voice + action ✪ there must be some way to bring the hero home

[herotypical]

[ after a week of agonizing combat, buffy summers returns home with only exhaustion on her mind. despite all the excitement and crisis, there's little left to do other than collapse onto her bed and fall into a sleep fit for a weary, worn-out soul. morning sees her feeling no less -- shudder -- zombieish. the horror of the last week is bone-and-marrow deep and has yet to fully make itself known in her system. the slayer is running on auxillery humanity, stringing herself along from second to second until she can find a friendly face. find willow and...

and all she finds is an empty room. an empty closet. empty drawers. her best friend is gone. deported while she wasn't even looking. come the afternoon, after she's gotten the first onslaught of emotions out of her system, buffy sits alone on the empty bed. she addresses her journal: ]

Willow and I have this game we like to play. Willow Rosenberg. She was in town...but now she's not. [ a pause allows buffy to catch her breath. to stay strong. ] We call it 'Anywhere But Here' -- self-explanatory, really. Pick a fantasty-elsewhere to be and a fantasy-someone to share it with. I'm not talking about the obvious ones: home or family or anything even remotely whiffing of responsibility. I'm talking about fun. I'm talking about pure escapism. I'm talking Daniel Craig on the beach or Amy Yip at the waterpark.

I'll go first. Show you how it's done. [ but which escape route from reality should she take? ] The '88 Winter Olympics. The Saddledome. Calgary, of all places. Brian Boitano is taking the time to personally skate me through his gold medal routine. Perhaps there's hot chocolate involved. I, being made entirely of my own imagination, copy each move perfectly.

Got it? Good. Because now it's your turn.

[ when her broken little tribute to an absent friend is finished, she'll be searching out her injured pirate (wherever he may be convalescing) and it's off to good spirits, where she can be found working a shift behind the bar. ]

Comments

[herotypical]

She tossed a blanket over his legs and ducked out just long enough to wet a facecloth with some warm water. Buffy would be late for her shift, but...

"Here. I promised, after all." She took a seat next to him and started with his fingers -- scrubbing gently. "Even if it's not the kind of wash-down you were looking for."

[all7seas]

"Mmmmm." The pills and the excitement and the pain were all too much. Jack was beginning to fall asleep under her care.

"'Salright. Still wonderful."

[herotypical]

"I'm always surprised how much mess one you can make."

And she did talk to him -- of silly things and unimportant things. She told him all about the different answers she'd gotten for her game. Even the ones about a certain Johnny Depp. And she talked long after he'd fallen asleep, telling him about the time Willow picked John Cusack and a plate of ziti and...

She kissed his forehead and she left him wrapped up in their bed. A better place for him than the clinic, at least.

...Coming home early, though, proved to be a tougher sell than she'd expected. A few people had stopped by the bar and Buffy had to pay her social dues. Play a few more rounds. But -- finally -- she managed to slip back home through the frosty night, flask and glossy in hand. And a song on her lips, borrowed from Jack and his dreams. Big ship sails on the alley, alley, oh.

"On the last day of Sept--" She closed the bedroom door as silently as possible, unwilling to wake him should he still be asleep.

[all7seas]

Asleep he was; a silent sleep, motionless. Jack was huddled under the blanket as she'd left him. Maybe it was the drugs, but any sounds that Buffy made as she entered didn't seem to register with the pirate at all. He was out.

[herotypical]

Poor creature. Buffy dropped her gifts gently onto her -- their -- side table and undid her zips and buttons as fast as she could. There was a small window of opportunity available to shrug into warm pajamas without freezing in the interim, and so she worked fast. Other pre-bed duties went neglected. Face-washing and hair-brushing and one last look over the journals. Such routines could be abandoned in the depths of sorrow. Or the depths of sympathy -- because she was trying very hard to take all that pent up sadness and evolve it into sympathy for the wounded pirate. It was easier to feel for him than for herself; after all, his hurts were visible. Surface. Fixable.

Though -- she did wonder just how it had happened...

Buffy pushed a pillow or two aside and sat on the bed's edge. Jack was stretched out, using up most of the space. It wouldn't even be such a terrible thing and she'd usually snuggle her way into his arms, but she couldn't imagine doing that now without hurting him.

And she truly did not want to hurt him. Not any more. And she doubted she could sleep, either. So she folded her legs under and reached for the Cosmo, skipping straight to the quiz. Hah. She sighed a sigh of exasperation and flipped backwards, a night-sentinel picking up fashion tips as she watched over her sleeping charge.

[all7seas]

"........Annie?"

Why did his throat feel so dry? Jack tried clearing it. He felt rather than saw his lover -- the shift of weight on the bed. It woke him, but not all the way.

[herotypical]

"Shh. I'm here. You can go back to sawing logs."

Buffy dropped the corner of an unturned page, the magazine still perched against her left wrist. But her right hand touched his knee with a light, reassuring tap. "Unless there's anything you need?"

[all7seas]

"Mm-mm." No. He felt as though he was speaking through layers of feathers and leather. "Just you."

[herotypical]

"...Ah. Well." She worked her way under the blanket just far enough to give his calf a little squeeze. "I suppose that means I can feed your night cap to the drain, then."

[all7seas]

"Nn nn!"

[herotypical]

"Or maybe just bring it back to the bar and meticulously pour every drop back into its bottle."

[all7seas]

Buffy how could you do that to this sad, sad face?

[herotypical]

That sad, sad face was half the reward.

"Hey," she relented, "can you budge over? Just a bit? Kinda like a Buffy-sized bit? You're hogging the bed."

[all7seas]

"'Kay."

With a great deal of effort -- everything was stiff and hurting -- Jack slid aside for her.

"You know -- think I forgive her. Think I dreamed it. Forgiving her. No hard feelings."

[herotypical]

"...Her?"

She froze, palm pressed into the sheets. Halfway to her pillow.

[all7seas]

"Mmmmm."


The girl. She had been so young. And he'd dreamed about her happy -- and smiling -- and with two people who might have been her parents. And he'd forgiven her. Not her fault, really. Not her fault, when you thought about it.

[herotypical]

"Her who?"

Cat-like, she slid on that single palm. Stretching until her side also touched the sheets and she was wedged half-upright. Propped on an elbow. Watching him with the magazine closed and folded and abandoned between them.

[all7seas]

"Her. The girl. The young one."

If he wasn't making sense it wasn't entirely Jack's fault; he was still quite woozy, after all.

[herotypical]

"The girl..."

Well. It had only been yesterday, after all. And her memory was too fresh. "She did this?"

A new kind of horror entered her voice.

[all7seas]

"Accident," he said, rushed. Buffy sounded...upset. "She didn't mean it!"

She had meant it. He'd seen it as she'd died. She'd meant it.

[herotypical]

"A-an accident?"

She laboured to understand, eyes narrowing in the yellowy, electric lamp light. "What? Bad aim? A misfire? Someone forgot to keep the safety on?"

[all7seas]

"I...can't recall, love."

If she knew him well, she would know he was lying.

"...Rum?" Please?

[herotypical]

Oh, she suspected. Maybe even a year ago, Jack could have duped her with a lie like that. But not now. Not after she'd had such ample opportunity to study his face in happiness, in desperation, in determination, and -- like now -- in pain. Buffy was at least a half more clever and observant than she ever gave herself credit for, and she had learned him.

But she wasn't his inquisitor. It was late and he was hurting and she...well, she didn't really know what she would do with the truth, anyway. Other than to call an absent girl names that even Buffy realized she didn't deserve.

With a disappointed hum, the Slayer reached for the flask. She balanced it against her chest as she unscrewed its top.

"I wasn't lying when I said you could only have a bit..."

[all7seas]

"Fine. Fine fine." Jack rubbed his temple and then glanced across at Buffy. "Not going to break my promise. Just a little bit, eh?"

[herotypical]

"Here," she scooted nearer and lifted the flask to his lips. There was no indignity to it. She'd long ago gotten over nursing Jack Sparrow. Gotten over it even before she'd loved him. Truly, she'd leapt whole-heartedly into one vow -- in sickness and in health -- years ago.

"Small sips," she warned.