Disclaimer and Notes: Mutant Enemy owns 'em, but they're taking the tour in Stonyland like all the other good characters . Title inspired by the Meatloaf song of the same name. Thanks to Carin Lamontagne for the beta.
It Just Won't Quit
By Raine Wynd
The rain makes drumming noises on the weatherproofed canvas of the tent, but I barely hear the sound. For once, it's too wet to go demon-hunting. Though I'd argue this would be the best time to do it, the lieutenant isn't a man who takes kindly to having his orders questioned, especially not from the guy with the black mark on his record. I can't say I blame him; I'd be suspicious of me too. I saw my 201 file; the formal reprimands and the service record data classified by executive order add up to a lot I can't say and don't regret.
I came to Sunnydale thinking you were just another civilian I had to protect. Then I met you, and thought you were just another dumb blonde who didn't know Jung from Kierkegaard, much less anything about death. I figured I'd have to rescue you from some HST; maybe, if I was lucky, you'd be grateful for a knight in shining armor — well, dull camouflage at least — and you could be Barbie to my G.I. Joe. Boy, how wrong I was.
You not only knew how to kick ass, you knew when to scream when it counted, and not over some ordinary HST either. Those guys man, I never put much stock in fairy tales before then, and I found myself doing research on all of them after that. You acted like it wasn't the first time you'd come across something that evil, that as horrible as the Gentlemen had been, you fully expected to come across something much worse. You were the Slayer; it was your job, and I was just another civilian in the line of fire. I didn't know how to handle that at first. Sometimes, I'm still not sure if I ever really did do a good job of handling anything, but out here at least I feel like what I do matters to someone.
Even if I knew where I was, I couldn't tell you. It's a jungle no matter where we go; what changes are the demons, and I'm not supposed to be writing those down either. Giles or Willow probably could figure it out if you gave them enough time. I guess they figure the rest of the world could if they bothered to believe in the things that go bump in the night. I never went in for the whole writing out your thoughts thing, even though as a psych major, I knew its value. But it's times like this, when it's just me, my tent and the empty cot where my partner used to sleep before we lost him to a Barakeh demon, when I start remembering the things I wish I could forget. Times like this, I start to wonder if it's worth trying to find out if I can smuggle out a letter to you.
Oh, I know you probably are too busy with whatever Sunnydale's got to throw at you to worry about me. I never thought I'd fall in love with a woman whose heart was already taken long before I came along, and that I'd be happy just to take whatever you could give me. I wanted more, you know; didn't want to be just mission's boyfriend, but you wouldn't let me in. A vampire with a chip in his head knew you better than I ever did, and wasn't that a crock? Hell, Xander knew you better, and when wasn't he someone you had to protect? I could fight alongside you, and you never had to worry about me keeping up well, for the most part.
I miss you, and I hate myself for missing you. I can't help wonder if it's Spike who's holding you now, or if your precious Angel came back again, or if you're with someone completely new. Every time that thought goes through my head, I get jealous. Sinatra might've left his heart in San Francisco, but I know where mine is, and it's lying in pieces on that warehouse floor, right where you dropped it. I'll never be the same for loving you, and as much as I want to regret it, I can't.
©2.15.01, 4.22.01 Raine Wynd Comments welcome at: firstname.lastname@example.org