A Journey of a Thousand Miles
by Kirayoshi
The Treachery of Images
[reviews]
Chapter Five
The Treachery of Images
Well, I dreamed I saw the knights in armor coming,
Saying something about a queen.
There were peasants singing and drummers drumming,
And the archer split the tree.
There was a fanfare blowing to the sun,
That was floating on the breeze.
Look at Mother Nature on the run
In the nineteen seventies.
Look at Mother Nature on the run
In the nineteen seventies.
--Neil Young
"After The Gold Rush"
Only four newbies and an apprentice messenger demon, Buffy thought as she headed home after a brief patrol of the local cemeteries. Not even a decent workout.
The week since her first meeting with Victoria Ramirez was quiet, and Buffy wasn't certain whether she was relieved or anxious. Too many times in the past, Buffy reflected, slow patrols and quiet weeks were only the calm before a very nasty storm. And right now, what Buffy needed was for the Hellmouth to remain quiet for one more week. Not only for herself, but for Willow. They only had one week to go before the winter solstice. Before the Cleansing. The last thing that Buffy wanted was for some Big Bad to make his or her presence known just as Willow was at such a vulnerable moment in her life.
Buffy smirked as she considered how frequently her thoughts turned toward her best friend these last few days. God, was it five years ago when she first met a shy young computer hacker and asked her for help with her homework? Buffy recalled how Willow had tried to dissuade her from continuing their conversation, as though she knew that Buffy risked her new-found popularity and status by even addressing her in non-abusive terms.
Buffy, of course, had decided that Cordy wasn't the type she wanted to hang with. Shallow didn't even begin to cover it. Cordy was clearly in it for Cordy, and the rest of the world simply existed for her amusement. Buffy didn't want any part of that mindset. She had seen it too often at Hemery High School. Hell, she had been it too often. The last thing she needed was a reminder of the superficial twit she had been before she learned of her Calling.
From the moment she first connected with Willow, Buffy knew that it was the right decision. As the months passed, no matter the danger, Willow stood staunchly at Buffy's side. Buffy's heart still warmed with pride as she recalled her list of Willow's Greatest Hits for the ten-thousandth time, recognizing how Willow had matured:
Willow, slamming a fire-extinguisher into Moloch's metal body, again and again, venting her rage at his using her, while buying Buffy some time to plan the demon's downfall.
Willow, desperately holding the team together as their personalities began to reflect the cursed Halloween costumes they were wearing.
Willow, resolving to restore Angel's soul even after Angelus dropped a bookcase on top of her.
Willow, assuring Buffy that she wouldn't do anything that could be mistaken for brave as she impersonated her vampiric doppelganger to free the hostages the vamps had taken at the Bronze.
Willow, standing up to Faith, even as the rogue Slayer held a knife to her throat.
Willow, displaying a canary-eating grin as she produced the pages she had swiped from Mayor Wilkins' tomes of magic.
Willow, wanting in the good fight, even though it meant losing her chance to attend an Ivy-League school.
Willow, standing at Tara's side, defending the woman she loved in front of her family.
Willow, using her magic to enter the abyss of Buffy's mind, leading her out of her self-imposed prison of darkness to save Dawn from Glory.
Willow smiling.
Willow laughing.
Willow shouting.
Willow crying.
Willow simply being Willow.
Willow had been Buffy's strength, her anchor, her backbone and her breastplate, from the moment she first entered her chaotic life. To see that inner strength falter, crumble under the influence of Rack's magic, brought home to Buffy the terrible truth, that all she cherished and loved was delicate, needing her attention. Attention that she had been too bitter, too angry, too tired to give.
No more, Buffy vowed silently, deciding that her patrol was over for the night. She needed to get back home. From this day forward Willow, along with the rest of Buffy's extended family, was priority one.
Willow had been her source of strength for five years. It was time for Buffy to return the favor.
>
She sat on the floor of her bedroom, her legs tucked under her knees in lotus position, her eyes staring into the flame of the two candles in front of her, her mind concentrating on not concentrating. If what she was planning was going to work, she needed to achieve a semi-conscious state. She inhaled burning sandalwood and patchouli, allowing their fragrance to imbue her nostrils. She began to feel her awareness of her surroundings fade away. She was no longer sitting on the floor in a Californian house. She was drifting, almost bodiless, floating amid infinite space...
"Hey, Willow," a cheerful voice chimed in, shattering her illusion. She opened her eyes, seeing the familiar surroundings of her bedroom, and sighed heavily.
"Buffy," she greeted her best friend with a slightly annoyed tone in her voice, "did you just come in from patrol?"
"About five minutes ago," Buffy smiled knowingly. "As I was making my way up the stairs, I smelled smoke, so I thought I'd better make sure you were okay. I guess it was just the incense, right?"
"Uh, yeah," Willow stammered, suddenly realizing how she must have looked at the moment. "Uh, it's not what it looks like, really."
"It looks like you're sitting in the middle of your room, lighting candles and burning incense," Buffy responded matter-of-factly as she flicked on the light switch.
Willow sagged her shoulders at Buffy's observation. "Okay, so it is what it looks like. But it's not what you think, Buffy. I'm not doing any magic or anything like that..."
Buffy flashed Willow a reassuring smile. "Relax, Willow. Victoria told me that she had recommended some meditation sessions before your Cleansing next week. I'm cool with that." Willow's face seemed to visibly lighten, and Buffy realized how truly afraid Willow was that she had unknowingly upset Buffy. The blonde Slayer decided to assure her friend further. "In fact," she continued, "she suggested that I should try it. Maybe it might let me calm down and center myself after my patrol. Can I join you?"
"Join me?" Willow nearly squeaked the question before collecting her poise, such as it was. "Sure. Joining is good. Come on in. Pull up...well, pull up some floor, I guess, you need some mineral water or something..."
Buffy stopped the slowly growing tide of Willow-babble by giving her friend an impromptu hug, and Willow found herself effectively and happily silenced, surrounded by Buffy's warmth. "It's okay, Willow," Buffy whispered, her lips barely an inch from Willow's ear, "you're my best friend, you don't have to try for me, you've got the job. Relax."
Ten seconds, twenty, thirty, Willow allowed herself to revel in the fact that such a strong woman was giving her strength to her. Finally, almost reluctantly, Buffy let go of Willow, who flashed a thousand-watt smile at her. The first real smile that Buffy could remember seeing on Willow's face since Tara had left. More and more, Buffy felt that both she and Willow had a real chance of succeeding in laying their mistakes in the past, and concentrating on their futures.
Buffy glanced around Willow's bedroom, taking in the familiar surroundings. Her eyes stalled over a small framed poster that she didn't recognize. It was a simple picture of a wooden pipe, with some words written beneath it that she couldn't make out. The handwriting was impeccable, but the words were French. "New picture, Willow?" Buffy asked her friend.
"Oh, that?" Willow said as she looked at the picture. "Victoria gave that to me. That's a litho of a painting by Rene Magritte, a French surrealist of the nineteenth century. The painting is called 'The Treachery of Images'."
"Oh," Buffy nodded, as she leaned in closer for another attempt at reading the handwriting at the bottom of the picture. "What does this say, 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe'? Is that, 'pass me the pipe' or something?"
"Oh, no, not that," Willow chuckled. "It means, 'This is not a pipe'."
"This is not a pipe," Buffy repeated blankly.
"Right," Willow answered. "And it isn't."
Buffy took a look at the picture again, before saying, "It looks like a pipe to me."
"But it isn't," Willow said.
Buffy stood quietly for a second, then said, "Okay, it's a bubble blower."
"No," Willow shook her head.
Buffy squinted as she looked at the picture again. "It's a bent club."
"No."
"It's Mini-Me's alpine horn."
"No."
"It's a Chia-pet?"
"No." Willow rocked gently on her heels, her huge smile betraying her amusement.
"Willow, I'm flailing here!"
Willow chuckled again, deciding to take pity on her friend's blond moment. "It's not a pipe," she explained. "It's a picture of a pipe."
Buffy stared at the picture again for five seconds, before slapping her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Sure, if you're gonna use logic," she mock-chastised Willow.
"Well, that's what Magritte meant by the treachery of images," Willow explained. "The painting was his way of saying, 'Don't mistake the image of a thing for the thing itself.' This is not a pipe. You can't take it down from the wall, stuff it with tobacco and smoke it. It's a picture. Paint on canvas. Or in this case, ink on paper." Buffy nodded, the wisdom of Willow's words slowly becoming clear in her mind.
"Okay," Buffy said quietly, "I think I'm on board with that. But what does that have to do with your magic?"
Willow pursed her eyebrows in thought. "I dunno, really. But Victoria warned me that, once I reach a full level of meditative trance, I might start having visions. Subconscious images, that sort of thing. Maybe this is her way of warning me not to mistake the visions for reality."
"Sounds like solid advice," Buffy admitted. After a moment, she added, "Okay, how do we do this?"
"Well," Willow turned around, looking at the two candles and the mini-crockpot full of incense she had placed on the floor of her bedroom. "First, could you turn off the lights? We just need the candles for this."
"Gotcha," Buffy turned off the lights, and made her way to the floor where Willow had already assumed a lotus position. Her eyes adjusted more easily to darkness than others, and slightly into the ultraviolet spectrum, due to her slayer heritage, so she had no difficulty sitting down in front of her, the candles and incense between them. "Okay, now what?"
"Tonight is about healing," Willow said quietly, her hands resting limply at her sides. "Tonight is about honesty. Tonight is about the truth. Tonight, we must seek the truth within ourselves. When you begin your meditation, Buffy, you must ask, 'what is the truest thing in your life?' Are you ready to face the truth within your self?"
Buffy nodded. "I'm ready."
Willow lowered her eyelids to a half-closed position. "Now, concentrate on the flame of the candles. See only the flames. Hear only the sound of your heart. Shut out the world around you, it has no place here. Only the world within yourself matters now. Within yourself. Within yourself..."
"Within myself...within myself..." Buffy quietly found herself chanting with Willow. Slowly she repeated the mantra, not even loudly enough to call it a whisper. She breathed the words in tempo with her heartbeat, seeing nothing before her but the candle flames. For a second, she glanced upward, seeing Willow's face as she repeated the chant. Buffy found herself entranced by the gentle slope of Willow's nose, the warm glow of her cheeks as they caught the flickering light of the candles, the shape of her lips...
>
She rode hard through the night, coaxing more speed from her tiring horse. She knew the monsters were close behind her, but she didn't risk looking over her shoulder. She forced her head forward, concentrating on reaching the fortress, on reaching safety.
She heard the cruel hooves of her pursuers' steeds, as they gained on her. She could feel their hot breath on the back of her neck as they galloped at lightning speed. She tried to ignore the knowledge of her pursuers, the stench of death that they carried with them always, the dark cloaks that shrouded their souls. She fixed her face toward the cliffs, away from her enemies. Toward the cliffs, toward freedom.
An arrow flew past her, its fletching brushing with her ear. A warning shot, she figured. She ignored the danger; she could not allow fear of her attackers deter her from her escape. She concentrated on the narrow strip of smooth turf ahead, praying that she could evade her would-be assassins long enough to reach the cliff-side citadel where her allies were waiting for her.
A second arrow slammed into her steed's left hind leg, causing him to buck violently, throwing his rider off of the saddle and onto the hard ground. She struggled to rise herself, only to see the riders that pursued her standing across the river, spindly hands emerging from shifting black robes, nocking their arrows and aiming them at her.
"NO!" The shout echoed across the landscape, seeming to come from everywhere. The sound of galloping hooves filled the air with like a judgment from God. The fallen rider lifted her head and brushed aside a lock of sweat-soaked blond hair. She beheld the silhouette of her rescuer; a white-robed rider on a majestic golden steed, nearly flying toward her, a shining bow and arrow at the ready. A rain of arrows slammed into the dark pursuers, and each rider hit by an arrow disintegrated into ash. Within seconds, the pursuers were no more.
As the golden horse reached the blond woman, the rider pulled gently on the reins, nickering gently to the steed to stop. The rider dismounted and rushed toward the fallen woman. Placing an arm around her, the rider slowly helped her lift herself to her feet. She smiled as her rescuer's hood fell away, revealing the face of her savior.
"You came for me," she breathed in gratitude and love. "You saved me."
"How could I not, my beloved?" answered the beautiful red-haired woman as she took her into her arms. "After all the times you have saved me, all the love you have given me, how could I not?"
The blond woman gazed into the jade eyes of her rescuer, and joyfully succumbed to the urge to bring her mouth closer to hers...
>
"Mmmffy?"
Buffy's eyes snapped open, and awareness of her surroundings flooded her senses. The first thing she was aware of was the warm pressure on her lips. She glanced down, fearing what she would find.
Her mouth was pressed against Willow's, and Willow was murmuring Buffy's name against her lips. Buffy immediately backed away, nearly knocking over the candles in the process. "Omigod!" Buffy stammered hurriedly. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Willow, I didn't mean to do anything to make you upset..."
"Buffy," Willow touched Buffy's wrist, gently assuaging her anxieties. "I'm a lesbian. I kiss girls. You've been aware of that for a couple of years now. You didn't do anything to upset me." Willow touched her lips with the fingertips of her free hand. "Actually, it was kinda nice."
Buffy sighed with relief, but still felt awkward as she looked at her best friend. "Thanks, Will," she breathed. "I'm just not sure how that happened. I had this vision, kinda Tolkien, like 'Lord of the Rings', and..." Buffy's voice faded.
Willow knotted her eyebrows as she regarded Buffy. "Then what happened?"
Buffy turned her head away from Willow and started to look at the door. Get away now, the survival-voice in her head told her. Forget what happened. Don't tell Willow, never tell her...
She gritted her teeth, dispelling her instinct. She wanted to ignore what had happened, to brush it aside, to keep it secret. Just like she wanted to keep her liaison with Spike a secret. Like she tried to keep Angel's return a secret three years ago. Like she tried to keep the fact that she was the slayer a secret from her mother. Like she always tried to deal with the more unsavory aspects of her life, to keep them secret, to hide them from her friends and family.
"The funny thing about secrets," Buffy said quietly, her eyes returning to Willow's face, "is that they never stay kept, and they always end up biting me on the ass. I had a vision about you, and I wanted to keep it a secret. Yeah, like that ever works out in my favor."
"You okay, Buffy?" Willow studied her friend's face and body language, praying that she wasn't misreading her.
Buffy smiled slightly as Willow's eyes met hers. "I hate secrets. They just turn us against each other. Willow, my vision was about you, about us. And it was pretty heavy, so if you want me to stop now, just say so."
Willow smirked at Buffy's words. "It must have been heavy, to get you to kiss me. Do you want to tell me about it?"
"Yes, Willow," Buffy answered without hesitation. "No more secrets."
Willow swallowed down a lump in her throat, and nodded enthusiastically. Buffy steeled herself, preparing to pour out her heart to her best friend.
"BUFFY!" Dawn shouted from the foot of the stairs. "Someone's at the door. He says it's urgent."
The wailing voice of her sister shattered the moment that Buffy and Willow had achieved. Buffy started to chuckle, and was soon joined in her laughter by Willow. "She must be psychic," Willow mused aloud.
Buffy shook her head slightly. "Just unlucky. I'd better see who's here. But I do want to talk about the vision I had."
"We'll talk," Willow promised. "First go see who's at the door."
"Love ya, Willow," Buffy smiled at her best friend, as she got off the floor and darted for the door. Willow sat alone, the paling candle-flames illuminating her features as she looked longingly at her departing friend.
"I love you too," she whispered.
>
"Jonathan!"
"Hey, Buffy," the draggled figure greeted the Slayer, and Buffy gawked in absolute surprise as she recognized her former classmate. He stood on unsteady legs, as though he had run a marathon in heavy armor. His shirt and jeans sported tears, and the skin underneath showed livid claw markings, the larger and more severe looking of which still leaked blood.
Buffy instinctively rushed to his side, allowing the tired young man to lean on her, as she guided him to the sofa. "Dawn," she order her sister, "get some wet washcloths. Hurry!" Dawn ran into the kitchen to follow Buffy's instructions, as Buffy tended to the injured man on her couch.
"I'll go grab the first-aid kit," Willow offered.
"Good thinking, Willow," Buffy assured her best friend as she ducked into the bathroom. "Okay, Jonathan," Buffy urged her classmate, "you want to tell me who or what did this to you?"
"S-spike..." Jonathan slurred out as the pain of a sharp gash to his side protested him. Buffy shuddered as Dawn returned from the kitchen, wet towels in hand. Buffy's motions as she instructed Jonathan to remove his shirt so she could apply the wet cloths to his cuts were almost robotic in their precision. She didn't want Jonathan to explain what he meant by 'Spike', she had plenty of ideas already. But she couldn't simply ignore the possibilities. She had to know the truth.
"Spike, you said," she asked quietly. "As in yellow slicked-back hair, ugly black duster, bad-ass 'tude? That Spike?"
"Y-yes," Jonathan winced slightly as Buffy leaned back and allowed Willow to apply antiseptic astringent to Jonathan's cuts. "It was Warren's fault, he wanted to control him..."
"Whoa, Jonathan," Buffy stopped him, "you'd better start at the beginning. What did Warren do?"
Jonathan gritted his teeth, unwilling to admit the levels of stupidity that brought him to such a terrible state. But if there was one person whom he could trust to deal with whatever evil he and his friends had unwittingly unleashed, it was the Class Protector. He swallowed hard and began; "Well, Warren, Andrew and I got together and started a sort of club. We called ourselves the Troika, and we were planning to take over Sunnydale."
Willow stopped dabbing at Jonathan's wounds with the astringent and looked at him quizzically. "Take over Sunnydale? You serious?"
"Yeah, pretty stupid in retrospect," Jonathan admitted. "Y'know, come up with some high tech weapons, terrorize the downtown area, maybe recruit some vampires into an army, that sort of thing. Really, Andrew and I were mainly in it for the thrills. But Warren, we didn't realize how twisted he was until it was too late. Y'see, he did some hacking, and found out that this outfit called the Initiative had put some kind of V-chips into vampire's heads, to control them. Warren got the idea of creating some gizmo that would allow him to control the chips, thereby controlling the vamps."
"You're right," Buffy glowered, "pretty stupid."
"You have no idea, Buffy," Jonathan moaned slightly. "He created what he called the 'Black Box' out of some transistor parts and a Microsoft X-Box. Then Spike came to visit us, asking Warren to look into this chip in his head. Warren figured out that he had triggered something in Spike's chip with the Box. He must have tried to use his Black Box to control Spike, but Spike got his hands on the Box, and set it so the chip in his head doesn't do anything."
Willow gritted her teeth as she realized the seriousness of the situation. "So Spike's de-chipped? Y'know for a genius, Warren's pretty stupid."
"Yeah," Jonathan murmured ruefully. "Make that 'was pretty stupid', Willow. He's dead now. Spike showed up at our hideout just now, carrying Warren's head like it was a football. He threw it at me, then lunged at Andrew, killing him instantly and sucking down on his neck. He started attacking me, but I managed to find some holy water and throw it at him. That bought me enough time to get away."
Willow didn't have to look at Buffy's face to see her expression; she knew exactly what she looked like. One glance toward her friend confirmed her fears. The hooded brows, the narrowed eyes, dark and unreadable, the lips drawn into a hard and angry line. "It's my fault," Buffy's words were an agonized whisper. "I could have stopped Spike when his chip was still working. But I didn't because he was 'harmless'."
"Don't go blaming yourself, Buffy," Jonathan shook his head. Willow had finished dressing his wounds, and he sat up, with minimal effort. "It was Warren who was screwing with that damn chip. He got himself and Andrew killed. You can't hold yourself responsible for every vamp-related death in this town."
A faint growl emerged from the back of Buffy's throat, the kind of noise that is more felt rather than heard. Buffy shot up from her seat with a grunt and marched to the front hall closet. Pulling a crossbow and some spare stakes from the closet, she announced, "Tonight, I'll be responsible for one vamp-related death. Spike's."
"Buffy," Willow replied hurriedly, "don't go out there tonight! It's not safe there."
Buffy cast Willow a sidelong glare. "And your point is?"
"You're really gonna kill Spike, Buffy?" Dawn asked her sister, almost timidly.
"I have to," Buffy answered. "He's caused enough damage already. I know that you and he have had this strange kind of friendship thing going, but I can't risk him hurting you, or Willow, or anyone else ever again. Spike needs to be dead. Tonight."
Dawn lowered her head, a faint tear trickling down her cheek. "Go, Buffy. Do what you gotta do." Buffy watched silently as Dawn slowly made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. She wished that she could make Dawn understand that Spike was the enemy. Whatever relationship he maintained with Dawn, it only served to advance some agenda of his own.
As Buffy turned toward the door, Willow said in a shaky voice, "Be careful, Buffy."
Buffy didn't turn back as she walked out the door. Closing the door, she whispered to herself, "I will."
>
She stood before the crypt that had been Spike's home in Sunnydale. She doubted that he would be home, but it seemed as good a place as any to begin the hunt. She tried to open the crypt door, but the heavy iron handle was fastened shut. Buffy stared at the door in surprise; was Spike moving out of his old digs?
Buffy pulled hard at the handle, hearing the antique metal groaning in protest as it bent under her strength.
The mildewed and splintered wood fractured easily, giving way as Buffy tugged at the handle. Buffy threw aside the remains of the crypt door, and stood at the threshold. She stood and concentrated for a few moments. Her Slayer senses didn't trigger. Spike wasn't home. Buffy was almost disappointed. 'So Billy Idol's evil twin's gonna make me do this the hard way'.
She gingerly stepped inside the crypt, hoping to find evidence of Spike's whereabouts. She took two steps inside before she felt the slight tug at her left foot. Too late, she looked down at the tripwire that her foot had snagged. As she glanced downward, she felt a sudden sting on her right leg. She noticed the dart that had embedded itself into her leg, as dizziness and vertigo assailed her.
As she slumped to the floor, the last thing she saw as consciousness slipped away from her was the leering image of an arrogant blond figure in a long leather jacket. The vampire smiled, showing the hint of a fang, as he said, "So predictable, Slayer. So bloody predictable."