With Me
by Alexandra J. Campbell aka FuffyChick45
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Joss is god, we knew this... as is Petrie ;)
Author's Notes: Short, sweet, and set during 'Chosen'.
Feedback: Yes please :D

I used to pride myself on being ruthless, cunning, reckless, but no less a danger to anyone, but myself. Singular. Solitary. A limb severed from the body of that created it, and wild in the strictest sense. I was one of something, believing I was nothing, but everything all at once. Then when I heard you existed my intitial reaction was to become beligerant with the thought that someone might understand, when being alone has protected me all my life. Eyes that saw right through should have been pulled right out the sockets of the person I thought would be forever unworthy, but it's only cause you made me feel so...binded beneath you.

I saw you in each and every dream before I set foot into town. I did nothing, but watch you for days on end, fixated, entranced. I wondered how you swallowed and consumed everyone aroud you, wondered how they went so willingly. They're all mutilated moths to a flame they refused to see, whilted by their worship. They gazed upon you with rose-colored glasses ignoring the glare of flawlessness, or at least the belief of it.

You were too coy to be serious, too sweet to be innocent, too charming to not have an agenda, and I prayed to god that I was wrong about it all, though the rattle in my being knew otherwise. I craved the inexplicable and immaculate garnish of purity you projected, to feel guiltless, at least for awhile, in the wake of my power. All the attention fell on you in the midst of the chaos, your word sacred, your benediction was law. You came off as jesus christ on crack cocaine, placing yourself upon that fucking cross, that couldn't hold two, worse yet, you pretended not to be empty without me.

You ain't no martyr. The bottom of that cross is mine, a single nail to your two or not. If I wasn't so god-damned selfish in your eyes, I might feel sorry for you, but you pity yourself far more then I ever could, because you're 'that much better'. Those tears that never drop feel staged by the time they finally do. Your head rests against his chest the cliche' of the century. He's yet another man to save your ass because you couldn't save yourself, another shoulder to lean on, yet shudder against, because the position of your head is so low, when looking up at someone who used to crawl for your company, who's meant to, you'd keel over and die early for your 'cause'.

Truth is each and everyone of these people around me secretly wondered what the world would be like without you in it, while I still wonder what it'd be like if you were in mine. Despite how angry I am, appear to be on the surface, I could never abandon you, because, I, myself, am 'that much better', and wouldn't be without you...maybe that's by comparison.

You rap them around your sticky little fingers with a speech about victory in this fight, still dirty and covered in me, from the other night. I smile inwardly. They don't know the captain, they don't know their savior. I'm the only one who does. You whisper in my ears how you'll abandon them when this is all over, giggle girlishly that'd you'd follow me down anywhere, and to say to hell to a calling that chose us, worse for wear. Seven years of fighting them and your hands are cold, four years of fighting us, and they warmed with just the thought of anything but this, but not with just anyone. With Me.

The End

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