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buffyfic-digest       Saturday, August 15 1998       Volume 02 : Number 304



In this issue:

       BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part Seven: Reaching Out" (7a/9)
       BUFFYFIC: Think can hurt to much(Clear up)
       BUFFYFIC: DISCUSS: Short Grammer Notes

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or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues.

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Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1998 16:49:48 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Faith" -- "Part Seven: Reaching Out" (7a/9)

I don't know if this got tothe list or not, so I'm reposting this part of part
seven. Sorry for any inconveniance.

~

See part one for all notes and disclaimers. Comments and requests for missing
pieces to [e-mail], please.

~

                   "Part Seven: Reaching Out"

                    //I didn't come this far
               For you to make this hard for me.//
                        -"How", Lisa Loeb

     "I need to be with her," Angel said softly, his eyes seeking
some sort of understanding from the elder Garou.
     There was no flicker of emotion from Quirin's eyes, and to the
other side, Sef remained as impassive as he had been from the
moment Angel had first made his request.
     "Be with her, how?" came Laisa's firm voice from where the
matriarch stood before him.
     "No," came a fourth.
     Angel turned back toward the last voice, ignoring Laisa when
he saw who had joined him with the Garou in the council chamber.
"Yes," he said, his pleas to the Garou drifting away as he took a
step closer to Giles. "I have to."
     The Watcher's eyes narrowed. "Don't you _dare_," he hissed
angrily. His eyes darted back toward the Garou. "If you let him go
into this, this dreamworld you have her in, and something-- if
anything happens to her because of him, I'll hold you all
responsible. As will the Network."
     A soft chuckle from Laisa. "You think we fear your Network so
much?"
     Giles appeared to be unafraid of her lack of respect for the
organization that stood behind him. "You'd have reason," was his
only answer.
     Angel felt the chill inside him deepen, knowing full well that
the arguments these people had gotten into with each other were his
fault, and his alone.
     "Untrue," Quirin proclaimed when he voiced the sentiment. "I
called you Friend, it is my responsibility as--"
     "It's _not_," Angel interrupted, his words still directed more
toward Giles than toward the rest of the room's occupants. "It's
me. I was the one who killed that gypsy, I was the one who was
cursed. I was the one who let myself fall in love with her. And
hurt her."
     "You knew not the results of your act--"
     "It doesn't _matter_ that I didn't know!" Angel shouted,
turning on the pack's matriarch. Laisa looked slightly stunned by
the outburst, and Angel was more surprised that he had been able to
tear his attention away from Giles than anything else.
     The Watcher wasn't about to be so easily forgotten, though.
"You have no, no _right_ to take responsibility for her," he
snapped, his voice cold and condemning.
     "I'm taking it anyway," Angel said quietly, his own voice
becoming stiff and chilled as he turned to look back at Giles.
"She's mine, I claim the right." He turned back to Quirin. "Soul
Rights," he said quietly.
     "Now hold on there a blasted _minute_!" Giles shouted, taking
another step into the room. "She's not some kind of-- of
_property_, damn it, she's the _Slayer_, and what in the name of
God makes you think you can do something as stupid and archaic as
claim sole _rights_ to her?!" Flustered, and obviously quite
perturbed, the Watcher fell silent-- though he continued to glare
at Angel as the vampire exchanged glances with the Garou.
     "Soul Rights," Quirin said to Giles. "The right a soul has
to..." He cleared his throat, looking at Sef.
     The younger Garou seemed to take the hint, nodding and
standing, walking to Giles' side. "The idea that mortals have, that
everyone has a perfect match, spiritually and emotionally,
somewhere in the world...a soul mate, if you will...although
somewhat romantic, seeped into our lore several hundred generations
ago." He shook his head. "If one person sees in another the
possibility that they are one another's...perfect match..."
     Angel watched the expression on Giles' face shifting slowly as
he first comprehended what Sef was telling him, then as he realized
what Angel had done in invoking Soul Rights in regards to Buffy. It
was something even Angel himself hadn't recognized the true
significance of when the words had been bubbling around in his
thoughts. He knew what it meant, in theory. He hadn't realized how
deep a bond soul matches were considered by the Garou, and by
effect how deeply they were when constructed between two people.
     Despite that, as the Garou finished educating the Watcher,
Angel realized there was no better term to describe what Buffy was
to him-- his everything. She was his sun, his moon, his every
thought. Had he still been able to breathe, she would have been
that too. All he ever cared about, his reason for being.
     He wondered, fleetingly, what would have happened if he had
never changed, never become. If he had stayed the mortal he had
been that night in Galway when Darla had offered to make him what
he was nowadays. Would he have found someone else, just like Buffy?
Or would he have gone through his entire life, knowing there was
something missing and yet never able to put his finger on it,
starting every time he recognized something that might somehow be
incorporated into the girl that would be born nearly two and a half
centuries after himself. He couldn't imagine anyone like her,
either in the past or the future.
     "He can't do that," Giles was saying when Angel returned his
entire attention to the room.
     "I can. And I have," he said, his voice more even than he had
expected it to be. Before the Watcher could protest again, Angel
shook his head and took a step toward the door. "And I need to be
with her."
     "She doesn't need you, she doesn't want you."
     The sting of the words was a harsh one, and it was all Angel
could do not to round on the Watcher and shout at him that wasn't
true, that Buffy needed him as much as he needed her, that without
each other both of them were incomplete. But he quelled the animal
inside him that urged him to action, and instead remained silent,
communicating to Sef with a glance that there would be no more
deliberations, no more consulting with the other two members of the
pack over matters that had been decided the moment he had invoked
the right of his soul, his being, to go to hers.
     With only a gentle nod, the Garou turned with him, and they
left the room. Neither Laisa or Quirin moved to stop them. Giles,
Angel was already telling himself, had already condemned him. There
was no reason to worry about the Watcher's opinions of anything
else that might transpire until Buffy was safely conscious, and
safely in his arms.
     Silent, letting the Garou lead him back to the room where
Buffy had been laid out, Angel waited in silence as Sef took a
piece of rock from a shelf and passed it to him.
     "Focus on this," he said quietly. "And sit."
     Angel glanced at the rock, lowering himself to the floor.
"What is it?" he asked.
     The Garou shook his head. "Focus on it," he said. "It will
make your soul's passage easier."
     With a silent nod, Angel did as he was told.
     "Close your eyes," Sef whispered.
     Swallowing at the memories evoked by the words, Angel again
obeyed the order.
     Almost immediately, his heart dropped to his stomach and he
heard an onslaught of air rushing past him. He wanted to release
the stone in his hands, use them to cover his ears instead of to
carry this dead weight. Use them to shut out the screams that
assaulted him from all sides, carried by the wind.
     Some of the voices he recognized. Some, he did not. Some of
the words screamed at him were cries of agony, guided only by the
flow of the wind, dying as he himself moved away from them.
     He could hear the cries of people he had killed, and he
remembered the times he had spent murdering. The slaughters. The
bloodbaths. Tiny hands pawing at him as he lifted children into the
air and dashed them down upon hard cobblestones. Women's nails
raking his cheeks as he laughed and the flesh grew back, leaving
him undamaged.
     Images came, next. A thousand faces, two thousand terrified
eyes staring at him in their last glowing moments.
     *Give up your hold,* came a whisper bourne upon their voices.
Refusing to let himself be swayed by the pain being projected
toward him, Angel gripped the stone tighter and focused harder, and
then he felt another voice whisper into his ear.
     *Look for light in darkness,* it said.
     And then all motion ceased, and Angel found himself still. His
eyes were still closed, and yet there was light streaming through
his eyelids, hitting his retinas. Bright, too, he could tell, not
knowing whether or not it was safe to open his eyes again. There
was a sort of pale pink to the shade that he was seeing. What if he
opened his eyes and all he saw was blood, the bodies of the people
he had killed, everything wrong he had done during his lifetime?
What if he opened his eyes and was reminded of the horrors and the
tragedy, instead of the love he was coming here to find?
     On the other hand, he knew well enough that unless he looked,
he would never find Buffy-- and though she would heal in time, he
wouldn't have been there for her and his duty because of the rights
he had claimed would remain unfulfilled. What's more, he would
never forgive himself.
     So slowly, unsure of what he should expect or what would
present itself to him, Angel let his eyes flutter open.
     He gasped first, dropping the stone Sef had passed him as he
pulled his hands in toward himself, trying to use them to shield
his face from the bright light streaming down-- because now, he
realized, it was sunlight.
     Sunlight, and it wasn't burning him.
     Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Angel next set his mind
on undoing the protective stance he had moved into the second the
source of light had registered with him.
     He cast his gaze downward, and it fell on a circle of violets
that stretched out from beneath his feet. He felt a smile passing
over his face as he stooped to run his fingers over them, then
stood again and looked over the landscape before him.
     A clearing. Flowers. And a small, bundled-up heap of a girl-
child, curled in a ball halfway between himself and the darkened
woods.
     "Buffy," he whispered, his lips barely moving and the words
barely forming themselves in his throat. She didn't hear, or simply
pretended not to.
     He took a few steps toward her, his hand reaching out to fall
on her shoulder. "Buffy," he said, a little louder. "It's me."
There was still no response. Angel swallowed. He had known this
wouldn't be easy, and yet he had hoped she might at least speak to
him...
     "Buffy," he said again. "Please. Listen to me. I'm sorry. This
is my fault." He shook his head, lowering himself to sit in the
flowers beside her, his amazement at how beautiful she was in the
sunlight, which was growing with each passing moment. So serene, so
calm. Motionless.
     Ignoring him, he felt something inside him snap in a cruel
tone of voice, but he pushed it away with practiced ease.
     "This...I did this," Angel said quietly. "I asked the Garou to
heal you. Buffy, you have to understand, I thought it would be for
the best, they didn't tell me it would hurt you to heal, they
didn't tell me everything about it..."
     Still, the Slayer gave him no answer.
     His voice catching in his throat, Angel reached forward
slightly, moving to take her hand in his. "I love you, Buffy, I
just seem to be really bad about figuring out how to tell you
that." He shook his head, closing his eyes for a bare second before
they opened again almost of their own accord, as though wasting
precious seconds of seeing her in the light of day were something
they couldn't abide by. Angel was surprised when Buffy made no move
to push him away, letting him twine his hand around hers, hold
it...
     A shudder wracked his body as he realized her hand was too
cold.
     She was warm, that was what he had first fallen in love with.
Afterward had come the emotions, the soul, the girl who was the
Slayer. At first, like with so many other human girls, what Angel
had fallen in love with was her warmth. The way heat radiated from
her body, emanating through her skin before dissipating into the
air around her. Even that was warm. Later, when she had let him
come close enough to feel the heat, he had never ceased to wonder
at the way her lips sent shivers of heat-- physical, not sexual,
though that was in the mix as well-- through him. The way her hand
on his arm, even through a long-sleeved shirt, was enough to make
him stop and wonder at the life she carried.
     But now her hand was cold.
     Horror creeping in at the edges of his mind, Angel quickly
pulled her up to him, turning her, feeling his throat constrict as
she offered no resistance to his motions. "Buffy," he whispered,
his voice already ragged. He shook her once, gently, then when that
brought him no response he shook her again.
     A split second later, a coppery scent hit him so hard he
nearly lost his grip on her. She would have fallen, he realized,
his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring at the scent, because
there was nothing beneath the glassiness of her eyes, there was
nothing there at all.
     "Buffy," he choked, a strangled cry as he sank back into the
faerie circle, cradling her in his arms, staring in horror at the
dried, red-brown stain that covered her clothing and her skin, the
cracked flakes of blood that had dried around the gaping slashes in
her wrists.
     "No, no..." he whispered, pulling her close as though if he
could only feel a trace of the warmth he was used to, she would be
alright, he wouldn't have been too late.
     He'd been such a fool, he thought, his memories flashing back
to what Quirin had told him-- that she might not be strong enough,
that dreamwalking was never a cure for life's ills. He had
protested. Insisted. Pleaded. Begged. Finally gotten his way. And
for what?
     He blinked, trying to keep the tears back, instead failing and
watching as two pinpoints of blood fell and marred the smooth
perfection of her cold flesh.
     It was then that he heard someone step into the clearing, from
across the way. A horrified breath, sharply taken, made him stand.
He held the body close as he rose and turned, then stared. Quickly,
his gaze darted from the form in his arms to the one standing at
the edge of the clearing, and he spoke softly, his voice charged
with confusion and disbelief. "Buffy?"
     The body in his arms was as solid as anything he had ever
touched, cooling by fractions of degrees with every passing second.
The same was true of the woman who had just stepped into the
clearing, the one who was staring at him and the body he held with
shock, confusion, and-- he couldn't miss the final emotion-- a
dull, weary sort of anger.
     Not knowing what to do with the body he held, not wanting to
put it down, Angel took it with him as he closed the distance
between them. Buffy did nothing for a few seconds, but as he neared
her, she took a few steps back. "No," she said, shaking her head,
her voice trembling with the word. "This...this didn't happen. I'm
not--" She broke off, then swallowed back whatever was preventing
her from speaking. "--that weak."
     Angel glanced down at the body, then back to her. Perfect in
every detail. He was on a dreamscape. It couldn't be real. Couldn't
be. But if it was, and it was only wishful thinking that had called
this image of her up?
     Suddenly, Angel realized why it was so important that one be
trained as a dreamwalker before one ventured into the haze of the
dreamscape dimension where they conducted their business.
     Carefully, gently, he lowered the body to the ground, then he
stood and looked at her. "Buffy," he said quietly, doing his best
to keep the hope from his voice. From the look on her face, he
could tell she was far from forgiving him.
     *If this is even her,* a doubting voice spoke up in the back
of his mind, *and not another delusion.*
     No, Angel told himself, this had to be her. She was too
perfect to be anything but. Her blood smelled the same, and the
rhythm of her heart was as it had always been.
     Besides, he thought with a rueful bitterness he hadn't
expected, if he was imagining her, then she would have been even
more upset with him than she appeared to be. She would have
screamed by now. Accused him of something. That's what it had been
like in Hell, hadn't it? Accusations flying from all sides, first
her screams of betrayal and then later the screams of the people he
had hurt, enveloped in a dusty cloud of shame and the knowledge
that he had lost something precious to him, the knowledge that he
had somehow wronged her, the knowledge that he had driven her to
the point where she would rather have killed him than kept him on
Earth any longer.
     Later, he had been told what had happened and realized why she
had sent him to Hell. The facts made sense. End of the world.
Closing a vortex. Blood sacrifice. Sword. Worthy. End of the world,
closing a vortex, saving the world, sacrifice, no choice, and more.
They had lined up in neat rows, little soldiers of reason marching
off to do battle with the demonic forces of emotion and pain.
     "Angel?" she whispered, looking at him.
     He reached toward her, wanting to touch her, feel her flesh
here in the sunlight and see if it was any different from when she
was shrouded in darkness and shadows.
     She shied away, shaking her head and staring at the body he
had just put on the ground. "What..." she started to ask.
     He shook his head, having no ready answer, no answer of any
sort at all. The apologies he had offered before she had come had
no place on his lips now, seeming somehow clumsy and meaningless.
What could he say that wouldn't be something he had already told
her a thousand times?
     "None of this is real," he said quietly.
     She looked at him. "What?" Her eyes were wide, staring at him.
     He shook his head, slowly, his eyes remaining trained on the
body. "None of it...it's a dream..." He looked over at her,
struggling to find a way to explain everything he had done.
     "The werewolves," Buffy said quietly. "I know."
     He looked at her for a few seconds, then realized that as much
as she thought she might be aware of the situation, she knew far
less than even the limited amount she thought there was to know.
"You don't, he said quietly. "It's not that easy."
     She shook her head. "No," she said, "I understand perfectly."
Her expression suddenly shifted, until she glaring at him, the look
full of anger and suspicion. "I understand that you thought you had
the right to dictate what was and wasn't _good enough_ in terms of
my recovery, I understand that what I'm feeling is nowhere _near_
as important to you as what you're feeling, what you want. I
understand that you don't give a damn about anything but your
guilt, I understand that nothing I ever say to you gets through for
the simple reason that you don't care enough about me to pay
attention." She shook her head, and Angel stared at her, stunned.
The Slayer didn't give him time to respond. "If you loved me," she
said bitterly, "you would take a few seconds to think about
everything you've done to me-- and then you'd realize there's _no
way in hell_ that I'm ever going to be able to trust you again."
     Though the tone in which she said the words made it seem as
though there were more to come, Buffy immediately spun on one heel
and stalked away from him, away from the circle of flowers and the
clearing, into the trees. Into the darkness.
     Angel watched her go, not knowing how to react or what to do,
or how he could do anything to stop her.
     *Look for light in darkness,* the voice whispered again in the
back of his mind.
     Not giving himself time to think, lest he lose the sudden
burst of initiative that had exploded in his gut, Angel took off at
a sprint, crashing through the darkness of the forest as he left
the light of the sun and the bloodied corpse of something that was
anything but the woman he loved behind.

~
More to come
~

Comments to [e-mail], please!

------------------------------

Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1998 18:58:14 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: Think can hurt to much(Clear up)

I just want to let eveyone know that I was going for the word immoral, I was
just trying to be introspective, and a lot of people didn't get it, some sent
flames, I just wanted to clear that, since so many people thought I meant the
word immortal, which I did NOT, and for the person who sent the flame-ish
mail.  Yes, I do know how to use a spell check.  Much thanks to everyone
reading.

Azziel

------------------------------

Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1998 19:47:44 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: DISCUSS: Short Grammer Notes

Hey all. I'm gonna stick my stuffy head up from the writings I've been doing
the last week or so, and point out a couple bitty grammer things that might
help people who're having probs with certain words/phrases. :)

Contents:
       -Word forms
       -Punctuation in dialogue


1)  Which is correct?
a)"alot",
b)"allot",
c)"a lot"

The correct answer is "c"-- "a lot" is two words, not one.

2) Forms of "to/two/too"
a) to -- to _verb_. To do, to make, to see, to think, and so on. "_To_ look at
her face, Giles never would have thought the Slayer was mourning Angel's
passing."
b) two -- The number. "Xander was ready to die of happiness, thanks to the
_two_ beautiful women who were showering their attentions on him-- and then he
woke up."
c) too -- The same as "also". ""Watch out," Cordelia snapped, pushing Xander
out of the way, because she _too_ wanted a peek at the intense make-out
session going on in Buffy's room."

3) Forms of "their/they're/there"
a) Their -- Possessive. "The vampires didn't like the Scooby Gang in _their_
haven."
b) There -- Location. ""_There_ they are!" Xander shouted, pointing toward the
cowardly trio of vamps as they ran from the Slayer and her pals."
c) "They're" -- contraction for "they are". ""_They're_ trying to double-cross
you, Slayer," Spike hissed, struggling with the ropes Angel and Dru had tied
him up with."

4) Forms of "your/you're" (this is one I see a lot)
a) your -- Possesive. ""Your room is a mess. No Bronzing 'till it's clean,"
Buffy's mother sighed."
b) you're -- Contraction of "you are" -- "Giles shook his head at the Slayer.
"You're not going out until you finish training," he informed her."

Punctuation in dialogue:

When you end a sentance in quotations, it can go one of a few ways.

                             "I don't know," said Xander.

Even though Xander's statement would end in a period, there's more coming
after it-- the "said Xander". Because of this, you have to use a comma, then
end the quotes, then continue-- with a lowercase letter, because the sentance
never finished. However, in this statement:

                             Xander looked from Buffy to Willow, then
                             shook his head. "I don't know."

you can end it in the period. When ending with an exclamation or a question
mark, however, you would write it this way:

                             "Buffy, it's a _trick_!" screamed Cordelia.
                                                            or
                             "You don't actually trust them, do you?"
                             asked Jenny as she stared at Giles, then
                             to the vampires across the table.

Despite the fact that the sentance was finished, Cordelia's scream and Jenny's
question would be lowercase because the rest was in quotations. (If there's an
english teacher out there who could explain this, I would really appreciate
it-- I don't know the reason behind this one, I just know that's how I've
always been taught and what the style manuels say as far as I'm aware.)

And one more thing-- have people beta-read your work!!!! It's absolutely
invaluble, and no matter how good a piece is on the first shot, a good beta
reader will ALWAYS be able to find something you can improve!!!!

Other than that, and the usual "show don't tell" notes, I believe that's all I
have to say on the matter @ this point. I've been enjoying a lot of the fic
that's been posted, and would like to say that I'm not trying to pick on
anybody at all-- just wanted to make sure that some of the writers who haven't
been using words/punctuation properly did have the information at their
fingertips.

And anybody who knows better, feel free to correct anything I've said here--
I'm far from all-knowing in my abilities to work with grammer, spelling, or
punctuation, as my beta-reading pals will tell you. :)

------------------------------

End of buffyfic-digest V2 #304
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