's pressing into my . . . . his breath catches . . . 
> oh God this can't be happening!  This is just not happening! I have 
> to find Buffy!  
>
> Scream dummy!  I think but as I take a deep breath he slams his 
> slimy, stinky hand over my mouth and its all slippery and smells of 
> copper, oh gross he couldn't have been doing that with it. I'm gonna 
> be sick.  Now I really do start to gag, the muscles in my tummy 
> cramping up with the nee
> d to get
>  rid of every single thing I ever 
> thought about eating.  Even if he did release me I know I couldn't 
> run from him because I'm so sick!
>
> We turn the corner of the alley and he pulls me deeper into the 
> shadows—I try to fight him by squirming—but what would have had me 
> freed in five seconds flat with Xander is useless against this man.  
> He's just so incredibly strong, I start to try to scratch his arms, 
> only it's then that I notice he has on a thick leather jacket.
>
> And if it's possible the bulge in his pants grows bigger. There is no 
> mistaking the fact of what this man is going to do when he gets me 
> all the way back into the shadows.
>
> "Let her go. Now!" I hear the shout and he tightens his grip on me as 
> he whips around.  
>
> Buffy!  Thank god, the Goddess and all of her angels . . .  does the 
> Goddess have angels?
>
> I hear him snicker; people who don't know that she's the Slayer have 
> that
>  reaction.
>
> "No," he tells her, and I expect her to smile back at him and then 
> knock him into next week.  It's only then that I notice that I'm not 
> facing the front of the alley; I`m looking towards the back.  The 
> lone street lamp is behind me.  At the same time I notice this I also 
> see that Buffy is leaning against the wall behind her, all her weight 
> on one leg. As my eyes travel down her body I see bloody rips in her 
> clothing.  But it's the gash in her thigh that makes a lead weight 
> sink into the pit of my stomach.  Her leg is laid open as if a 
> butcher had taken a blade to it.
>
> The man shakes me and I can't stop the yelp as his bruising hand 
> leaves my mouth to squeeze my breast.  
>
> "I think I'm going to have a two for," his fowl breath washes over me 
> once again as he twists around to nuzzle my neck.  I ignore him as I 
> look up into Buffy's eyes and see the glaze of shock.  
> She has a
>  long 
> bruise from her hairline down to her jaw and I can see just the 
> faintest trickle of blood running from a cut on her forehead.  
>
> "Buffy?" I ask, without a clear idea of what I'm asking her.  My 
> attacker twists me around again and I can feel his erection against 
> my stomach, he leans down trying to kiss me but misses because his 
> eyes are on Buffy.  Even in the cold pouring rain, the heat from the 
> man's body is horrible, I know I'm about to be . . . raped.
>
> Raped in front of Buffy and there is nothing she can do about it.  
> Nothing, I have no idea how she is able to stand . . . .  Once he 
> finishes with me . . . . 
>
> The image of this . . . thing rutting into her . . . I can't let that 
> happen.  I just, oh god!  He shoves me against the wall, his full 
> weight pushing at my back, the brick tearing the skin of my face.  He 
> is impossibly strong as I struggle to push him back, pus
> h him off
>  of 
> me.  I'm standing but my feet aren't touching the ground as he holds 
> me up . . . 
>
> I can barely see Buffy out of one eye as she shuffles towards us. But 
> her torn leg gives out after just two steps and she collapses into 
> the black water pooled on the rough cement street of the alley.
>
> "No one will save you. If you stop struggling and please me I just 
> might let you live," my attacker whispers the lie in my ear.  He 
> enjoys the fight too much.  He's enjoying the power and the added 
> bonus of having a second victim helpless and watching.  He pounds 
> into my back, dry humping. Each blow slams me against the wall, 
> cutting my face and tearing the air from my body.  I slump, dizzy and 
> sick, no longer struggling, resigned to the fact that there is no way 
> to stop what he going to do.
>
> "I can't wait to rip into her pussy," he whispers with hot putrid 
> breath.  He reaches for the zipper of my
>  pants.
>  "When I'm done with 
> you I'm going to make you watch as I …" I don't hear the rest of his 
> threats because there is no way I'm going to let this . . . pig 
> defile Buffy.  
>
> Think Willow, just think!  I order myself urgently.  Then I vaguely 
> remember something the self-defense instructor said during that 
> mandatory class.  I had been so worried about Buffy showing off her 
> Slayer strength that I barely listened . . . .
>
> I can hear the instructor's voice in my head . . .  your attacker 
> will be stronger than you are . . . but his fingers aren't stronger 
> than your hand.  I reach down to where his hand is on my zipper and 
> grab his pinky finger and pull it back with all my strength.  I feel 
> it snap and pop, then I release him and he steps back slightly, 
> yelling. My feet hit the ground and I slump forward against the 
> wall.  I know a blow will be coming, but again the instructor's voice <
> BR>fills
>  my head, as I think I should turn around and kick him in the 
> groin.
>
> Again I hear the instructor's voice—never ever try to kick your 
> attacker in the groin, they expect it and there are weaker 
> unprotected places—like the eyes, the knees.  
>
> I know he probably has on steel toed boots and I only have on tennis 
> shoes, so I kick back with my heel, I feel it make contact with his 
> shin, and I put all my weight into sliding my foot all the way down 
> his leg until I can stomp on his instep.  
>
> "Goddamned bitch!" I hear him shout, and I cover my head with my arms 
> like a boxer expecting a blow that never comes.  I turn around and 
> see my attacker reaching into his pocket for something, at the same 
> time I realize that all his weight is on his uninjured leg, so I kick 
> out at his knee.  My aim is off and my kick glances off his lower 
> leg, just below the knee.  But his knee is so fragile that it folds 
> and he
>  topples to ground, the knife he was reaching for clatters 
> harmlessly away as he screams.  He grabs his ruined, dislocated leg, 
> whimpering, trying to crawl away . . . I grab the discarded knife 
> thinking . . .  no . . .   Thinking how dare he want to hurt Buffy! 
>
> And I'm about to drive it home through his pants . . . 
>
> "Willow, no." I stop. Buffy is sitting against the wall.  "Vamps are 
> coming, I can feel them, let . . ." she fades and slumps forward.  My 
> breath is coming in ragged heaves, I want to be sick, I want to curl 
> up into a small ball and cry my eyes out, I want to take a shower to 
> wash that . . . creature's smell off of me.
>
> What I do is rush to Buffy's side.  She is sitting in the water, when 
> I touch her face her skin is cold.  She rouses and lifts her hand, 
> pointing at a door that's in the back of one of the buildings.
>
> "Angel's apartment," she says as she grabs on
> to my
>  hand. 
>
> "Angel has an apartment?" I ask confused.  "I thought he lived on 
> Crawford Street?" She just shakes her head in answer.
>
> "Right, safety now, questions later," I tell her.
>
> I help pull her up, and drape her arm around my shoulders.  "Vamps 
> will be tracking me . . . didn't want to lead them home." She tells 
> me brokenly as I nearly drag her to the door.  I am relieved to find 
> it unlocked, as we stumble inside out of the rain.  She uses her 
> other hand to brace against the wall of the narrow hallway, leaving a 
> red smear from her blood as we limp to another door.  
>
> There is a keypad, instead of a lock. "1-19-98" she tells me and I 
> punch in the numbers. Ouch, is all I can think as I remember that 
> it's the date she and Angel slept together; the night she gave him 
> that one true moment of happiness.  The bastard!  It was cruel making 
> the combination such an awful number.  
> I hear
>  the click from the lock 
> and then the door swings open.  We take a step into the apartment and 
> Buffy reaches for the light switch.  It seems like that one switch is 
> a master because immediately the entire apartment is bathed in a soft 
> light.
>
> The apartment is beautiful; with antique furniture and landscapes 
> making up for the fact that there were no windows.  
>
> "Bathroom," Buffy wheezes through clinched teeth.  I have most of her 
> weight once again as we make our way across the plush carpet into the 
> small bathroom.  I ease her down so that she's first sitting on the 
> edge of the tub, but then she slowly slides back until she's laying 
> in it.  Her wounded leg draped over the edge where I would have easy 
> access to it.
>
> She leans back and closes her eyes.  The soft light coming in through 
> the door isn't enough for me to work by so I turn on the bathroom 
> light.  And I catch sigh
> t of my
>  face in the mirror, it's scratched 
> and bruised and it's like that … pig has his hands on me all over 
> again.  I can smell his breath, I feel his body pressing against 
> mine, I look at my hands and I remember how slimly his felt—I rip off 
> my jacket and fumble with the knobs trying to turn on the water in 
> the sink—I have to wash.  I have to get clean … a shower. I need to 
> take a shower.
>
> A scream begins to work its way up from my gut—I can smell the pig on 
> me, in my hair, I can taste him in my mouth—I have to wash it all 
> away.  I whip around intent on a shower and I'm met with the sight of 
> my best friend lying in the tub.  In the harsh light her face is 
> nearly a bloodless white, her lips are tinged slightly blue, her 
> leg . . . well it's not as bad as I had thought.  If you were going 
> to get your leg sliced open from hip to knee like a filet then that 
> was the place to do it.  No arteries, no 
> tendons,
>  or ligaments appear 
> to be damaged.  What ever did it was sharp because there are no 
> ragged edges to trim up.
>
> "Will," Buffy opens her cloudy eyes.  In this light they appear 
> almost black.  "Will, water?"  she asks, looking around.  I don't 
> think she really sees me.  "Will?"  
>
> Then my gut twists for an entirely new reason—I had forgotten Buffy—I 
> had forgotten that my best friend was bleeding to death not a foot 
> away.  How could I be so . . . self-centered?  How can I . . . 
>
> "I'm here Buffy, just a moment."  I get a cup from the edge of the 
> sink.  She's too groggy to hold the cup so I kneel down and help her 
> drink it.
>
> "More?" she asks when she's finished.  We repeat the process five 
> more times before she's had enough water.  Buffy's Slayer healing is 
> an amazing thing but her body needs the raw materials to sustain it.  
>
> I look down at
>  her as
>  she drifts off to sleep.  It's a relief to me 
> because I'm going to have to scrub her leg and that's going to be 
> painful.  I push a strand of wet blonde hair out of her eyes.  Some 
> color is returning to her cheeks and the cut on her forehead has 
> already closed.  
>
> "Right, time to get busy," I say to her. I know she can't hear 
> me . . . still I want to talk.  I want to have noise, I have to have 
> to noise . . .as I stand thinking that Angel must have a first aid 
> kit my wet hair falls into my face and with it the odor of the man.  
> He's grinding against me. His horrible, disgusting hands are reaching 
> for my zipper—did the door lock after we came into the apartment?  
>
> I've been in here with Buffy, what if he was able to follow us?  He 
> could be in the next room?  Angel would be more interested in demon 
> proofing than . . . man . . . what if he's right outside of the 
> bathroom wai
> ting for
>  me . . . what if he's sitting in the chair 
> smoking?  
>
> Do I smell smoke or is it just my clothes?  I'm getting dizzy, I have 
> to stop, I need to find a first aid kit and that means I have to go 
> into the other room . . . I have to go into the other room.  I hear 
> something . . . it sounds like someone is opening the door . . . Oh 
> God . . . my vision is narrowing, going black.
>
> No, I can't faint.  I have to look after Buffy, I have to be strong 
> for Buffy.  Buffy, Buffy, Buffy . . .  please God.  First Aid kit, 
> where would it be . . . deep breath, another one, that's right, 
> breathe.  My vision is beginning to clear and I find that I'm lying 
> on the floor curled into a ball with my back against the wall.  The 
> bathroom door is slightly ajar, did I hit it or . . .  no don't think 
> about that . . . first aid kit.
>
> Since I'm sitting on the floor I open the cabinet under the s
> ink; I'm
>  
> sure I'm wasting my time, who would put a fully stocked . . . I love 
> you Angel!  There it is, the first aid kit.
>
> I feel burning on my cheeks so I reach up and my hand comes away 
> wet.  I'm crying. The burning is the salt from tears—not my face 
> being smashed over and over again into the rough brick of the wall as 
> he . . . stop it.
>
> Buffy.
>
> I don't have to leave the bathroom, I kick the door closed and then a 
> shot of panic lances through me—what if he really is waiting for me 
> to leave the bathroom and now that the door is closed he might come 
> in here!
>
> I lunge for the lock on the door and throw it.  Then my stomach 
> revolts, I barely have enough time to lean over the toilet before 
> everything comes up.  
>
> My vomit sprays the toilet and the wall behind it, I can't stop, and 
> my whole body is in convulsions as everything comes up, I can't 
> breathe again but this time I welcome it. 
> ; The
>  smell of sickness in 
> this tiny room is better than that pig's odor.  I finally finish, I'm 
> exhausted but still feel better.  I  flush the toilet and then wish I 
> hadn't, I'm afraid that if I do it then I'll smell him and I can't 
> deal with that thought.
>
> Fix Buffy first then clean up. I turn on the fan.
>
> tbc 
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
> Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
>                       —'Choices'
>
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Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
                      —'Choices'

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