Flood
by Valyssia
13.1 Epilogue: The Seeds of Life
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Manu was washing his hands in a river one day when a little fish swam up and begged him for help. The fish would've certainly made a fine meal for any of the larger creatures of the river, so Manu decided that the right thing to do was rescue the tiny fish. He took the fish home and put him in a jar, tending to him carefully each day. The fish grew. Soon he was too large for the jar, so Manu moved him to a tank and continued to see to the creature's needs.
Many months passed and the tiny fish grew very large under Manu's attentive watch. He loaded the tank into a cart and took it down to the river, releasing his pet. Each day he still returned. Relieved to see his friend, he continued to provide food and care for the fish's needs.
The day came that the fish could no longer comfortably swim in the small river, so Manu led his friend out into the ocean, again setting him free. Still, each day, he came to offer food and the fish would greet him, graciously accepting the meal.
This continued until one day the fish came up and warned Manu that a great deluge was coming within a week. He instructed his friend how to prepare.
Manu went away and built a boat. When he returned, his friend, the fish, allowed him to tether the boat to him. The rains came, bringing with them a devastating flood that destroyed all life. The fish towed Manu to the top peak of a great mountain. And thusly, by his kindness, Manu survived the flood.
The waters receded and Manu sowed the seeds of life, restoring his ruined world.
One
(two months)
After the Flood
The growl of an engine caused Willow to tear her gaze from the book of Hindu parables in her lap and glance nervously around her modest room. What the—who—no one comes out here. Well, only the landlord, but the rent's not due for another two weeks...and—well, that's not how her car sounds.
She snapped the book closed and started to the door. As she reached for the knob, it popped open and the door swung in. She didn't have enough time to register what happened next. In a fraction of a second she went from alone to wrapped in a warm, comfortable embrace and smoochies—soft, gentle, loving smoochies. The sensation that she was forgetting to do something drifted at the back of her mind, nagging at her. Oh yeah! I'm supposed to be mad.
Wrenching herself free, Willow met the blonde's gaze, putting on her best indignant face despite her singing heart. Shut up dammit! I'm supposed to be upset. I so don't need your help. "What in the frilly heck are you doing here?"
Buffy ignored the expression and the question. Uninvited, she pushed past Willow and wandered into the spartan room. After quickly surveying the space, the blonde made her way to the bed and took a seat. "Huh," she sighed. The sound was pregnant with curiosity, as though she had just seen something that baffled her.
When no answer came, Willow glanced out the door, then shut it behind her and went back to her chair. After curling up, she lifted the book into her lap and started to read again. She did her best to ignore the blonde. Maybe I'll bore her to death and she'll leave. It'd be better for everyone if she did.
Finally, she looked up. Buffy was sitting with her head in her hands, staring at the small area rug at her feet. All Willow could see was the crown of her friend's head, but she didn't need to see to know that the blonde was weeping. As she guiltily went back to her book, Buffy began to speak in a low, raspy voice.
"It's funny, y'know? I totally get the 'why.' I get the need to leave. I understand being scared of what you are" — her voice dropped to barely audible — "maybe better than anyone."
Sudden movement caused Willow to glance up when Buffy shot to her feet and started to pace.
Anger washed over Buffy as she moved, corrupting her entire disposition. Eventually, she resumed, "Doesn't matter, though. What matters is: I made a decision—" halting, she stabbed at her chest "—I made a commitment. Do you understand how hard that was for me, Will?" There was a short pause where Buffy considered what she'd just said. Then amusement flashed across her face for an instant and she hastily supplemented, "'Kay, so...that didn't quite come out the way I wanted, but you get what I mean."
An exasperated sigh snarled out and Buffy went back to pacing.
Willow averted her eyes, returning to her book. She sat, unblinking, peering dimly at the book, not caring about the words anymore.
Her friend's voice sounded out, overwhelming the cadence of the boards creaking under her feet, "You told me that relationships—" Buffy paused, groaning as if trying to work out how to paraphrase. "Relationships are about the people involved—just them. They're about the emotions, not a bunch of other stupid stuff."
The blonde drew still again, turning to fix her gaze on the occupant of the chair. As she continued to reflect, she closed the scant distance between them, "You missed something—something really important. They're also about trust. That's actually the hardest part—for me at least."
Willow didn't have to look up to see the expression on her friend's face. She could feel the accusing glare. When the words finally came, they burned.
"You didn't trust me. You didn't even give me a chance."
The next thing that happened confused the heck out of her. Peripherally, she watched the blonde sit down and remove her boots and socks. Then Buffy stood up and slowly started to unbutton her shirt. Willow's gaze remained fixed on the book. Though she could see, she didn't want to look.
Buffy stated matter-of-factly, "In the last couple months I've been stabbed about a dozen times, shot, drowned, run over by a truck..." Her shirt fell to the floor and she giggled. "The loss to my wardrobe alone was tragic." She mocked a sniffle before resuming, "Anyway, I got a little sloppy without you, Will. Hope you'll forgive me." After ripping the white undershirt over her head, she hooked her fingers under Willow's chin and attempted to raise her head.
Willow flinched away, refusing to look. The hand returned, cupping her jaw this time.
"Look at me, Will," Buffy directed insistently, "Don't make me force you."
Jerking away from the adamant touch, Willow hissed, "You really think you could?" in a low, dangerous voice.
"Yes, actually, I do. You'll wanna watch me if fighting is where you wanna go with this. If it is, I'm up for it. You can't hurt me. You can give it your best shot. I've tried," Buffy remarked casually, her tone turning thoughtful as she added, "Y'know I haven't been immolated yet, so if you're gonna do it—call it a request."
Despite herself, Willow turned pensive. Still refusing to look up, she remarked dryly, "Immolation might work—depends on how hot—but if you really wanna die, exsanguination's the best way."
Buffy took a step back and gasped, "Huh?"
The encounter had finally come around to her advantage and Willow snapped her attention to the blonde. She took in the confusion and explained, "The fire would have to be hot enough to kill them. I'm not sure how hot, but we could test if you like." Standing up, she pushed past her stunned friend, continuing to reflect, "Your blood is tainted now...with a parasite. I can feel them. That's why—" she moved to the door "—that's what they brought back. Why it thrives in human blood, I have no idea. It's so alien I'm not even sure what it is. I just know how it feels—like tiny little stars. You glow, Buffy. Others may not be able to see it, but I can."
As Willow stared blankly at the door, she ignored the movement in the room and the curiosity it inspired. I'm so used to being alone now. This is just too weird. A creaking noise caused her to flinch. When she realized seconds later it was the sound of her bed, she swung around. Refusing to look at the bed, she stated frankly, "Buffy, you can't stay. I don't want you here."
"Then throw me out, Will."
Willow scanned the floor, mentally inventorying the clothing. Buffy's jeans, Buffy's boots, Buffy's blouse, Buffy's socks, Buffy's undershirt, Buffy's underwear... Uh-boy. Naked Buffy. What the—what do I do now? I might be able to dress her as I toss her out the door. It might even be fun. She imagined the expression the blonde would make and grinned as she strode back to her chair.
As she settled back into the old recliner, three soft words disturbed the stillness of the room.
"I need you."
***********
It took us forever to wind down to this point. Buffy lay silently, enjoying being held. Mostly I just listened. I let her have her silence until she wanted to talk. When she finally did, it was to read. I like it when she reads to me, so...
It's a hardship, yet somehow I soldier on. The feel of soft skin pressed against her back, delicate hands drifting over her body, caused Buffy to tremble. And then there was...umm, well...yeah... It was unlike anything I expected, or could've imagined. It was—it is...it's impossible to compare because I lack anything to compare it to. The first time was different. This was all about touching and being touched, savoring, enjoying the textures and smells. And I know I'm still clueless. I feel inadequate on every level, but somehow it was perfect.
Buffy submitted when Willow swept up her right hand and raised it into the light to examine. Finally, the touch relaxed and a soft, velvety voice asked, "Why?"
Clearing her throat, Buffy replied, "'Cause I didn't know." Claiming the inquiring hand, she clutched it to her chest as she explained, "Remember that night? We ate and stopped in at that little shop and got henna tattoos, then we went to the Hustler store, finally we stopped by the club?"
Buffy released the hand and brought her wrist up to eye-level. Studying the fine, intricate design in the dim light, she continued to reflect pensively, "Well, when I got out of the hospital, it wasn't gone. The tattoo had faded lots, but somehow it survived" —she reclaimed the hand — "to remind me of you. I was really careful. I didn't want it to go away. It was like a piece of something—something really important I needed to keep. So, the next day I got up and snuck away."
"I made it permanent, not knowing whether it would be," she concluded, letting the hand free again. "The lady that did it asked about color and I said—" she shrugged "—'whatever.' So, she had me pick—blues, reds and greens—it seemed to fit." And now I have this thing—this mark on my body to remind me—to make me remember the night we nearly drowned.
"It's beautiful," Willow murmured, "And it's the last thing I'd expected."
Buffy commented wryly, "Mom wasn't impressed," punctuating with a snicker. She lay enjoying in the warmth for a few moments. Eventually, not expecting any reply, she continued to murmur, "I wasn't asking for anything. I hope you know that. When I came through the door I was just as naked as I am now. The clothing—it was a formality—" That and I know you, Will. I knew you'd have a harder time tossing me naked into the yard. You wanted me to leave. You were on the edge of throwing me out, so...
After sweeping the hair aside, Willow started to kiss the nape of Buffy's neck. Between kisses, she whispered, "I know."
She caught Willow's hand as it moved across her stomach and raised it to her mouth, tenderly kissing the fingers. Releasing the hand, she continued to whisper her thoughts, "There are about a dozen or more clichéd phrases I've heard to describe this. None of them manage to say much. The words just aren't there. You have to feel it to understand. It's like you don't get that anything's wrong, but once it happens—once you're finally whole—you see that you were incomplete."
Allowing her lover time to adjust, Buffy slowly turned onto her back and asked self-consciously, "Is that weird?" Feeling like a hollow shell when you ran away...knowing, above all else, I needed to find you to really live.
Willow's hand came to rest between Buffy's breasts and she began to fiddle with the locket. Glancing up to make eye contact, she offered honestly, "No, it's actually one of the most eloquent, beautiful things you've ever said."
Lying silently, basking in the warmth and the comfort, Buffy absently combed her fingers through the short locks of red hair. I'm glad you're hair's red again, even if there's not lots of it. She snickered softly and added, "I guess the weird thing is: it's got nothing to do with sex. You'd think it would, but sex is just an expression—it's a way of showing."
Clearing her throat to gain attention, Willow murmured, "How'd you get here?"
"Oh," Buffy gasped. Well, that's the last thing I'd expect her to ask after everything else, but it's not an unreasonable question. "Giselle," she filled in, knowing full well this wasn't really an answer. She giggled and began to smooth the wrinkled skin of Willow's brow with her fingers as she explained, "Y'know, it's weird how people expect stuff from you. They get you all figured, and then the expectation."
"What's a Giselle? Is she waiting for you in the car?"
"Giselle is the car, Will. I name stuff, you know that," Buffy replied frankly. As her hand drifted down to Willow's bare shoulders, the redhead turned, giving her the funniest look. "See, with the expectation?" she remarked amusedly, punctuating her delight with a snicker.
Willow sat up enough to gesture for more, then settled back into the curve of Buffy's shoulder.
Buffy began to answer, stream of consciousness, in a gentle voice, "Mom came into some money right after you left, so she asked me what I wanted. I said a car 'cause I knew I'd need one to find you. I didn't care about much else. I sorta coasted by—I finished school, but other than that—lots of unfocusy Buffy. Nothing much mattered. I got really reckless."
"But yeah...the car, Mom and I had a hard time with that. We looked at lots of stuff. After the 'candy' thing, Mom was really scared to let me drive. We finally found something we agreed on, though."
Willow perked up, appearing curious.
Buffy rolled her eyes and said, "You'll laugh."
"What?"
"It's a 1974 Volkswagen Super Beetle," Buffy admitted. Putting her hand to her face to cover the embarrassment, she continued the story, "See thing is, Mom wanted slow and safe."
"Buffy, I've heard—that wasn't a Beetle you drove up in."
Buffy corrected, "Yes it was." When the redhead gave her a look that suggested she'd lost her mind, she continued, "What? It's a Beetle—well, sorta," pausing to giggle again at the look. "I learned to drive...eventually. Mom tried to teach me at first, but it was hopeless. Then I asked Xander and he helped. He made it make sense. I guess we finally found some connection...besides missing you. I'm actually a good driver. The slayer reflexes don't hurt."
"Mom finally just broke down and gave me some of the money. We were having trouble. It was pretty awful. And I guess she thought if I found my own place I'd chill or at least she wouldn't have to watch. I dunno which."
"Xander came to my rescue again. He gave me the weirdest thing to focus on. It was as much for him as anything else. He found an old salvage car. The car was a 1986 Porsche 911. I have no clue how I remember that other than the listening. Xander was really excited. Who knew he was such a car guy? I didn't get it, the Porsche was total junk, but I went along to make him happy."
"So, we found a place with a garage. I practically had to carry the Porsche inside. Then Xander started to mix the two and I got it. I learned the names of the tools, so I could hand him stuff, but mostly we just talked. Well, that and I helped. There were tons of thing-a-ma-jigs he couldn't get loose."
Pausing for a peek, Buffy chuckled at the stunned expression the redhead was wearing and resumed, "Anyway, there was something wrong with the Porsche engine. No clue—something broken. I wasn't surprised. I just know Xander's uncle came over and I bought the beer. There was lots of cussing and sparks."
"So why—?"
Buffy cut her lover off again by answering the obvious question, "Remember Herbie, when he falls in love? The other car was called Giselle."
Rolling her eyes, Willow corrected, "Buffy, that was a Lancia."
A thick mock pout tugged at her lips and Buffy replied, "They cheated, she should've been a Beetle." Her expression shifted into a bright smile when the redhead responded with a giggle.
The smile faded and Buffy gently guided her lover to lie down. When they were settled and comfortable, she remarked nervously, "Look, Will, this is fun and all—the reminiscing." Pausing to sigh wistfully, she shifted focus, steering the conversation, "You don't know—you can't imagine how much—well, maybe you can imagine how much I missed you, but—"
"But what are we going to do?"
"Yeah, that." Buffy's gaze fixed on the exposed, rough-timber ceiling of the small cabin. She allowed Willow several moments to comment. When the offer was met with silence, Buffy began to reflect, "Look, Will, despite what you might think, I'm not here to bring you back. I can't make you do anything. It'd be wrong of me to try. I'm here" — loosening her hold, she started to caress the supple skin of her lover's back — "I came just to tell you I love you. And to let you know I don't blame you. There's no blame." A tear ran down her cheek and her voice choked, turning thick as she added, "There's only sadness...and loss."
Buffy wiped the tear away in annoyance and took a deep breath before continuing, "I'm leaving in the morning. I just needed you to understand." Her words had exactly the opposite effect she expected and Willow broke down, starting to weep.
Lying perfectly still, Buffy held her tongue, allowing her friend time to recover before she resumed, "There's an offer too. Like I said, there's a house. It's on the edge of town 'cause we—Xander and me—we knew you wouldn't want to be around anyone. There's a room in the house that's yours. You just need to come. It'll always be yours, so there's no pressure. It's there for you if you want it."
Sitting up, Willow snatched a handful of tissues from the box by the bed and started to dry her eyes. Buffy giggled lightheartedly when the redhead took more tissues and started to dry her chest. Once everything was neat and orderly again in Willow's world, the redhead started to relax. When her lover was finally tranquil again, Buffy prompted, "I'm surprised you haven't asked me how I found you."
"I don't have to ask. I knew you'd come—when I felt them, I knew it was only a matter of time."
"And that's the last part of the offer. They're willing to send someone to help you. It's an offer, so there's no stress. You can choose to accept it or not. Giles is willing to help too. Whatever's better for you. The point is: there are people—people who are willing give you whatever you need to feel better—to feel safe."
Silence hung thick over the room for several minutes. In that time, Buffy could sense the inner dialog the redhead was going through. It was nearly tangible. Finally, she broke the spell by offering in a reassuring tone, "I don't need an answer. I'll leave the address when I go. The rest is up to you."
There was no reply and Buffy didn't expect one. As she started to sigh, drifting closer to sleep, a hand came to rest on her thigh. Soothing caresses caused her skin to tingle. Gently whispered words broke the silence, "Make love to me, Buffy," and the slayer's eyes opened. They locked momentarily with their green counterparts, fluttering closed again when Willow's lips met hers.