Just Stake Me! Episodes

Touched (Ep. 7.20)

"Hold Me Now"

Previously on Buffy. Things have gotten downright apocalyptic. The final battle with The First is imminent. Potentials are, as we've been told they would be all along, getting killed. Xander has lost an eye (as gruesome "previously" footage reminds us). Sunnydale has emptied itself of noncombatants, leaving behind one houseful of scared and tired defenders to face whatever lurking baddies may remain.

So far, the war as fought by General Buffy has been a figure-it-out-as-you-go proposition - exactly the opposite, in fact, of what she'd originally laid out as her plan of action in "Bring on the Night": "From now on, we won't just face our worst fears, we will seek them out... We will find them, and cut out their hearts one by one until The First shows itself for what it really is. And I'll kill it myself." But ten episodes after this stirring call to arms, Buffy has yet to deliver on her promise. Tired of waiting - and getting maimed and/or dying in the process - the gang has unamiously voted to hand over the reins of command to Faith instead, and ejected Buffy from her own house. Being the "Chosen One," apparently, only gets your so far.

Buffy's ostracism by her friends and family is definitely a logical extension of the themes of the season so far (e.g., communication, "helping," emotional connections, etc.)... but I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't about out of patience waiting to see those themes finally pay off. "Touched" doesn't actually suggest answers to the issues raised by "Empty Places" and "Get It Done" (Can leaders also be friends? What qualities are required to lead?). Instead, it offers us more object lessons in heartache and frustration, and yet another example of Buffy coping by moping... more. At this point, I would give about anything for some fillerish demon fighting to distract us from the continuing microanalysis of Buffy's emotional problems.

I mean, at least in the march toward the Glory battle, we got a swordfight atop an RV....

. . . .

Casa de Summers. The living room has become the site of a chaotic argument about the best way to proceed with the new Buffy-less regime (mostly timid suggestions about "parlimentary procedure" and lots of pushy big-mouthing by Kennedy). Only Dawn seems to be feeling any prick of conscience at all over Buffy's rejection. "Why do I feel like this?" she frets. (That's called guilt, honey. Duh.)

Anyway, having absorbed enough by way of conflicting agendas, Faith asserts herself. She tells the Potentials that she's the boss now, "not one of you anymore," and raps out a few sharp orders. Soothed by her take-charge approach (of which Giles obviously approves), the gang gets down to business. Faith's plan: to try a little intelligence gathering by capturing a Harbinger. Seems like a good idea.

Hide And Go Seek
Meanwhile, in the opposing camp, we see that banished leader Buffy doesn't handle rejection too well. In fact, without her usual ration of unconditional support to shore her up, she becomes bitter and scary. She blithely kicks in the door of a neighbor's house "looking for a place to crash," and evicts the panicked resident with the deadened statement: "It's not your house anymore. It's not your town. It's theirs." She then curls up in the neighbor's bed, fully clothed, for a stint of apathetic sulking.

It's in this state that Spike finds her, some hours later. Unsurprisingly, he's her last advocate. Earlier in the episode, he'd returned to the Summers house from the "Mission mission" with Andrew to receive a nebulous debriefing of the previous evening. Scant seconds are all it takes for Spike to decode Willow's transparent fib that Buffy decided to take "a little time off." He promptly launches into an emotional lecture in which he calls the Scoobies a pack of ungrateful traitors, condemns Giles ("you used to be the big man, the teacher.... now she's surpassed you and you can't handle it"), and accuses Faith of coveting Buffy's position ("you got what you wanted"). After trading a few blows with the outraged Slayer (in which he gets his ass handed to him in short order - Faith is still nobody's victim, thank you very much), he abandons the house in disgust, and heads off in search of Buffy.

The point of this exchange seems to be that true loyalty comes from emotional ties, not just competency. Spike's staunch support for Buffy is embarrassingly emotional, and Faith spots his motive instantly ("You're pretty sweet on her, aren't you? I think it's cute, they way she's got you so whipped"). Buffy's friends are a thornier issue. They don't exactly rush to Faith's defense, and only have eye-rolls to offer in response when Spike cites their debt of obligation to the Slayer ("She has saved your lives again and again. She's died for you. And this is how you thank...?"). They're immune to his impassioned entreaty at this point (Xander's eye loss being the apparent catalyst for their reversal). Reason and emotion have been set up as opposing camps.

But which one is right? Are emotional attachments the enemy of clear thinking, as Giles and the Scoobies seem to think, or is it the other way around?

Given these examples, it's kind of hard to judge. The reasoned, organized approach, as illustrated by the Scoobies, ultimately doesn't turn out so well. Interrogating a captured Harbinger only ends up leading Faith and a contingent of girls straight into a trap. A ticking timebomb is the reward for trying to do things the rational way.

At Home With The Incredible Sulk
However, things aren't much better in Buffy's world, where both reason and emotion seem to have been rejected. As leader, Buffy's allowed herself to become unfeeling and remote - and has, in fact, been encouraged to do so by her father figure, Giles. But aside from brute strength, Buffy's greatest assets have always been her gut instincts ("my emotions give me power," as she told Kendra way back in Season 2) and her friends. Cut off from both, she's all but paralyzed. We've come a long way in reverse from the girl who responded to Angelus's taunting question, "no friends, no weapons, no hope... Take all that away and what's left?" with the confident realization that she still had herself.

So now, we get this new Buffy's reaction to the realization that she still has one friend - or weapon, whichever - left in her corner, Spike. Having unproductively sulked the day away, the listless Slayer barely responds to the vampire's righteous anger over her ouster from the inner circle. Even his news that her plan to confront Caleb was, in all likelihood, right all along, arouses no interest. She snaps at Spike to just leave her alone.

Tiresome last year, Buffy's self-pity has now passed the event horizon into unbearable. Just as in Season 6, her misery is expressed by a mixture of moping and hostility. In a rare glimmer of insight into herself, she glooms, "I've always cut myself off... Being the slayer made me different. But it's my fault I stayed that way. People keep trying to connect to me, and I just slip away... you should know." To bring this train of thought to a complete circle, she then scoffs at her last supporter by telling him: "We were never close. You just wanted me because I was unattainable."

A Dazzling Display Of Effulgence
With this, we've finally reached the crisis point the last two episodes have been building toward. Everything she has just said about herself is true... but what she said about Spike is not. He wastes no time correcting her, first with a welcome display of annoyance at her claim of being "unattainable" ("You think that's all that was? You're insufferable!"). Then, in an almost inhumanly patient display of love and support, he kneels down in front of her and explains in a soothing voice what he sees in her: "When I tell you that I love you, it's not because I want you, or 'cause I can't have you - it has nothing to do with me. I love what you are... what you do... how you try... I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You are a hell of a woman."

Two things jump to mind about this: One, that the key point here is that Buffy was wrong. She'd been assuming all along that Spike saw her only as a conquest. This does bring us back neatly to the morning-after conversation of "Wrecked" (and his poorly timed gloat of "the only thing better than killing a Slayer...") but also makes her look shockingly unobservant, given the events of the last year and a half. Second, it occurs to me that had these words been said by any other character in the BtVS universe, there'd be no question how we're meant to interpret them - as the very picture of absolute, selfless love. "I'm not asking for anything," he insists; Buffy is simply "The One." In any other situation, you'd think this guy is just too good to be true; anyone who could reject a man like this would have to be a complete and total idiot.

Well, welcome to Buffy's world, because here's what our hero has to offer in response: with tear-streaked face and quavering chin, Buffy whimpers, "I don't want to be The One."

Whatever. Spike doesn't have a response for this - having said his piece, he moves to withdraw from the room, to leave her alone like she asked. But Buffy suddenly decides she wants him to stay. "Would you just hold me?" she pleads. After some hesitant establishment of logistics - no, not the chair, she wants him with her on the bed - Spike consents, and tentatively settles down next to Buffy for the night (both are fully dressed). They chastely embrace. They gaze seriously into each other's eyes. He gently kisses her hair as she sleeps. Buffy has finally allowed him to "get close."

Use Me, Abuse Me, You Ain't That Average Groupie
It's a touching moment, granted... but what bothers me about this is that it's starting to look like we're never going to see the characters really deal with any of the hard issues left over from Season 6. That Buffy still feels an attraction/connection to her attempted rapist of a year ago is clear - no guess yet on what we're meant to think of that - but what's not clear is whether or not she's even forgiven him for that attack. She's never said she has, and based on an acid comment she makes earlier in the episode (about him having a problem with the word "no," which can't help but be read as an oblique reference to the event), I'd almost have to conclude that she hasn't. And with forgiveness taken out of the equation, Buffy's needy request to be held puts us right back into the realm of Season 6, where she ruthlessly uses Spike for emotional support... and this time with a full and complete understanding of his feelings.

The return of "weak and selfish" Buffy is enough to make anyone nauseous, but the contrast to the impossibly gentlemanly behaviour of soulful Spike makes it even harder to take. To the untrained eye, the simple comfort and closeness he offers Buffy here looks very much like what she had consistently refused to accept from him before, that she shoved away in disgust in favor of violence and sordid sex. ("You're not a man, you're a thing," "You're in love with pain," "You're just convenient", etc.) Since the series has been so unclear on the exact difference between the soulless and souled versions of Buffy's vampire nemesis/ally/sounding board/punching bag/lover/ex, it's hard not to feel that we've been taken on this journey the long way around for no particular reason.

Between The Sheets
To make matters even more complicated, intercut with the Buffy and Spike moments of closeness, we see other couples at Scooby Central "getting close" in the much more literal sense of having hot, pumpin', raunchy sex! In a montage reminiscent of the one truly funny scene in The Big Chill, Willow and Kennedy share a fairly graphic girl-on-girl love scene, complete with much use of tongue; Xander and Anya desperately grapple on the kitchen floor; and Faith gets bumpily busy with Robin Wood in Buffy's bedroom. Then, in a baffling side commentary, we see The First, in typical folded-arms Buffy pose, observing all this from the winery and musing to its henchman Caleb that it envies these humans and their gyrating. "I know why they grab at each other... to feel," it murmurs, and then claims it wants that sensation for itself. "I want to wrap my hands around some innocent neck and feel it crack," it thrills. Apparently, incorporeal evil's greatest wish is now to become more hands-on.

Leaving aside the question of why we're getting this sudden about-face when The First had previously claimed to be "done with the mortal coil," the whole subject of "feeling" here is a sticky one. Wasn't "feeling" what Buffy wanted last year? Remember her song from the musical: "This isn't real/but I just want to feel"? And her words to Tara, about Spike: "He's everything I'm supposed to be against... but the only time I ever feel anything is when..." Caleb's words build on this, commenting that the sexual partners at the Summers house are "barely more than animals, feeding off each other's flesh." This too, strikes a familiar note: Spike's words, in "Beneath You." "Am I flesh to you? Feed on flesh. My flesh... nothing else, not a spark."

Questions of possible "spark" aside, Caleb's sermonizing puts all this "feeling" into context - the old Christian saw about "temptations of the flesh." Intimate touching, apparently, is a "weakness," a crutch, undertaken out of fear - of failure, of loneliness, of loss of control. With the montage framed in such a way that Buffy's sexless cuddling with Spike seems to be held up as superior to Willow needing Kennedy to be her "kite string," it's hard not to draw the conclusion that sex itself is supposed to be something wrong. This is a head-scratching position for BtVS to suddenly be taking after seven years. Where is this sudden moralistic spin coming from?

Don't Take It Like A Man
The morning after only adds to the confusion. On one hand, sexual "closeness" seems to have helped reforge emotional ties among the Scoobies - they definitely seem more relaxed and in better spirits, and Faith develops a sudden concern for Buffy's welfare, arranging a contingent to go check on her and make sure she's okay. Then again, Faith also blows off her bed partner Principal Wood with a curt "I'll call you," so their between-the-sheets sharing has apparently not led to any kind of lasting bond. But the wake-up call on the non-carnal side of the fence isn't much warmer - Spike finds himself alone, a note on the opposite pillow. Buffy has decided to take on Caleb all by herself.

The fight with Caleb is, at least, finally something positive. In a snazzy display of wire-fu, Buffy avoids Caleb's powerful blows instead of taking them on the chin, as per her previous strategy, and keeps up an old-style running commentary of quips and snark. She also finds the weapon he had been hiding - a shiny axe is embedded in a block of stone, Excalibur-style, "for her alone to wield." She smiles brightly at this discovery. The villain's evil plan to keep it from her has been foiled.

Since Buffy's triumph is no doubt a good thing, perhaps it's picky of me to point out that Caleb's strategizing was frankly stupid. Why draw attention to the winery where the weapon was hidden, much less dig it up, when Buffy wasn't even aware of its existence before? Caleb overall is an unconvincing portrait of a formidable threat - frustrated by her brilliant new technique of dodging, he cartoonishly roars and fumbles as quippy Buffy runs rings around him. I can only hope the point is meant to be that misogynist creeps are only as tough as you let them be. (This still doesn't explain the timebomb plotline, however - why go to the trouble of planting a bomb in the sewers when he already knows where Buffy and the others live?)

All For One... The Chosen One!
In the final analysis, "Touched" delivers some very conflicted messages about empowerment. I was distressed to note that Buffy's new burst of confidence applies only to herself - there's no sharing of strength, as with Willow in "Same Time, Same Place." She doesn't stay "connected." Having gotten what she needs, she runs off alone.

A generous person could read this as Buffy trying to protect those she loves. Perhaps she now prefers to face danger alone rather than put those she cares for at risk. Alternately, you could uneasily recall her behaviour from "As You Were," in which she greedily feasted on ego-boosting statements from Riley ("you are a hell of a woman," he told her, just as Spike does in this episode), and Spike's eager answers to her imperious demands that she be told how much she's wanted and loved. That Buffy gains strength from hearing she's wonderful is not exactly a stirring endorsement of her character, especially when she follows it up by abandoning the person she's drawn her strength from (another sharp echo of "As You Were," not to mention the latest in a string of incidents where she's left Spike trapped somewhere by the sun, unable to follow her ("Afterlife," "Wrecked, etc."). "It's all about power," The-First-as-Buffy reminded us in "Lessons." And in this relationship, Buffy always manages to get the last word.

To be perfectly honest, I'm now officially tired of Buffy's issues. Last year I found her behaviour sickening and hateful, but with this episode, I'd almost say it's gotten worse. After being given the obvious object lesson of Spike the Remorseful, the vampire who went to get a soul because he couldn't live with having "hurt the girl," we're for some reason still being asked to cut slack to Buffy, the hero who Came Back Wrong, and still hasn't found her feet yet. Shouldn't she be held to a higher standard? Is it too much to ask that I be able to like the main character of the show?

I'm trying to remain upbeat. Really I am. This miserable state of affairs could be turned around - Season 6 managed to do it, even if Buffy's sun-drenched revelation, alone among all the other climatic moments in "Grave," struck me as cheesy and false. If the payoff is good enough, I can forgive a lot. But it's getting pretty late in the game.

Only two episodes remaining. Keep your fingers crossed.

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