Lightening On The Wind
May. 25th, 2009 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonyphoenixTitle: Lightening On The Wind
Series: Leaping In The Dark
Characters: Willow
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Willow stopped a moment and thought about that. She hadn't wanted anything specific in a very long time. Oh yes, she put on a good show, displaying what was expected of her – clothes, jewelry, boy toys – but there'd been nothing she'd wanted for herself. Until that night. For a moment, as she looked over at Naomi to answer her, Willow wondered what drove Naomi to work the impossible hours her job demanded. Willow drove herself, and those who worked closely with her, to exhaustion. It was the only way she could sleep at night.
Disclaimer: They are not mine. Not yet. But they will be mine, once I've taken over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Notes: While you don't have to read the entire series, to understand how Willow got to where she is in this story, you should read How My Love's Song Gently Cries. However, it's very dark and full of squicks so summary: Spike kidnaps Willow. Treats her badly. She's very wounded. (I'm a better writer than a summarizer. Honest).
“Palmer, what is that thing?” Willow gestured with her drink up towards the ceiling where a carved statue, of a flying woman, hung. Her arms stretched out away from her body. Dark blue cloth, with a gold pattern, stretched out from her arms, shifting to the feathers of her wings. Below her bare breasts, her legs, covered in the same cloth and feather pattern as her wings, stretched back like tail feathers.
Willow's assistant, Naomi Palmer, glanced up before replying. “It was gifted to you at the ceremony this afternoon, Dr. Rosenberg. Mr. Cassady brought it back while we went on to the reception. I guess someone from the hotel staff had it put up. Do you want me to have it removed? It might hold some religious significance to the local population and...” she trailed off.
“No, leave it,” Willow replied. “Just make sure it's packed up with the rest of the baggage. What's tomorrow's itinerary look like?”
“Flight out of here at six AM, leaving Thailand behind for India,” Naomi said sympathetically, as if she weren't on the same schedule. “You'll be appearing at a dozen orphanages in Mumbai with two official receptions that evening: one businessmen and the other government.”
“No more religious leaders?” Willow asked.
“There's a ceremony at a local temple scheduled in between orphanage stops.” Naomi glanced up at the carving. “I'll make sure there are no more unexpected gifts.”
“Just make sure you manage to get some sleep,” Willow said, knowing Naomi had hours of work before her. Naomi nodded and left to get to her business.
“Damn nuisance,” Willow muttered in reference to her world tour. Two weeks wasted on charity events. Her own fault, really, that she had to appear at these things herself. She was the sole owner and public face of Star Systems, Inc.. When she had started out, she'd have it no other way. The power had to be hers. The recognition, hers. Nobody had told her the price she'd have to pay: a smiling face; giving her money away to organizations she didn't give a damn about; pretending, always pretending, that social causes were always at the top of her to do list. Humanizing the company's image, her PR people called it. A lot of BS was what it really was but her people were the best. Willow hadn't gotten to the top of the heap by ignoring good advice.
Company won't run itself, she thought. Knowing she should pull out her laptop and get down to business herself, instead she sat down on the couch, rolled the ice around in her drink to release the scent of alcohol, and gazed up at the carving. She looked so free, flying above her cares and concerns, able to escape her responsibilities.
The ring of her cellphone interrupted her reverie. “Rosenberg,” she replied. “Why what time is it?” she asked, looking at her watch. Two hours had slipped away from her. “Damn. No, I didn't realize it had gotten that late. Sorry, unexpectedly tied up. Yes, I know you need it for tomorrow's meeting. I'll have it to you in a couple of hours.” As she hung up and pulled out her laptop, Willow carefully did not look at the carving. She didn't need the distraction.
* * *
The next evening, after a full day's worth of smiles whose warmth she didn't feel, Willow had a quick stop back at the hotel to change for the receptions. She scanned the suite. There was nothing to differentiate it from the thousand of suites she'd been in but something was missing.
“Where's my carving?”
“Dr. Rosenberg?” Naomi asked.
“My carving. The flying woman that I received yesterday. Where is it?” Willow asked impatiently.
Naomi, used to Willow's moods, still blinked in surprise at the unexpected question but replied, “It's packed. I wasn't aware you wanted it out.”
Willow stopped a moment and thought about that. She hadn't wanted anything specific in a very long time. Oh yes, she put on a good show, displaying what was expected of her – clothes, jewelry, boy toys – but there'd been nothing she'd wanted for herself. Until that night. For a moment, as she looked over at Naomi to answer her, Willow wondered what drove Naomi to work the impossible hours her job demanded. Willow drove herself, and those who worked closely with her, to exhaustion. It was the only way she could sleep at night.
“Get it up tonight, before I return, and see to it that it's hanging at the remainder of our stops.” As she stepped towards the bathroom, Willow added, “Lay out my green gown, with the gold shawl.”
* * *
Three days later, at a women's shelter in Detroit, a boy, about ten or eleven years old, slipped through the crowd up next to her. As she looked down the dark hair and eyes reminded her of Xander. Waving off her security, who usually kept her from having to deal with anyone unexpected, Willow gave him an uncertain smile, thrown off by the resemblance to her friend.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said. “We've been living in the shelter for three weeks and they said that, because of the money you gave, we'll be able to move into a home now.”
“What's your name?” Willow asked.
“David Mitchell,” he replied.
“You're very welcome, David. I hope you like your new home.” Willow was curious what had brought his family to that state but, with a flash, he disappeared before she could ask.
* * *
Willow had the carving hung up in her study but it looked out of place against the backdrop of bare walls, one desk, useful more than decorative, and computer monitors. She had it moved to her bedroom and then again to her main living room by the windows, where at least the sky gave it some depth to fly in.
Thinking of her friend for the second time in over a decade, Willow mused, if Xander were here, or even Buffy, we could make a game out of where to hang her. No, that door was closed to her. There was too much pain between them, more than she'd be able to stand, if she tried to go back. Willow was honest enough to know that, if she did reach out, they'd welcome her back with open arms but she didn't have the courage to face her friends. Not anymore.
Grabbing a drink, Willow stood gazing out the window. God, it's dead out there, she thought, surprised by her vehemence. She'd never minded the scene before, in fact the symmetry of the parking garages, concrete and bland inside the fence, and the carefully manicured lawns that surrounded them, had always given her a sense of safety and control.
Glancing up, Willow saw her carving reflected and flickering in the windowpane. She looked like she was flying, like she was alive. Willow turned her head away and shut her eyes. A tear slowly slid down her cheek. With a jerk, she tore herself away and threw herself into her work.
Two nights later, Willow didn't even bother with a drink but turned a chair towards the window and gazed out, not thinking of anything, lost in despair.
The next day, her secretary, Carol, unexpectedly missing documentation, stepped into Willow's office. “Mrs. Chandra is looking for your summary of the financial documents...”
“I didn't look at them.”
“You didn't,” she started to say. “Dr. Rosenberg, are you all right?” she added, taking in Willow's listless stance.
“I'm fine. Tell Saunders to take care of it; have him take care of everything. It's about time he earned some of that ridiculous salary I pay him.”
“But,” Carol started to say at this unprecedented statement. Willow never shared any of her responsibilities; it was too much like giving up control. As Willow turned her infamous glare on the woman, she changed her tune. “Right away, Dr. Rosenberg. Where will you be?”
“In my penthouse. Not to be disturbed. If you can't handle the day to day business without me, I'm paying the wrong people.”
Willow sat, looking out the window again, until long after the sunset. They don't need me, she thought. I've hired the best, they can run the business along without me. Nobody needs me. The world would go on fine without me.
She put her drink down on the side table and didn't pick it up again. She thought for a while about flying. It would be easy. Tallest building in the world. Although really, it would be more like plummeting, wouldn't it. Ugliest building in the world as well, she thought, jerking up from her chair and striding towards the window. Is this what I've made of my life? All this ugliness?
She looked up at the carving, flying free above her. The only beautiful thing in her life. I didn't even choose it myself. It was a gift. Then a new thought came to her. As if somebody knew what I needed even more than I did. She felt oddly reassured. Pulling blankets and pillows off of her bed, Willow made up a place to sleep on the couch, where she could watch the woman flying above her as she dozed off.
The next day, when she awoke and gazed out at her surroundings, Willow felt melancholy again. She looked through her closet, trying to find one outfit that didn't have some specific purpose. There were none. Picking her most casual outfit, she slipped into tan pants and a matching top before heading down to her office.
“Dr. Rosenberg?” Carol asked.
Thinking of a place she'd stayed at, as a girl, along the coast, Willow said, “Rent me a place, somewhere near San Diego.”
“I wasn't aware of any business...”
“Vacation,” Willow responded. “Make it someplace along the coast.” Willow knew that, if Carol had been less professional, her jaw would have dropped. In over ten years, Willow hadn't taken a vacation that wasn't, in some way, related to her work.
“Of course, Dr. Rosenberg. For how long?” Carol asked.
“Indefinite.”
“And when will you be leaving?”
“Today. This afternoon.” Willow responded.
Carol wasn't so crass as to pull up Willow's schedule but she did ask, “Should I cancel your meeting with...”
“I told you that Saunders is to handle all of that.” Willow thought about her responsibilities. “Schedule a meeting for an hour from now. All local VPs and up. I'll tell them myself.”
Four hours later, Willow stepped out the building to where her car was pulled around and waiting for her. She took a brief moment to bask in the sunshine before sliding into the cool, sheltered back seat. It wasn't going to be easy, pulling herself out of hell, but she'd never given in to demons when she'd been younger, she'd be damned if her inner demons were going to control her now.
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Date: 2009-05-26 04:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-27 02:38 am (UTC)Nice icon!
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Date: 2010-09-24 04:15 pm (UTC)