The drive back to her motel had been mostly silent. After his performance Spike had all but vanished into thin air. Riley had apologized profusely from not seeing him, even though she assured him she didn’t blame him. After that? Silence. Right up until she was getting out of the car.

“Buffy?”

Ugh. Was he going to apologize again? How much more did she need to reassure him she was ok?

“Riley, look…”

“Just give it one more chance.”

Well, that wasn’t what she was expecting him to say.

“Are we talking about…” She left the question hanging in the air.

“Open mic. The bar. Getting it all out.”

Hmm.

“I don’t know, Riley…”

“Buffy, just stop for minute. Think back to earlier tonight. That feeling you had right after you got off that stage. How did it make you feel?”

So many words began popping into her head. Shocked. Relieved. Surprised. Overwhelmed. Elated. Satisfied. Free.

Wow. Where had that one come from? And yet, she couldn’t quite deny it either. Even if only for a little while, it had given her a feeling of being free.

“What if… what if…he’s…”

“So what? If he is? Isn’t that why you were writing it down? To tell him everything?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know he was going to…”

“Hear it?” Riley interrupted her.

“Respond,” She finished.

He seemed to think about that for a moment.
“So, you can talk to him, but he can’t talk to you?”

“Not exactly what I would call that.”

“Really? Because now that I think about it, metaphors aside, I think that there was a whole conversation going on that the rest of us didn’t understand.”

Buffy smiled. He was and wasn’t wrong.

“No metaphor, no conversation.”

That got her a confused look. He seemed to think about it for a while. She watching him start to say something and then stop. She decided that it was good time to finally get out of the car.

“And on that note…”

“So, Tuesday? Same time?” Riley looked at her, hopeful.

Could she? Would she? In a box, with a fox? Or potentially a Spike?

“Tuesday. Same time.”

**********

Tuesday came a lot sooner than she thought it would. She had decided that perhaps she would go with one of the things she’d written that were a little less soul revealing, just in case he was there again. So far, neither she nor Riley had spied him anywhere. She’d checked the open mic sign up sheet a few times, and hadn’t spotted his name, either William or Spike, anywhere on it. Thus far, they’d made it through most of the list with no sign of ‘William the Bloody’ showing up. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse about getting up and reciting her piece.

“Alright everyone, this next one made quite the first impression here on Saturday, so we’re excited to see her back. Let’s see what she has for us tonight. Will she be a new favorite? You tell me! Get ready for Annie Winters!

And there went the butterflies again as she walked up on stage. Right up until the moment she could no longer see anyone, closed her eyes, breathed deep, and let the words flow.

Every slap, every hit, every punch, every blow
Reminds me that there is more than just me.
A call to duty that I can not ignore.
I am a guardian, a protector, a soldier.
I am my sister’s keeper.
A fighter in the battle to be free
From fear, from hate, from oppression.
And she will be. Oh, yes, she will be.
Every slap, every hit, every punch, and every blow
Is one more that she will never feel.
One less bit of pain that she will never have to take
Because I will take every single one you throw.
Until that day, so very soon, when time is one my side…


The words went on, freeing themselves from her in a stream a conscience. Until finally, there were no more. She waited only a moment before the audience gave its approval. Even on the way back to the relative safety of Riley, she wasn’t sure that had been the right one to recite, but it was over now.

The next performer was already beginning and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stick around, or leave. Riley seemed to sense her dilemma and suggested they go ahead and leave. It was then that she realized that she was disappointed that he hadn’t been there. As they were leaving, she paused at the door to put on her jacket against the chill in the air outside. And that was when it happened.

And she shall rise
Like the sun in the east, she can not be caged
No curse of man, nor celestial will
Could ever keep her from her course.


She turned, and there he was on the stage, his eyes piercing through the crowd and straight to her, as if she were the only other person in the room

And she shall rise
Like the ocean tide that bows only to the moon
No creation of mortal ever made
Can contain the ebb and flow of blessings from her bounty.

And she shall rise
Like the warrior goddess Sekhmet, with fire in her veins
No villain who stands before her
Can help but tremble in the presence of her might.

And she shall rise
Like the phoenix, who is from ashes reborn
No trial of fire or flame or time
Can do anything more than renew the magnificence inside her.

And she shall rise
For she is all of these and more
The warrior, the phoenix, the sun, the tide, the goddess
The only constant in the universe unwavering - mother, maiden, crone.
And she shall rise


**********
And so it went. Every Tuesday and Saturday she would work up the nerve to recite something she’d written. And every Tuesday and Saturday, Spike would use his stealth and speed to jump onstage at just the right moment and recite a reply.

When she performed ‘Where has my father gone’, he answered with ‘A tribute to mothers’ that almost had her feeling like she’d been wrapped in the warmth of her mother’s arms again, or Jenny’s, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been talking about his two mothers or hers.

When she recited ‘Chocolate’ she thought than she had him fair and square. How was he going to respond that that one? He called her bluff with one of his own about chocolate sauce that had the whole place laughing and falling out of their seats over his double entendres.

When she broke out ‘Letter to my angels’, he replied with ‘And the angels replied’. ‘Lapis Lazuli’ had been complemented by ‘Gold’. And her tentative recitation of ‘Frozen’ had been tenderly answered by ‘The fire within’. Riley was right. They were having whole conversations, without anyone being the wiser. And if she cared to admit it, she was beginning to think that Riley’s plan was working.

This evening she’d read ‘Predator’, a darker piece she’d written about how much she’d wanted to do nothing more than just feel something, anything. She’d been locked away inside until everything seemed like a foreign world encased in ice. She’d worried a bit about how Spike would respond to that one. When he took the stage, she was prepared for his anger. What she got was ‘Conquered’, a highly metaphoric, yet sensual, exploration about trust and surrender that had left her, and more than a few others in the room, needing to adjust their clothing for better comfort.

She was almost out of compositions now. Only a few of the darkest ones were left. Ones she could never share in this kind, or any other kind, of venue. Come Saturday, she had nothing left to perform. But she did have something left to say. The question was… how was she going to say it.





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