PDF for Flood

Summary
I received this challenge near the springtime of 2008.
“There was a throwaway comment in season three Earshot where Willow asks Buffy if the
demon that infected her was a boy demon and I always expected someone to run with this but
I’ve never seen anything.”
This might seem on the surface to be a request for some pretty twisted PWP she-male porn, but
as I considered it I began to see the value in the story. Gender dysphoria is a very real topic, one
that’s particularly taboo in our crappy militant Christian society. As an atheist, poking my finger
in the eye of the ‘conservative right’ is something of a hobby. As a lesbian and a member of ‘the
community’ I saw this as an opportunity to speak to this topic on what I hope to be a relatively
sensitive level.
What we end up with is a pretty unusual sort of ‘trauma/ comfort’ story
Review
“You get my admiration and praise for an excellent piece that was written in record time with no
deviation from quality. Characterization was good up to the point where it became your
universe and continued from there as I felt your extrapolations were accurate. The plot was
compelling, the romance believeable. Angst a little heavy but third-person past does have limits
which you overcame, for the most part, well enough with letting us peek in their heads.
Sometimes the shifting got a bit...dull, information overload but the plot was quick enough to
not let that be a severe issue.
“And, as I said, the story was strong enough and created skillfully enough that you used the Rule
Breakers well and incorporated them into your story. So I’d say it was a quadruple success. You
took on gender-flips, immortality, death and possible after life and it worked.”
Mad-Hamlet
Disclaimer
All material derived from pop culture at large is the property of its respective owner. No
copyright infringement is intended.
All original concepts and characters are the property of Valyssia Leigh © 2007 to present.
“Buffy the Vampire Slayer” trademark (® and TM) and copyright (©) 20th Century Fox
Television, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, and Dark Horse Comics, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Any reproduction, duplication or distribution of these materials in any form is expressly
prohibited.
Thanks
Howard Russell is not only a wonderful friend, but fine beta reader. Were it not for his
dedication and patience, these stories would be a total wreck.
My friend Whedonist has been providing a third pair of eyes to spot lingering typos for
me since 2008. Again, without her…
Angie provided input and error correction.
Mad-Hamlet wrote portions of the mayor’s scenes. Specifically, the ‘Gummy Bears’ bit
was him. Howard also wrote the majority of the Joyce point of view scenes, which was
very cool. We got to work together.
Finally, Miss Charlene created the marvelous cover art.
Table of Contents
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Depth of Life
Something Deeper
Just How Damaged Have I Become?
Like Bees Working in a Glass Hive
All the King’s Horses
And All the King’s Men
The Redeeming Things
From Fatal Errors
The Lame and the Blind
Something Subtle, Intangible and Inexplicable
Put Out the Light in My Eyes
In the Beginning is My End
Epilogue: The Seeds of Life
Depth of Life
Setting off at brisk clip, Buffy weaved between two tombstones. She put her
hand to her mouth and a faint burp produced the same sickening-sweet, metallic
aftertaste she’d been fighting all evening. The potion Angel had fed her earlier that day
had been, in large part, the heart of a demon. It had been far more pungent than blood
and she struggled as her stomach knotted and turned to lead again.
Buffy hated admitting that she’d actually tasted blood; the idea made her sick—
it somehow brought her closer to what she hunted. She recalled cutting her teeth as a
child.
But then who hasn’t. Its part of the ‘human’ thing. Eventually you get hurt and
the tasting just sorta happens.
In her case, the freshest memories were the result of getting repeatedly
punched in the face. Tasting blood was an unwelcome side effect, but being able to
compare the taste of the heart of a demon to her own blood made all of the sensations
somehow worse.
I think slayers should get sick days. No such luck. The moment I’m not hearing the
thoughts of every man, woman, and child in Sunnydale, it’s back to the grind.
After pausing to scan the graveyard for movement and listen to her inner voice,
she started off again toward the most remote parts. Zero tinglies—‘spidey sense’: total
dud. With any luck I’m in for a boring night.
Y’know, it seems to me this whole slaying gig is missing an important element.
Pre-slayer, whenever I had to do something I hated, some adult would tell me, ‘it’ll get
better.’ I’m sensing a distinct lack of peppy adult platitudes. Maybe I’ll ask Giles to lie to
me about how much better this crap’s gonna get. It’d be comforting to hear.
The last lie I asked for went something like this, ‘The good-guys are always
stalwart and true.’ Yup, comforting…like fuzzy puppies and warm soft blankies.
Buffy sensed movement behind her and pivoted to see a slightly overweight
vampire with shoulder-length, dirty blond hair, dressed in a cheap, modern rendition of
nineteenth century fashion. So much for the boring night. She smirked at the billowy
ruffled sleeves of his white shirt, then the smirk transformed into a bright sunny smile.
“’Kay, so…Ozzy Osborne or Lestat? The look’s a bit vague.” Producing a stake from her
jacket sleeve, she gestured to indicate his lack of fashion sense and poised waiting for
the funny to start.
Of course, that was before he lied to me for real, poisoned me and… OH GOD!!!
Giles had sex with my mother!
And on that very disturbing thought, Buffy opened up on the blond vampire.
Trying desperately to be brazen and deftly sidestep the enraged slayer, the blond
vampire spat, “How dare you speak to me that—” cutting short his diatribe when he
discovered something had gone very, very wrong.
Why can’t the ‘adults’ in my life just—I dunno—maybe…normal up?
Buffy ruefully shook her head as she stepped through the cloud of ash. Turning
for the cemetery gates, she dusted herself off.
‘The bad-guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats and we
always defeat them and save the day.’
Not much in the ‘day saveage’ department, just one less annoying vamp parody.
I’m so outta here.
“What I wanna know is why they can’t ever want to be Louis?” Buffy grumbled
as she passed through the iron gates and onto the street.
The old familiar path home passed along quickly and Buffy barely noticed the
suburban streets. She’d made the trip so many times that the details were too much a
part of her to care. She came to a halt at the base of the tree under her window and, as
she started to climb, the last part of the ‘lie’ came to mind.
‘Nobody ever dies…and everybody lives happily ever after.’
As she opened her window and slipped through into her room, Buffy mused, I’d
settle for vague feelings of contentment. It doesn’t have to be an ‘ever after’ either. Hell,
I’d take one day. One day of feeling mildly contented. Is it too much to ask?
Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her bed, tossing and turning in the throes of a
vivid nightmare. Her eyes flew open and she gasped. Finding herself awake, she leaned
over on her elbow to look at the clock. Then she groaned pathetically and flopped back
down.
I should so know better. Asking for better…only makes it worse. It’s one of those
things. Instead of wishing for some peace I should’ve asked for a day without abject
terror, or— Still feeling uncomfortable, she made a face and wiggled her hips. Looking
down, her eyes grew wide. Mortifying humiliation… Oh, no…no, no, no…
There was a sizable bulge in the sheet, right between her hips. The anxious voice
of a certain redhead rang through Buffy’s thoughts like some great bell, ‘Was it a boy
demon?’
No, no, no, no, no… It’s just bunched up blanket. The denial sounded good. Buffy
tried to believe it for a moment. She struggled to convince herself, but she knew it
didn’t feel like fabric. Hesitantly, she lifted the sheet with both hands and looked under
it. The tent was still there, only now it was located in her sleep shorts.
Oh…no, no, no, no, no, no… This can’t be happening! She shifted to hold the
sheet up with one hand and slowly reached down to her shorts with the other.
I take it back. My life’s great like it is. Just make this not true. She swallowed
nervously and, with a trembling hand, slowly lifted the waistband. Her face blanched,
turning as white as the sheets.
The house reverberated with the sounds of her screaming.
Joyce rushed to her daughter’s bedroom and flung open the door. There she
found Buffy sitting up in the middle of her bed, her sheet, blanket, and pillow pilled up
on her lap. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Looking up at her mother, Buffy’s eyes betrayed her terror. “N-n-nothing. Uh,
just a-a nightmare.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Joyce leaned her head against the door jamb. “Well, it’s almost
time to get up anyway. Want me to go ahead and make some coffee?”
“Thanks, Mom.” She smiled gratefully at her mother, then suddenly shifted
again, discomfort plain on her face.
Joyce smiled tiredly, “Alright, honey.” Noticing Buffy’s behavior, she stood up
straight and looked concerned. The anxiety of the previous day returned, but she tried
to push it aside. You’re being foolish, Joyce. She’s fine. They took care of her. “Are you
sure you’re okay?”
Plastering a cheery smile on, Buffy held still. “Oh yeah, just peachy.” Moments
later, she realized her mom was still worried and shuffled to the edge of her bed,
keeping everything in her lap. She steeled herself and met her mother’s skeptical gaze
with her best impression of a reassuring smile, then offered, “Just gonna go wash up.”
Joyce stayed, keeping an eye on Buffy because of her uncharacteristic behavior.
Something’s wrong. Her voice is thin and strained. She can’t still hear my thoughts again,
can she? No, no, that’s silly. Rupert said she’d be fine.
With a sigh, Buffy brushed the sheet and blanket off her lap, wincing a little as
she hit the new obstruction. Holding the pillow strategically, she stood.
Joyce noticed the grimace. “Buffy, did you get hurt last night?” She moved
closer, looking Buffy up and down. Letting her go out after all that was foolish. I
should’ve put my foot down. But after all the—after running away—I’m just not sure
how. I hate this!
Holding her free hand out to stop Joyce from approaching, Buffy backed away.
“No, I’m fine.” She started to edge her way to the door, keeping the pillow between her
mother and herself. “Really. Just a minor bruise. Be gone by lunch.” She slipped out of
the room into the hall. Rushing to the bathroom, she called over her shoulder, “Nothing
to worry about!” She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her.
Joyce sighed and followed Buffy down the hall. Stopping outside the bathroom
door, she called out, “I know you’re hiding something. Just tell me honestly it’s not
serious.”
Buffy’s voice was thick with unease as she called out of the bathroom, “It’s really
not. Just embarrassing.” She could feel her mother’s worried eyes fixed on the door.
Eventually, she pleaded, “Just let it go, please?”
“Okay.” Joyce sighed. “I’ll trust you for now.” Shaking her head, she turned and
walked away.
Trying to suppress the shivering and teeth chattering, Buffy quietly closed her
bedroom door. This is just evil. I thought I’d seen true evil before. The master and the
mayor—rank amateurs. Why won’t you go down? Guys—they’re supposed to wake up
with umm…this, then they pee and it’s all better. I peed. One of the most traumatic
experiences of my life, I might add. Where’s my ‘better’? Is there something I’m missing?
The cold shower—other than just plain sucking…nothing. I can’t go out like this.
Mom’s wigged enough she might walk in at any moment. I need to cope ’cause
her seeing—it’d be bad. The bulge alone might send her spastic. Buffy walked over to
her dresser and started to sort through her clothes. I’ve gotta hide it. A plan quickly
formed in her mind that she knew would be extremely unpleasant, but she was past
caring. Underwear? She snickered and held up a pair of lacy panties with her index
finger. Yeah, those look real useful. Restraining the urge to chuck the underwear over
her shoulder, she dropped them back in the drawer and shoved it closed, opening
another. After a few moments sorting, she pulled out a heavy pair of spandex exercise
shorts and opened her robe.
Buffy glared down at the bizarre new addition and clenched her teeth. She
shuddered as she slipped on the shorts and folded the offensive piece of flesh between
her thighs. She wasn’t sure which aspect was more disturbing, aside from the pain. The
fact that this new member was quite literally an inversion of what had previously been
there was so startling that she’d nearly screamed again in the bathroom. The real lasting
disturbance, the one that nagged at her even when it was so plainly out of view, was
that somehow her nerve endings had not adapted to the transition. Feeling the pressure
of the shaft bent between her thighs, but also having the sensations translated inside by
her scrambled nerve endings was disorienting. It made her skin crawl.
She stepped over to the closet to inspect the effect in the mirror. There was still
a bulge, but it would fade with the next phase of her self-torture. She removed a pair of
tight, leather pants from a hanger and slipped them on, wincing when she zipped them
up. Her stomach turned a somersault and she cringed. Suck it up, Summers! You’ve gone
through worse pain wearing stylish yet uncomfortable shoes. The mirror said good
things despite the discomfort. The bulge was almost completely unnoticeable.
Buffy took a step and winced. It occurred to her that she might actually hurt
herself, but she decided she honestly didn’t care. More public humiliation after the
events of the past few days was utterly unthinkable. Coupled with the concept that her
mother might have another panic attack, Buffy was willing to do whatever it took to
keep her current issue a secret. She quickly finished dressing, struggling to keep
composure while she moved. When she gingerly sat to pull on socks, the sensations
caused her to retch and choke. She quickly slipped on her socks, carefully raising each
foot across the opposing knee. With the taste of bile in her mouth, she stood again and
pushed her feet clumsily into the boots. Anything was preferable to stooping over.
I’ve gotta get my shit together. Mom’s already at full wig, what with ‘The
Astonishing Buffy - Psychic Extraordinaire’ show. This would cause her to mentally crack
an egg. This is Mom’s brain. Buffy visualized a perfect, white-shelled egg. This is Mom’s
brain on Buffy. The musing rolled forward to a picture of her bouncing on the egg with
both feet and squishing it into a puddle of goop. One more slip and I’ll end up—it’ll be
bad.
After grabbing a handful of tissue out of the box on her desk, Buffy proceeded to
squeegee the tears away. Focus past the pain, Summers. You gotta see Giles. She bit her
lower lip. What am I gonna tell him? The truth? She almost snickered at the absurdity of
her situation. Giles, umm…I think maybe you might wanna check the fine print on that
‘cure’ ’cause—well, side effects? This is not exactly drowsiness or an upset stomach. I’m
not so sure the FDA would approve. Has to be it. Nothing else new and this is a pretty
radical change. Not sure the changes get more radical. It sorta turned my inny into an
outty. She rolled her eyes as she visualized the puzzled expression her former watcher
would wear. No, Giles, lower…
’Kay, so…here goes. I just gotta make it to the street and it’ll all be good. Yes,
thick gravy goodness will be had. Taking a normal step, the seam of the tight leather
pants pressed into the tender flesh folded between her legs and Buffy flinched again. By
everyone else but me. Moisture had already soaked through the shorts she’d used to
bind the new appendage partially in place. Great…news flash: Buffy likes pain. Thanks
for the reminder. Needed that. Like I’m not feeling disgusted enough already.
In through the mouth, out through the nose. Even, regular, deep—deep cleansing
breaths. You’ll be calm, or you’ll suffer more. Welcome to the story of my miserable life.
Breathe…calm. Now walk. Buffy took another step and pressed down the unnerving
sensations her body was issuing. She took one last glance in the mirror. Long sweater to
cover, rolled up sleeves, slightly off the shoulder—blue’s a good color, very causal look—
white leather pants… And why not? It’s not like I’m looking to make the cover of Cosmo.
Just trying to make it across town without looking like the freak I am. Makeup and hair:
check. I have them and neither is too scary. Waterproof mascara for the win. You look
nearly human. I pronounce you ‘ready to face the world.’ More Kleenex and books. After
tossing the wadded tissues into the trash, she took to fresh ones and swept up her book
bag.
By the time she hit the door to her room, Buffy was moving at full steam. She
bounced down the stairs and called out, “Sorry, Mom, gotta jet, early Scooby meeting.”
She never heard the answer; she was all about getting out of the house. She was pretty
grateful when her mom didn’t follow. She’d half expected it.
Fixing her gaze on the sidewalk, Buffy moved along at a pace reasonable for a
normal teenage girl in a hurry, containing the urge to push the limits. Each step was
disconcerting enough, not to mention painful, that she breathed rhythmically to soothe
the urge to flinch and collapse in a puddle. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, but
there were no accompanying sobs. It was literally like her eyes were leaking. She tried to
control the response. The effort was entirely useless. She absently wiped her cheeks and
stoically pressed on.
Speaking of cracked eggs—not doing so hot myself. Do I plan to try and go to
class like this? Oh, that’ll be fun. Sign me up for the not. Mom will wig, but—well, maybe
Giles will cover. It’s not like I never miss a class. Maybe I’ll just hide in the library. I’d
technically be at school so that’s a good, right?
Fix this quick. Please, Giles! I can’t go through— I won’t make it a week like this.
I’d rather die. A subtle sob shook her chest, but Buffy choked it down.
God, what would Angel say? Would he—? I just—I can’t see him. This is way
worse than some stupid gypsy curse. At least we were still whole and sorta normal.
Now? Normal? I don’t think I could stand to let him touch me. I’m a freak.
Buffy wiped her lower eyelids with the tissue as she moved. The journey was
going well enough otherwise, except for the cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach,
the constant discomfort between her thighs, and of course, the leaking. That was, until
she brushed shoulders with a stranger on the street. She mumbled a hasty apology to
the woman and noticed something odd. Either she’d really upset her, which was a
strange notion since there weren’t any rude comments, or this woman had turned to
check her out. Either way, she could feel the woman’s stare on her back. No big. Keep
walking. Nothing to see here. She’s probably—I dunno—maybe gay and interested? I’m
not on the menu and if I were…boy, would she be in for a shock.
Her goal came into view and Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. She skirted the edge
of campus, making her way to the side door of the library, in vain hopes that the lower
traffic approach would somehow lessen the trauma. I can’t do it. Seeing Giles is going to
be bad enough. When she rounded the corner of the building, moving into the sunny
courtyard, her worst nightmare was made flesh: Harmony Kendall. She pushed the
annoying blonde out of the way without slowing down.
Harmony turned and intended to snarkily say, ‘Hey, rudo,’ but the words failed
her. Instead, she found herself following the other blonde with no real clue why.
Oh crud. Buffy increased her pace, but she could hear Harmony’s heels clicking,
matching her step for step. Shit! Reaching the side entrance, she knocked, desperate to
get inside. Giles! Come on! What the hell does Harm want? God, I hope no one’s here but
Giles. My head may explode if I have to deal with Wesley. Come on, Giles! Open up!
Harm was closing the gap. Buffy could feel the other woman’s eyes traveling over her.
Finally, Giles opened the door and she burst inside with Harmony right behind her.
SHIT! I can’t look. Yes, I can! Buffy swung around and glared at Harmony.
“What’s your damage, Harm? Get off me!” the slayer growled menacingly. Her brow
furrowed when she noticed the look on Harmony’s face. No, this is so not happening.
Harm’s checking me out.
Buffy swung back around to make eye contact with Giles. She took in the
perplexed look on his face and offered firmly, “If I hear the words ‘love spell,’ I’m gonna
lose it, Giles.”
Harmony had started to circle the slayer, giving her that look that indicated she
might be a particularly tasty piece of meat.
“Harm,” Buffy prompted, watching the blonde out of the corner of her eye.
Harmony batted her eyes as she scanned up the lithe form of the smaller blonde.
It was like she was seeing Buffy for the very first time. Forcing eye contact, Harmony
stepped in front of Buffy and purred, “I’ve never felt this way about another girl.”
Fuck it! I’ve had it. “Southern California: not seriously lacking in superficial, selfabsorbed drama queens, Harm. Give it five. They’ll find a replacement,” she growled
and swept into a high kick, catching Harmony behind the head. While Harmony fell in a
heap, Buffy landed gracefully, then collapsed to her knees in agony. The movement and
her tight pants had brutally pinched the new member. Her eyes welled up again and she
slumped forward, weeping. In that instant, she completely sympathized with every guy
who’d ever been kicked in the groin.
Giles was at a loss as he glanced from one young woman to the other. The kick
had come so quickly and without warning that he’d barely had a chance to react. It had
been surgical. He’d never been in any danger, though, as the slayer landed, he had
staggered back one step. He reached down to take Harmony’s pulse and found that she
was alive and as well as one might expect. Then he stepped around Harmony and
stooped next to Buffy. “What? Is there something I can—? What seems to be the
trouble, Buffy?” he stumbled, cursing himself for nervously mincing words.
Clenching her jaws in an effort to steady herself, Buffy choked, “I—I’m not
sure—I—it’s horrible, Giles.” When she was able to rise, the slayer climbed to her feet.
Her brow furrowed when the semi-lucid thought she’d had earlier that morning hit her
again like a sack of bricks. That’s it! Will— Oh shit! Will! You should know better.
Tempting fate over the mouth of hell. Good plan! An exasperated sigh hissed through
clenched jaws, then she remarked in a bland tone, “Giles, when Will gets here, tell her:
‘it was a boy demon,’ ” hints of pain caused her voice to crack as she spoke the final few
words. Stepping over Harmony, she made her way to the door, ignoring Giles’ questions.
She slipped outside and started running. Each step felt like an assault, but she just kept
running.
Giles watched very closely for a sign of what might be wrong. He had dutifully
taken Harmony to the nurse’s office, telling them that she’d fainted and hit her head. It
had been a minor fabrication to protect his charge. To hell with Wesley. Worth every
morsel of regret to see the expression on Harmony’s face when Buffy called her a
‘superficial, self-absorbed drama queen.’ Absolutely brilliant. On his return, Willow had
been sitting in the library, attentively studying and awaiting the others. Buffy’s words
had sounded like utter rubbish to him but, all the same, he had repeated them and now
he was worried. The young hacker looked sallow and very nearly ill. She just glared at
him, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. He nearly jumped when she sprung from her seat.
“Giles,” Willow muttered through clenched teeth, then motioned him toward his
office. She left her books and followed. Her mind was racing. She tried to calm herself
against the inner babble that threatened to surface. Once they were safely behind
closed doors and seated, she struggled to explain, “I made a comment. It was terrible.
Actually it was the worst thing—the most horrible thing I could think of with Buffy in
mind. The thing that would shock her the most. What does ‘aspect’ mean? The aspect of
the demon? Could they be just a bit more cryptic? So my mind rushed through all the
things it might be and—” she sighed “—that was the worst. If Buffy said that, then
something’s gone really, really, really, terribly, horribly, awfully wrong. Completely
wrong. I have to find her.”
“So, you’re trying to tell me—? You couldn’t possibly think that—? Dear lord,”
Giles stammered. It was the second time that morning that he’d found himself
sputtering like an idiot and it did nothing to improve his mood.
“I’m telling you that we—that is you and me—we’re the two people that Buffy
chose to share this with. Imagine how you’d feel if you—if somehow suddenly your—”
Willow blushed and lowered her voice, gazing anxiously at the floor. “If your, um, you
know, got replaced with a—” She paused to collect herself, then stated, “You research.
I’ll find her. If you tell anyone else— You can’t tell anyone else. I’ll get cranky!” She
blanched slightly as she spoke. Threatening a teacher was not on her list of things to do
today, but this was Buffy. “Giles, everything we are is shaped by this. It’s not something
you—you just don’t—it’s a respect thing. I know it’d go faster with everyone, but Buffy,
she’s gonna be completely wigged. I need to find her. Did she—? I mean, any ideas
where she might have gone?”
“Of course, you’re right, Willow.” Giles nodded reassuringly and added, “I’m not
certain where she would go. Perhaps to Angel?”
“That’s the last place, but I’ll look. She’d be freaked—way too freaked for…”
Willow remarked, trailing off into thought. After taking a deep breath, she managed to
gather a fraction of her resolve and suddenly it slipped away again as she uneasily
reflected, stream-of-consciousness, “You can’t tell Angel. Ever. If you need him to kill
something just give him a ‘what’ and a ‘where,’ but no ‘why.’ ” Buffy would die. She’d
fall right over and—she’d crawl in a hole, pull the dirt in and she’d just die.
Giles watched the young woman bolt out of her seat anxiously. “You have my
word that I will treat this matter with the utmost respect, Willow.”
“I’m gonna go, Giles. I’ll check back in when I—when I find her,” Willow stuttered
as she rushed to the door.
As Buffy moved briskly through town, she noticed that the disturbing trend from
earlier was not her imagination. She had prayed it was but, after Harmony, there was
little mistaking it. She’d been on the whammy side of this effect before and she actually
felt terrible for the women that were stopping to stare at her. I’ll be feeling sorry for
myself soon if I don’t get off the streets. What is this, another love spell? I didn’t do it. If
it was Amy, I’ll bury her.
Enough threats. I need to stop wigging. Trying to soothe the severe anxiety,
Buffy ran her finger tips down her face from forehead to cheeks, pausing to massage her
temples. Rational thoughts would be good. Planning would be better.
Taking a quick glance over her shoulder at the group of women that mindlessly
followed her, Buffy stepped up the pace. If this is the same mojo, I definitely don’t
wanna go home. Mom. That would be totally creepy. ‘Slayer-cest’…so not my thing. But
why would it be girls? Makes all kinds of the sense that’s not. Unless you consider my
current—
Shit!
Buffy sidestepped a strange woman who exited a café and immediately gave her
an appreciative stare. Will’s. Her parents are gone and, worst case… I can control. She’d
forgive me. It might be weird, but Mom would be totally worse. Knocking your mom out
for feeling you up? We’ll slide that one right off the list of traumas. Will would forgive
me with the right amount of ice cream and mochas.
Finally abandoning the attempt to appear normal as an utterly failed experiment,
Buffy ducked down an alley and broke into a full sprint. She didn’t stop running at top
speed until she was at Willow’s. After fishing the emergency key from the base of a
planter, she let herself in and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
Buffy was intensely uncomfortable, so she quickly went about remedying the
issue. She stepped into Willow’s room and the leather pants hit the floor almost
immediately after her book bag. She quickly shimmied out of her spandex shorts as well.
A cringe, followed by a deep raspy gasp, accompanied the un-tucking of the abused,
slippery piece of flesh. Once she was completely stripped, it took a great deal of resolve
to not lie down on the bed and fondle the strange new member. Instead, she went to
the bathroom and washed her hands, then returned to the room to find clothing to
borrow.
Once she was dressed in a loose pair of sweat pants and an over-sized tee-shirt,
Buffy picked up the phone to call Giles. This should be fun.
Willow spent the entire morning scouring Sunnydale for her friend. By noon she
was cranky, tired, and hot. Feeling like a complete failure, stopped to call Giles. When
he picked up the phone, Willow clipped off one word, “Anything?”
“Buffy called to say she’d taken refuge at your house,” Giles offered. Pausing
briefly when Willow hissed into the phone, he quickly resumed, “I have nothing to
report otherwise. It would seem a reasonable conclusion that the potion meant to cure
the telepathy is to blame but, like the ‘aspect of the demon,’ there are no references to
any specific effects.”
Willow huffed for a few moments after Giles concluded, just trying to locate a
reassuring tone to offer. Once she managed to find her composure, she chimed a little
too eagerly, “Keep trying, Giles. There has to be something.” Damn it, Buffy! I checked
every crypt in every cemetery in Sunnydale. Do you have any clue how long that takes?
Of course you do. I even dusted a sleepy vamp. Yay me!
Willow parroted off the proper closing platitudes and hung up the phone. Her
gaze fixed on the Espresso Pump just down the block as she set off in a rushed pace.
Mochas and home. ’Cause when I’m stressed…there’s nothing like a little caffeine to
make it better. Oh! But chocolate! Now that’s comfort food. And biscotti. Buffy loves
those.
Worry etched deep creases into her features when Willow considered what to
say. She was clueless about how to help but, in the same breath, desperate to. I’ll just be
there. Let her know I care. It’s the best I’ve got. After stepping aside to let a couple of
college students leave, she entered the Espresso Pump and made her way to the
counter.
A faint clicking noise issued from the patio door. Buffy’s attention snapped
toward the source of the sound just as it swung open revealing the bedroom’s usual
occupant. The muscles in the slayer’s upper body instantly corded. After quickly
snatching a pillow from under the comforter to cover her lap, she shot upright and
grumbled, “Go away, Will.”
As Buffy took in the caring, bashful smile on the redhead’s face, the harsh ridge
across her brow softened momentarily, muting the sharp appearance of her eyes. A
faint ghost of a smile flickered across her face. Any hint of softening resolve vanished
like an illusion when she perceived the start of movement.
Willow quickly crossed her room and set the mocha and bag of goodies she’d
bought for Buffy on the nightstand. “Umm…Buffy, this is my room,” she replied, trying
not to sound annoyed.
When the redhead approached, Buffy slid deftly across the bed, still clutching
the pillow to her crotch. By the time Willow got to where the slayer had been lounging,
she was on the other side of the room. She slipped out the bedroom door and ran to the
bathroom.
Once she was safely locked inside, she leaned her back against the door. She
slumped down and sighed despondently. After sitting on the cold tile floor, she clutched
her legs and the pillow to her chest and rested her brow against one knee.
Willow glanced briefly at the ceiling then set off out of the room to follow her
elusive friend. A slight flush enriched her complexion as she passed through her
bedroom door. Lust? I can’t lust after— Well, I could, but how wrong would that be?
Willow squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw. After several moments of
focused breathing, she continued down the hall, gently placing her hand on the closed
bathroom door.
When she sensed Willow’s arrival, Buffy looked up. Her gaze fixed on the
maroon shower curtain. Hope you like the view, Summers. You may be stuck here a
while.
Willow leaned in and offered in a temperate voice, “Buffy, I just want to help. I
know that may sound stupid, but—”
As Willow spoke, tears began to flow down Buffy’s cheeks. She hugged the pillow
to her face, weeping into the plush cotton surface to stifle the sound. Slight scraping
noises and pressure on the door caused the slayer to bristle. She clenched her jaws to
bite back the tears and grouchily mopped her face with the palms of her hands.
Eventually, Buffy growled into her hands in frustration, then mumbled, “You
can’t help, Will. Remember that stupid love spell Xander got Amy to do?” When there
was no answer, she continued, “Something’s up with me. Something just like that.”
Sitting with her back to the door, Willow appeared completely perplexed. “But,
Buffy, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a girl.”
“Yeah and because my life just has to suck beyond the telling—girls are what
I’m—what it’s working on,” Buffy replied in a raspy voice. She leaned forward, folded
the pillow behind her back and slouched against it. The creases in her forehead softened
when a faint rattling issued from the door. Wishful thinking almost won out. She
thought Willow might’ve left when she didn’t answer. Buffy relaxed her jaw muscles. A
soft sigh of relief slipped out as she sat up, removing her weight from the door and
leaned her head back to look up at the ceiling. Sliding her hand behind her to brace her
body, she arched her back to stretch.
After careful consideration, Willow reflected, “That was really weird though. It
was really strong. I just had to be close to him. Like in the naked way. It was like I’d do
anything. I don’t feel anything like that now. I just want to be near you. I know it sounds
dumb, but I want to help you.”
As Willow’s soft, pensive voice resonated, Buffy’s brow furrowed and she leaned
back against the door. Her gaze fixed on the offensive bulge in her clothing. After noting
the faint moisture discoloring the gray fabric, she sneered with distaste.
Willow glanced down and saw fingers just under the edge of the door and
reached to touch them. I love you, Buffy.
Buffy jerked her hand from under the door. A sharp gasp echoed the movement.
Oh shit! Staring at her hand, she sat straight up and went utterly rigid, wide eyed and
slack-jawed. This! Not this again. I-I can’t take it. As if recalling the need for oxygen, she
sucked in a slow, purposeful breath.
Trembling, Willow placed her palm against the floor to steady herself. She
gulped and swallowed thickly. Wide-eyed and hopeful, she prodded, “Buffy?”
Buffy’s facial muscles tensed. The deep lines of stress gave her an appearance
that betrayed her years. After clamping her eyes closed, she pinched the bridge of her
nose with the raised hand, then swept her thumb and forefinger across her eyelids.
Slumping back against the door, she mumbled, “Yeah, Will?” then her hand fell useless
at her side.
When no immediate answer came, Buffy hopefully stuck her fingers back under
the door, focusing on the point where her fingers disappeared from view. A soft blush
pinked her cheeks as she stared. Her free arm folded defensively across her stomach.
That’s right, Summers, shun contact, then pine for it. And the psych profile says: raving
looney. After several moments of nothing meeting her hand, a tear splashed down onto
the white tile floor.
Willow finally managed to stifle the quivering and looked down to see that the
fingers had reappeared. A deep sigh drifted anxiously across slightly parted lips and she
glanced from her own hand that was located ever so close then back to the seemingly
needy fingers. Her tone was thick with concern when she finally managed, “You gonna
be okay, Buffy?”
A melancholy smile pulled at the corners of Buffy’s mouth as her friend caressed
her fingertips again. I dunno, Will. I’m not sure what I’ll be if—if I have to spend another
day like this.
The color drained from Willow’s face. Understanding that Buffy’s need for
comfort, she struggled to not jerk her fingers away. Umm…this is pretty much wigworthy, Buffy.
The tears ebbed and Buffy closed her eyes. This is how it is, Will. Cupping her
forehead with her left hand, she traced the line of her brow and temple.
Willow slowly withdrew her hand. The caress had left her breathless. There was
a faint dew of perspiration on her forehead and she raised the hand to wipe it away.
Buffy began to silently weep when contact was lost.
’Kay, so…lust. Big lust: the ‘I wanna rip your clothes off and be really naughty’
sort of lust. Willow sat silently trying to grasp the sensation. It’s not like—it’s not new,
just deeper. I’ve always cared. Always felt, but—
Willow turned her gaze to see if the hand was still there. Upon catching a
glimpse of the tips of nails under the door, she smirked and closed her eyes. Several
moments slipped by as she strained with forced concentration. Rising to her feet, she
asked gently, “Buffy, I’m gonna bring you your mocha before it gets cold, ’kay? Will you
let me hand it to you?” She sighed and added, “Please.”
Resting her forehead on her knee, Buffy raised her hands to her neck and started
to massage away some of the tension, then murmured, “Yeah, Will,” just loud enough
for her friend to hear. Her expression was utterly dull and lifeless when she stood up,
walked over to the sink, and turned on the cold tap, glancing at her face. “I look like
hell,” she pronounced with marked authority. Cupping her hands under the faucet, she
scooped up some water and splashed her face, repeating the process several times to
reduce the puffiness around her eyes.
There was a knock at the door and Buffy blew out to clear the water, then
replied, “Gimme a sec, Will.” She toweled dry and, finally satisfied that she wouldn’t
look like a sodden mess, went to the door. After sweeping the pillow up, she opened the
door and made eye contact with her friend. Compassion, that was the expression the
redhead wore, not lust. When the cup was offered, Buffy took it, meeting her friend’s
gaze. As their fingers brushed, she calmly reflected, I love you too, Will. The tension
went out of her posture and she took a small sip of the mocha.
A bright smile warmed Willow’s face the moment they touched. She breathed
deeply and prayed that Buffy wouldn’t shut her out again. At the same time the redhead
felt her body flush for no reason at all. She struggled to push down the feelings of
intense arousal. There was a subtle, musky smell in the air that was making her mouth
water. It was intoxicating on a level she’d never experienced.
Buffy stood holding the cup and watching the response. When the smile finally
faded from the redhead’s face, what was left was raw desire. After taking another drink
of the warm coffee, the blonde’s eyes narrowed slightly and she tilted her head.
Umm…wow! I got that she was pretty. Didn’t matter how she tried to hide it—well,
unless it involved hiding behind a big ‘Boo!’—but umm…wow! She’s just gorgeous.
How’d I miss that?
Buffy stood stock-still, peering into the bright green eyes of her friend for several
moments. Finally, she stepped forward, directing Willow to move with her.
Willow followed Buffy back to her bedroom and stopped at the door, watching
the slayer continue across the room to place her mocha on the nightstand. She shut the
door and locked it, not knowing exactly what to expect. It was obvious that some part of
Buffy’s resolve had fractured when they touched.
Willow awkwardly went to take a seat at her desk, turning the chair to face the
bed. The chair squeaked as she sat down, causing her to recoil mid-action. Finally
seated, she began to fidget nervously with the hem of her blouse. The color in her
cheeks rose again. When combined with the fact that her attention was fixed on her lap,
the overall effect caused her to look positively guilty. As the blonde turned, Willow met
her gaze and stifled a flinch. There was something distinctly predatory about the
expression on the slayer’s face.
Why am I wigging? This is Buffy, Willow chided herself. The one person I trust
with my life. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather— I wonder what it’ll be like. Oh! She’s
coming this way! I’m about to find out. Gosh, look at how she moves. It’s like… I wonder
what it’ll be like to kiss her. I’ve actually thought about it. I’ve wondered. Soft, warm,
tender… She struggled to stifle the trembling as the slayer moved across the room and
straddled her lap.
When the blonde settled with her arms draped around Willow’s neck, she
suddenly felt safe. She slowly slid her hands from her friend’s thighs to her waist,
stopping to caress the curve of her hips. Then Willow looked up into the slayer’s eyes
with an expression of complete adoration. The world around her dissolved, all except
for the sunlight that shone in through the window adding to the warmth.
Their lips met and it was nothing like Willow had expected. Hungry, passionate,
demanding, needy, desirous… A soft moan issued from her between greedy nibbles. The
words, ‘and good,’ broke through the reverie and Willow felt a little embarrassed. I-I’d
been wondering— The kiss deepened in answer to the thought.
Buffy withdrew slightly, tracing the curve of the redhead’s upper lip with her
tongue. And how is it—to kiss me? Giving no opportunity for the answer to find voice,
the slayer seized the object of her desire in a deep, ravenous kiss. A soft, scared voice
echoed in her thoughts, ‘It-it’s perfect.’ Despite the perceived fear, fingertips traced the
contour of her back, pressing into her shoulders. The bite of nails followed the tender
caress, causing her to shudder.
Willow left the warmth of the kiss and a coy smile lit her features as bright blue
eyes tinged with just a hint of green met her gaze.
I-I’m scared, Buffy.
Buffy swallowed thickly and pressed her moist forehead to her friend’s.
I know, Will. Do you trust me?
Willow closed her eyes. In that moment, in those arms, she felt completely safe.
More than anyone.
Buffy cupped the redhead’s cheeks in her hands and started to make gentle
soothing noises.
Then just relax.
Buffy drifted gently in and out of sleep. Her senses gradually sharpened, taking in
her surroundings. She was draped over the body of her friend as though she’d fallen
asleep while they were making love. Soft bare flesh, so warm and inviting, shocked her.
She struggled not to spring out of bed as the litany of memories cascaded through her
mind. Oh shit! She took a long deep breath. The air was thick with the rich musk of sex.
The close contact of their bodies revealed one thing. Nothing. It’s gone. My body
feels normal. It was dark in the room and a street light shown softly through the
window, lighting the profile of her redheaded lover. It’s everything else that’s wrong.
What did I do, Will? I’m so sorry. Buffy tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from the
pale skin of Willow’s cheek and carefully rolled away.
Willow mumbled something incoherent and turned onto her side, facing the
blonde. A soft smile delicately curled the corners her mouth and she sighed contentedly.
She reached out and caressed her lover’s skin, then slipped back under the thick veil of
sleep.
Buffy lay still, watching the clock. Just after four. She clutched a hand to the
restored flesh of her groin and wondered exactly what had happened. Guilt and selfloathing tore at her as she lay in wait. I was in control. I was and then I wasn’t. I’m so
pathetic. How could I do this to her?
When Willow’s respiration and heart rate returned to a restful state, Buffy rose
and quietly dressed in the clothing she’d arrived in. She folded the borrowed items and
placed them on the desk chair. Grabbing a stake from the desk drawer, she stole out of
the room and into the night.
After pausing to tuck the wooden stake into the waistband of her pants, Buffy
strode down the dark street, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. I used her. I
needed. I felt lonely. My hunger. My weakness. And what about Willow? What the hell
did I do?
Cutting through a yard, Buffy hopped the fence of the Shady Acres Cemetery.
Her mannerisms changed the moment her feet touched earth again. The tears ebbed
and her posture stiffened. She moved silently between the rows of monuments,
markers, and mausoleums erected to pay homage to the dead. She was just cresting the
last small hill near the entrance when a voice rang out in the night.
“Does Oz know?”
She spun angrily to face Angel as he stepped from behind a large mausoleum.
“What business is it of yours what Oz knows?” Buffy spat defensively. Her tongue flicked
out, nervously running over her lower lip. The faint coppery taste of blood mixed again
with the flavor of her lover’s flesh and her stomach clenched. A hint of bile caught in her
throat as she recalled the faint traces of blood on her hand. Shame sullied her features
as she met Angel’s gaze.
“I just thought—” Angel remarked then broke off. He tasted the air again. “You
smell like a laundry hamper in a cathouse, Buffy.” He closed the distance between them,
taking in the stunned expression on the blonde’s face. Jealousy welled up inside him
while he continued to try and process the various smells. “I can smell her blood on your
lips, Buffy. Did you defile her? Take her virtue? Steal it from the man she loves?” he
hissed as he walked a tight circle around the slayer.
Buffy followed the movement around her, half-expecting an attack. Finally, when
Angel moved back around to her right, she snarled, “Fuck you, Angel! What do you
know?”
Angel’s face shifted to reveal the demon. He growled at the slayer and spat at
her feet. “I know that you smell like a whore. Maybe I should treat you like one. You
think I’d find happiness?” he chuckled coldly, “I think my soul would be safe.” He lashed
out, striking her across the cheek.
Her mind reeled as Buffy flinched away. Why? Tears flowed freely down her face
as Angel halted and turned to glare down at her with contempt. “Soul?” she stammered
weakly.
Angel feigned movement and watched amusedly when the slayer recoiled.
“What’s the matter, lover? Have a change of heart? We taken to defiling virgins and
fucking the legions of hell now?” he crooned maliciously and moved to corner her
against a crypt. When she stumbled over a gravestone, he seized the small blonde.
Struggling to gain control, Buffy blinked back the tears. As Angel pressed her
back against the cold stone of the mausoleum and tore at her sweater, she seized his
groin and clamped down. Her sweater hit the ground and Angel crumpled to his knees.
The next thing Angel knew, a foot was striking his temple, then a stake
embedded in his chest. He fell back. His eyes went wide as he stared at the wood
protruding from the right side of his chest.
Buffy clutched her hand to her breast. Glaring down at Angel with contempt, she
hissed, “Leave or next time I don’t miss,” then ran off into the night.
Buffy didn’t stop running until she was at the base of the tree below her
bedroom window. After quickly scaling the tree, she slid the window open and slipped
into her bedroom.
Buffy stared down at her fingers and made a fist. Her mind was racing.
Fragments of thought and pieces of memory flashed by. ‘Defiling virgins.’ In her mind’s
eye hung the image of the hint of fear on Willow’s face when Buffy had pressed her
perversion-of-self inside.
She had no doubt. This perversion had removed any of the classic arguments.
When is virginity lost? Is it at the moment of penetration? Is it when the hymen breaks?
If so, many a young girl loses her virginity to the odd accident with a bicycle, or climbing
a fence, or…whatever… Doesn’t matter. This was the real deal.
The fear on Willow’s face washed away to a flash of pain, replaced by awe and
wonder. Buffy studied the expression in her memory. The ghost sensations of scrambled
nerve endings confused by their relocation briefly returned. Pressing in, pushing out
were muddled, she knew what was happening, but her mind processed it backwards.
Willow’s face was replaced by Angel’s, that same look, without the fear. There
was something more seasoned about Angel’s expression. There was no awe, no sense of
wonder. These sensations had been felt before. It was only the love that made them
different.
The face morphed again. Angel at the moment she ran the sword through his
chest, sending her lover to hell to save the world. Funny, to save the world only to find
yourself unable to live in it.
Another shift showed Angel’s expression tonight, the accusatory glare, cold and
angry. He had every right to be angry. I led him on. Led him to believe that ours was the
only love I’d ever—he was the only one I ever wanted to be with. Big love, big loss… A
real Romeo and Juliet story. Romance and fairy tales.
And then I ran off and screwed my best friend. Effectively ruining three lives in
one vulgar, efficient swing.
Willow has to live with the fact that she was tricked into having sex with her best
friend. And it couldn’t just be lesbian sex. No, the hellmouth saw to it that this was the
real deal. She lost her virginity to a freak. A perversion of nature.
Oz! Oh god, Oz! Oz will hate me! Angel was right. I stole something from him.
Something that by every right should’ve been his. It wasn’t mine to take. Like a thief. I
stole it. I even stopped to savor the taste. Buffy traced her lips with her tongue. Subtle
hints of the blood remained. She cleared them away. The faintly metallic flavor filled her
senses again.
Angel. I broke a promise to him. I know he said he wanted something else for
me—something better. I tried. But every time I tried I could see the faint hint of hurt on
his face. I wanted to be with him more than anything. What happened to that? Why
would I betray that? It makes no sense.
Always afraid to go too far, to press, for fear my boyfriend would become a
monster. Angel’s expression from earlier returned, the face of the demon. And look at
me. I turned him into a monster without the ‘sleeping with him.’ All I had to do is screw
my best friend and steal her virtue from the man she loves.
The lasting pained expression on Willow’s face from after she’d been caught
kissing Xander came into view. That’s what I’ve done. I’ve hurt, cheated, stolen…
Buffy flexed and clenched her fingers. The impulse to hit, the need to destroy
something grated against what was left of her reason. Buffy bit her lower lip and
struggled to regain control. The taste of her own blood filled her mouth, mixing with the
flavors of Willow.
I’m the monster.
The faint light of a new day gently warmed the room. Willow stretched and
yawned, reaching her right hand over to caress her sleepy lover. When all that met her
touch was the cold material of her sheets, she cracked an eye. Where? Why would she
leave me? Her mother knew she was spending the night. It’s not like she had to go.
Worry began to well up and Willow struggled to suppress the unwanted
emotion. She just went home for clothes. I mean, it’s not like she packed to stay over. It’s
no big. I’ll see her at school.
Willow rose and pulled her robe from inside the closet. Slipping the garment on,
she tied it and made her way to the bathroom. After turning on the shower to allow it to
warm, she moved back to the sink to brush and floss while she waited.
Once she was done, Willow stepped into the warm flow. As she bathed her skin,
a slight twinge of pain from between her legs washed away the anxiety and brought
back memories from the previous day. I had no idea anyone could be that gentle and
patient.
A vague shadow of sensation returned and Willow brought her hand briefly to
her lips. She kissed me. Not the sort of tentative little smoochies you’d give to a new love
interest, or the peck you might give a friend. Our first kiss. Our first kiss
was…umm…passionate, filled with desire, hungry. I never wondered whether she wanted
me. And she kept kissing me. It was wonderful. She gave us both just enough room to
breathe. Tender loving caresses and passionate kisses that lasted for hours.
Wow it felt good. She loves me. Like, really loves me. Before I knew it, an hour
was gone, then two. How long did she spend just touching?
The intimacy was unlike anything— We could hear each other’s thoughts when
we touched. Soothing thoughts, loving thoughts, and the desire to protect… Above
all…protect…keep me safe…from the hurt. I expected it to hurt. It didn’t. No idea how
many orgasms I had from just the touching and the kissing. I lost count. It was like she
was worshipping me. No one’s ever made me feel that way.
Willow dipped her head into the spray and reached for her shampoo. She poured
a little of the thick, sweet-smelling stuff into the palm of her hand and began to massage
it through her hair. The shower filled with the fragrance of toasted vanilla beans.
There was a tiny bit of pain, just a little. It was really weird, she stopped and
looked at her hand. It was like she was scrutinizing something important—looking at the
details.
Then shame. I could see it reflected on her face as plain as day. Conflicted
thoughts—confusion. She wanted to taste me. I thought she was worried about me
tasting. I told her I didn’t care. Tasting myself on her lips. It’s actually like a fantasy. Like
the best fantasy.
That wasn’t it. I know that now. It was the blood. That very faint, metallic hint.
She was worried. I didn’t understand, but now…it’s so plain. She thought, ‘But what does
this make me?’
It makes her ‘the one.’ The one who changed me. Took me from one state of
being to another. So loving, so patient…
Willow drew still for just an instant as she examined the emotions, then she
rinsed her hair.
It doesn’t bother me that she stopped to— She marked the moment. Reflected on
it. Actually, sensed it. I just wish she could’ve done it without the shame. There was no
reason. The stopping…it made me feel special. Like this was actually a moment that
really, really meant something important.
Willow stood under the shower just enjoying the heat and the steam.
She never let me see. I wonder what she looks like naked? She’s beautiful. She’s
always beautiful—doesn’t matter. I tried to tell her it was okay, to reassure her, but she
hid. I could feel her pressed against my thigh. It was the strangest sensation. I didn’t
expect it to be wet, but— I do know, whatever happened—whatever it was—it was
incredible.
I saw all I needed to. Her face. The expression when she finally—it was like she
was looking into the face of the Goddess. I’ll never forget that. And the sensation. It was
like—I’m not sure. Like being bathed in Buffy—like being completely filled with— So
warm, so safe, so loved, in her arms.
As hellmouthy weirdness goes—this’ll always be my favorite. The one I look back
on and—
Willow shut off the shower and stepped out, grabbing a towel to dry herself off.
I hope she’s okay. I need to talk to her. Anxiety washed over her again, sullying
her features as she vigorously dried her wet skin.
I have to tell Oz the truth. It’ll hurt, but lying would hurt even more. After Xander,
he deserves— Well, he deserves better than me. But I still love him. How’s that possible?
I love Buffy and I love Oz. I’m not sure who more, or how, but— How can I hurt him
more? But I have to. I have to hurt one of them, and now, after…it has to be Oz. How?
When Willow emerged from the bathroom, she looked as though the weight of
the world rested on her shoulders.
I have to be honest.
A groan tore from his chest as Angel hit the hard stone floor of the Crawford
Street mansion. The sound was muddled by the punctured lung. It gurgled out into the
silent room. God, what have I done? His body smoldered with the dawning light leaking
in through the garden doors.
I wonder what happened to her. Pheromones—pungent male pheromones mixed
with… Odds are she didn’t even know what she was doing, or if she did, caring was the
last thing—
Angel heaved himself to his hands and knees and started to crawl out of the
light. I need to tell Giles. They won’t have any way of knowing and it might mean—
After discovering the safety of the shadows, Angel sprawled out on the floor.
There’s no excusing what I did. As soon as I’m able, I need to throw myself at her mercy
and beg her forgiveness.
I deserve to die after—
Something Deeper
Buffy trudged into the kitchen, still shaken by everything that had happened. She
headed straight for the life-giving coffee maker as though seeking absolution. She
poured herself a cup and took it to the kitchen table. Sitting down, she reached for the
sugar and creamer. “Caffeine will make it all good,” she murmured.
She sat there for a moment, mixing the coffee to her taste, listening to the
morning news program playing on the TV in the living room. She was so focused on the
announcer’s voice, she never heard her mother enter the kitchen.
Walking in, Joyce took in Buffy’s agitated appearance. She headed over to get a
fresh cup herself and asked, “Have a rough night?” from by the coffeepot. I really should
be embarrassed, but I just worry. When I checked on her I completely forgot that she’d
asked to spend the night at Willow’s. Of course, her room was empty. It took a moment
to sink in that her absence was fine, to be expected. Seeing her now is even more
surprising.
Jerking at the question, Buffy splashed a little coffee on the table. Frantically, she
grabbed some napkins to sop up the spill. “Uh, well, it was okay,” she answered
unconvincingly as she cleaned.
“I thought you were staying over at Willow’s?” Joyce asked pointedly. There’s
only one reason I can think that she’d have Willow cover for her.
Buffy stumbled through an explanation as she finished moping up. “No—well,
yeah. I mean, I was but I—”
“ ‘But’ what, Buffy?” Joyce took on a harsh, accusatory tone, “You climbed in
through your bedroom window when you weren’t even supposed to be home! Why?
Does Willow even know you left? Is she going to wake up and wonder where you are?
Or did you just not spend any time there at all?”
The highly effective ‘Mom Glare’ was in full force and Buffy flinched under its
assault. Part of her truly did feel guilty for leaving Willow to wake up alone, knowing
exactly how that felt.
Joyce’s eyes narrowed at the guilty look on her daughter’s face. “You went to see
Angel, didn’t you?”
Buffy flinched again when she heard her ex’s name. The memory of their last
encounter was still too fresh.
Seeing a second flinch, she raged, “Dammit, why, Buffy? Hasn’t he hurt you and
your friends enough? Why do you use lies like ‘sleeping over at Willow’s’ or ‘patrolling’
to sneak off and be with him?”
“It wasn’t like that!” Buffy protested.
“You saw him and he left you an emotional wreck yet again, didn’t he? I knew he
was trouble long before I knew he was a vampire.” She repeated tightly, “A vampire!”
After closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to center herself, she continued, “Most
mothers only have to worry about their daughters falling prey to a predator two
decades older, not two centuries.”
“It’s not like that! He’s not like that!” Buffy objected stridently, reflexively
defending Angel despite everything.
Joyce sat down at the table, tightly reining in her temper. Softly, she asked, “Can
you tell me the last time you spoke to him and weren’t upset after?”
Buffy opened her mouth to pop out a snap answer but was stymied. The many
times she had been upset were what came foremost to mind. “Uh, er—” She deflated
and seriously searched for an answer.
Joyce took her daughter’s hand. “Honey? I’m sorry. It’s just that I love you and
hate seeing you hurt,” she said tenderly.
Giving her mom a weak smile, Buffy appreciated the sentiment.
“So that’s why I’m grounding you.”
“But, Mom!” Buffy almost shrieked.
The ‘Mom Glare’ returned. “You may legally be an adult but you can’t lie to me
about where you are and go sneak off to see your boyfriend. Those aren’t the actions of
an adult, so you’re grounded. I expect to see you in the school library at four p.m. sharp,
understand?”
The sullen teen muttered, “Yes, Mom.”
Angel awoke to a gnawing hunger. The need for blood forced him to his feet and
he staggered to his kitchen. He pulled a packet from the fridge and bit into it without
hesitation. Quickly draining it, he tossed the empty into the trash, then pulled out
another. This one he drained into a glass and he heated in the microwave.
While waiting for his meal to warm, he stripped off his blood-stained shirt. He
used it to dab at the half-healed puncture wound in his chest. The pain made him growl.
You deserved that for what you did last night. Hell, you deserved a lot worse. He ran the
edge of the shirt under some water in the sink, then wiped off the dried blood around
the wound. Pheromones are no excuse. Once he wasn’t quite so filthy, he pulled the
glass from the microwave and sipped from it on his way to his bedroom.
He reemerged shortly, still damp from a shower, carrying an empty glass. When
he reached the sink, he rinsed out the glass. He leaned against the counter and
contemplated having a third. Before he could reach a decision, he became aware of a
human presence within the mansion.
A woman’s voice carried in from the foyer, “Angel?”
He made his way to Buffy’s mother, noting that she was visibly distraught.
“Joyce,” he greeted neutrally in reply.
Without preamble, Joyce launched right into Angel, forcing eye contact. “What
happened between you and Buffy last night?” she asked harshly. She immediately
waved the question off, “Never mind. I don’t need to know.”
“Believe me, I never meant to hurt her,” Angel said softly. He closed his eyes and
mentally relived the previous night’s attack. “You have to understand that last night
was a…special circumstance.” He looked at Joyce and pleaded with his eyes, “I’d never—
”
“It’s always a ‘special circumstance’,” Joyce interrupted sharply. Shaking her
head ruefully, she conceded, “I know you don’t really mean to, but the fact is you do
hurt her.”
Grudgingly, Angel nodded his acceptance. “I-I know.”
Joyce folded her arms across her chest and countered bluntly, “Well, it needs to
stop—you need to stop. And if that means you get out of her life, then so be it.
Whatever it takes.”
“Joyce, I—” the vampire pleaded.
Ignoring the apparent discomfort in Angel’s voice, Joyce continued in a forthright
manner, “No, Angel. I think you need to consider who you’re helping by staying here.
And who you’re hurting. Buffy doesn’t deserve to be hurt by you anymore.”
Angel stood stunned, gaping at Joyce.
“It’s a big world, Angel. I’m sure you can find something—someplace else that
needs your help. Buffy has family, friends…all the help she needs. But, most importantly,
she needs a life free from you. She needs a chance to move on. With you here she
won’t.”
Slowly, Angel nodded his grudging acceptance. “You might be right.” He closed
his eyes for a moment and turned away.
Joyce stepped closer, softening her voice. “I’m sorry. I know I sound harsh, but I
have to look out for my daughter first. Her happiness is all that I care about.”
“And that’s not me anymore,” Angel said sadly, turning back to face the blonde.
Joyce gave him a pitying smile and thought, It never was.
Buffy meandered into the library. Not making eye contact with anyone in the
room, she listlessly took a seat across from Willow. Her gaze fixed on the heavy wooden
table in front of her.
Wesley trundled around the stacks with a heavy book in his hand. His posture
conveyed the authority that these young people denied him as he spoke in a crisp tone,
“Right, good of you to come. Are we about ready to begin because Mr. Giles and I have
some news?”
Willow was completely perplexed by her friend’s behavior. As she sat mutedly
observing what was all-too-somber a display, Buffy raised her right hand to place on the
table in front of her. Both of their attentions rested on the scrupulously manicured nails
and deceptively delicate fingers. She really does have beautiful hands. I wonder what
she’s thinking. ’Kay, so…I can guess, but I don’t get the moody. “Umm…Buffy, I brought
your books,” she offered bashfully, watching hopefully for a response.
Buffy murmured the word, “Thanks,” and continued the intense study of her
right hand.
Wesley placed the heavy volume on the table and began to page through it as
Mr. Giles ambled around the table to join him.
Xander blinked as he watched his two friends. What’s up with them? I mean,
‘strange’ is pretty normal, but this is abnormally strange. He found himself looking at
Buffy’s hand too, wondering if he was missing the punch line to some sort of inside joke.
He gave Buffy a sideways glance and considered, Oh…’kay…so…not a joke. More demon
blood? Is her hand going to sprout spider legs, rip from her body, and crawl across the
table? Oh! Maybe it’ll choke Wesley! That’d be funny.
As Giles stood next to Wesley, his attention shifted between the three teens at
the table. Something of note has occurred within the group. He carefully studied their
behaviors, ignoring Wesley almost entirely.
Oz entered the library, taking in the curious interactions at the table. Buffy’s
hand, interesting thing to study. After pulling up a chair to seat himself next to Willow,
he joined the examination and asked, “Did I miss anything?”
“Nothing much,” Willow mumbled absently, turning her attention to Oz who was
trying to take her hand. She gently brushed off the gesture and a pang of guilt caused
her to blush slightly.
Wesley stopped turning the pages of the musty book and gestured triumphantly.
“The Box of Gavrok,” he announced authoritatively. His brow wrinkled with uncertainty
when no one showed the slightest interest at all in what he declared.
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut while the others deliberated around her. She could
feel Oz’s gaze and the intense scrutiny raised a flush to her cheeks. The warmth of her
discomfiture seemed to radiate from her face. She wanted to place her cool hands on
her cheeks to soothe the unease, but she knew this would make her appear guiltier.
Instead, she sat rigid in her chair and struggled to drive away the unwanted emotions
that threatened to betray her.
“The Council received word that an artifact of great import was making its way
to Sunnydale,” Wesley offered hopefully, gesturing again to the book. His manner was
gradually becoming more desperate and he chided himself for allowing these young
people to cause him distress. The slayer is still the instrument of the Watchers’ Council,
regardless what this arrogant girl might say. There are lives at stake and I will not be
ignored!
Oz’s eyes narrowed as he studied Buffy. He analyzed the scents and actions of
the others. There’s something wrong here. Not just a little wrong either. This is big
wrong. He caught the faintest hint of the last thing he expected to smell, but the thing
he had found he could, disturbingly enough, detect with the greatest sensitivity. Blood.
Willow’s blood. His attention turned to his girlfriend and he tried to assess the injury.
Blood mixed with— He slowly turned his gaze to Buffy and noted the faint hint of color
in her cheeks. As the pieces fell into place, his curious gaze turned to an accusing glare.
He was considering whether he dared challenge her when Wesley’s frustrated voice
broke in.
“Do you people not care that the first pure demon to exist on this plane in
thousands of years intends to ascend right under our very noses in a matter of days?”
Wesley spat in dismay. He began to pace out of sheer frustration as he ranted, “Mr.
Giles and myself spent the entirety of last evening observing City Hall,” he raised his
hand, making a fist. “Why did we do this? Because the slayer, the one who is called
upon to protect the world from exactly this—” he paused dramatically, “was busy,” then
scornfully shook his head, “Mr. Giles refused to allow me to call her into service. He said
she had ‘personal issues to which she must attend’.” His brow knit and he wheezed,
“Personal issues?” Stopping to take a deep breath, he concluded, “This is absolutely
unheard of!”
Buffy snapped her attention to Wesley, giving him the stare to make all other
stares cower in fear, the dreaded ‘Mom Glare.’ She knew from all-too-recent experience
that this stare could effectively peel paint if delivered properly.
Wesley gestured emphatically at a thick, musty book that lay open on the study
table in the middle of the library. “I tell you this is it. We have here the key to defeating
the mayor before his Ascension,” he offered the room in a heated voice, oblivious to the
small drama unfolding around him.
Giles met Buffy’s gaze and took a step back. He placed a hand to his chin to
conceal his amusement and fixed his attention on the floor at Wesley’s feet. I do hope
the pathetic little ponce remembered to pay his insurance premium.
As Willow helplessly watched the exchanges going on in the room, she heard a
faint rumble emit from the slayer’s chest. Uh-boy! She’s mad. Chancing a glance at Oz,
she noted that his gaze had turned to his lap. A brief glimpse of Xander revealed a
sudden and mysterious fascination with the book that was open in front of him on the
table. You can tell that things are going straight to heck when Xander develops an
interest in reading.
Abruptly, Buffy shot to her feet and rounded on Wesley.
At the same instant the slayer moved, Oz rose quietly to his feet and slipped out
of the room.
Willow peered at the library door, watching it swing back and forth. Then she
stood up and helplessly followed Oz. I have to talk to him. It’s pretty obvious he got it,
so…asking Buffy—not so much necessary. I’ll come back and— Well, maybe she’ll talk. I
mean she has to talk to me, right? Deep worry etched her face as Willow pushed the
library door open and ran down the hall.
After shoving Wesley aside, Buffy glanced at the picture in the book and briefly
read the description. Source of indescribable evil…blah, blah, blah… They could be
talking about the Rubik’s Cube. Whatever. Big yawn. Her gaze fixed on her would-be
watcher. If getting this stupid box will do anything, especially get Wimpley off my back
for five…it’s a ‘good’ in my book.
Buffy snapped contemptuously, “So, you’re telling me that this box” — she
pointed at the book — “this box has the power to bring about serious badness?”
Perceiving a tentative nod from an intimidated Wesley, she prompted brusquely, “And
the mayor has this box? You know that for certain?”
The blood seemed to drain from his face as Wesley reluctantly stammered,
“Well, yes…umm…I do believe so. Faith delivered an object—” He cringed and cut short
when the blonde bristled at the sound of the other slayer’s name.
Buffy charged for the library door, stating bluntly as she moved, “Then let’s go
get it.” Serious badness is my specialty.
Giles watched the slayer leave and called after her, “One moment, Buffy!”
Willow caught up with Oz in the quad. Running at full speed, she called out, “Oz,
wait! Stop! No, wait!”
Oz rolled his eyes, clenched them shut, then turned to glare at the redhead. “Let
me go, Willow,” he replied in a low growl.
After clumsily sliding to a halt and nearly colliding with Oz, Willow replied in
anxious defiance, “No. I mean, not yet,” through labored breaths. Meeting the irritated,
dejected gaze of her now-obviously-former boyfriend, she offered honestly, “I’m not
saying this to make myself feel better. Really, I’m not.” She sighed and worked to stifle
some of the unrest, then stammered “I am truly sorry. It wasn’t—it wasn’t something. I-I
didn’t mean—”
“Kind of a theme with you, Willow,” Oz snapped and started to turn away.
The harshness of his words cut her and Willow flinched. Seeing that Oz was
trying to leave, she stepped in front of him and put her hands out in earnest. After
quickly mustering her resolve, she leveled her gaze on Oz, forcing eye contact; the
words tumbled out, “I’m not asking for any— No.” She swiftly raked her fingers through
her hair, holding her hand at the crown as shook her head in frustration, then the
blather resumed, “Nothing, Oz. Umm…another chance, forgiving—er, forgiveness,
stuff… I’m not asking for stuff.” Her demeanor grew sullener and she whispered, “I know
I don’t deserve it.”
Gently placing her hands on his upper arms, Willow quietly concluded, “I just
need you to hear this: I’m really sorry I hurt you—that I disappointed you.” After taking
a deep breath to try and stave off the tears, she released Oz and started off across the
quad toward the entrance.
Buffy burst out the library door and bolted down the hall, slipping deftly around
a corner. Partway down the main corridor Principal Snyder stepped out of his office. She
braked, SHIT! slid, Ssshhhit! stopped, Shit, back-peddled, Ssshhit, turned, shit, and
prepared to run, Crap. Dammit! Betrayed by my favorite tennies.
“Miss Summers,” the beady-eyed little man purred. A venomous smile curled the
corners of his thin lips and he continued, “We’ve had this talk about wandering the halls
between classes.”
Her eyes widened and Buffy stammered, “But I was—”
Cutting Buffy off, Principal Snyder offered delightedly, “While It won’t be nearly
as satisfying as turning you over to the police—” After stepping in front of his favorite
delinquent student and folding his arms, he continued, “I’m afraid you’ve left me no
choice. I’m just going to have to call your mother.”
AH FUCK! Buffy waffled back and forth, praying that Giles wasn’t too far behind.
Oh, that’s low. You slimy little weasel.
Giles rounded the corner, taking in the scene. Serves her right. After clearing his
throat to draw their attention, he offered genially, “Buffy, one moment.”
Buffy glanced gratefully at Giles and stammered again. “I was…umm…”
Producing a scrap of paper from his pocket, Giles made his way to the impetuous
teen’s side and said, “We’ll be requiring three of each of these as well.”
Buffy took the scrap of paper and unfolded it. After carefully reading over the
penciled note that, much to her chagrin, was actually a list of book titles, or so it
appeared, she smiled and replied, “Sure thing, Giles.”
Principal Snyder snatched the piece of paper and examined it.
“We’ve been doing some independent studies and, as Buffy” — Giles gestured to
the blonde — “had this hour free, I asked her to assist me with acquiring a few items.”
Principal Snyder leveled his gaze on the Englishman and growled, “Students
aren’t allowed to leave the property during school hours.”
Giles nodded. “Yes, yes, quite right… That is why I intended to accompany her.
She just got a bit ahead of me. Eager, you know.”
After folding the note and placing it in her pocket, Buffy glared at Principal
Snyder and lifted him by his lapels, setting him gently aside. She smiled warmly and
tugged at his sport coat to straighten it, then growled, “If that’s all?”
Giles shrugged helplessly as Buffy tore away from the two them and continued
to the front door. He glowered after the slayer and remarked, “Eager lass. Strong too,
but not overly bright. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” After side-stepping Principal Snyder, he
ran after his charge.
It wasn’t all and Principal Snyder knew it, but he found himself standing alone
nonetheless. Staring after the peculiar Englishman as he ran from the school, Principal
Snyder shook his head and stepped back into his office. After taking a seat at his desk,
he glanced at the clock. Twenty-one days—another twenty-one days, six hours, and
thirteen minutes, and she’ll be somebody else’s problem.
Gasping for air, Giles did his utmost to follow the now irate slayer as she tore off
down the street. “Buffy, please slow down,” he implored breathlessly.
Buffy grudgingly slowed her pace so that Giles could keep up. Wesley’s right, I
need Giles to disarm any mojo the mayor may’ve put in place. Besides, Giles having a
heart attack on the way to City Hall…not exactly serving the greater good. She
mumbled, “Sorry, Giles,” then paused to match his pace.
“Can I assume that the issue of yesterday has been resolved?” Giles asked
delicately.
Buffy simply nodded as a means of affirmation, then gave her former watcher a
sideways glace.
Giles took in the expression on the slayer’s face. It screamed ‘this is none of your
concern,’ but he found himself quite troubled despite her guardedness. He had
examined the facts of the morning meeting and drawn reasonable conclusions from
them. His concentration now turned to what he knew of demonic pregnancies. This cure
involved the heart and blood of a demon. The physical effects may well have been some
bizarre means of procreation. It’s an unfortunate, yet not unreasonable leap in logic.
None of the things he knew painted a very pleasant picture, so he decided to
keep them to himself and simply research independently. Upsetting an already volatile
situation would serve none of them well. I will make a point of speaking candidly with
Willow. It will have to be handled with the utmost delicacy. Though, she is typically much
more open than Buffy herself. I’m not certain what I hope to find, but I must try. Willow
may be in real danger.
After retrieving her notebook and textbook from her bag, Willow fixed her
attention on the blackboard. Glancing at the empty chair next to her, she was once
again overwhelmed with feelings of abandonment. How could she—?
Willow dipped her chin to hide the pain she knew reflected on her features just
as the teacher said something about ‘homework.’ What class is this? Did I do
homework? She glanced at the cover of the textbook. History. I think I did homework.
After glancing at her neighbor across the aisle to make certain she had the right book,
she searched through the notebook to find the correct page and removed it, handing it
to the teacher as he walked past. Where’s Buffy? This is her worst subject. She really
should be here.
Is she being avoidy? Running from me, or am I just overreacting—being too
sensitive? She really should be here.
Why was she acting ashamed? Was it because of Oz? I’d get it if the shame was
over Oz, but what if it was over ‘us’—the ‘me and her’ us? How could she be ashamed? It
was the most wonderful, beautiful night of my life. Why would—how could she be
ashamed?
Willow sighed and turned her attention back to the chalkboard, mindlessly
transcribing what the teacher was writing to a fresh sheet of notebook paper. The
lecture was so far removed from anything she actually cared about that this act felt like
simply going through the motions. You’re overreacting. Buffy loves you. She said so.
More importantly, she didn’t need to say so.
So, what do I do if she won’t talk to me? Who would I normally—? Willow didn’t
need to finish the question. I can imagine trying to talk with Xander about this. That’d
go well. I’d get to, ‘I had sex with Buffy,’ and his head would explode. She imagined it
and a sad quirky smile curled the corners of her mouth. Well, not literally, but it
wouldn’t be pretty.
A feeling of profound isolation came over her as Willow realized that the two
people she felt comfortable with talking about anything this serious were too involved.
Oz and Buffy… Oz won’t ever speak to me again. This was the last straw. I destroyed our
relationship. She choked down the need to cry.
Willow closed her eyes tight to clear them. When they fluttered open, she tried
to focus on what the teacher was saying for several minutes. Eventually, through sheer
force of will, she began to take her usual, careful notes based on the lecture.
Then it all fell apart. Oh Goodness! What if she thinks we can’t make love
without—? What if she doesn’t want to? I mean, eventually—sooner or later, a cure—
and she’ll be normal. Could it be that, or was the whole thing—the entire thing—was it
because of—? She couldn’t have just wanted to try it out? Take it for a test drive? No!
No! No! That’s not Buffy! She’d never hurt me like that.
Willow took a quick glance at her entirely meaningless notes. Humiliation
washed over her as a tear splashed on the page, distorting the ink. She cupped her face
in her hands to hide her shame. Crying in class? Exactly what I need. She could hear the
muttered jibes of her classmates before they began. ‘Did you see Rosenberg lose it in
history? What a dork.’ Through gritted teeth, she whispered, “I don’t care,” as she
sobbed into her hands.
“Stay behind me, Giles,” Buffy grumbled.
Giles heard the instruction and, as he was musing, I wouldn’t consider any other
course of action, the doors to City Hall were nearly ripped from their hinges by the
slayer. They creaked violently in with a loud crash of twisting metal and breaking glass.
Oops! Guess the doors opened out. My bad! Buffy smiled sweetly and turned to
the guard on her left.
Before Giles could blink, a security guard was being physically thrown over the
slayer’s head. Giles heard a loud grunt and he presumed that one guard had been used
as a blunt object to bludgeon another. By the time he stepped past the mangled doors,
Buffy was jerking the receptionist over the front desk.
Buffy watched in amusement as all the color drained from the petite, darkhaired woman’s face. As she suspended the receptionist at eye level, inches from her
own nose, the slayer snarled, “I’m here seeking Faith.”
The receptionist wasn’t sure whether to be mortified or amused. The expression
on the blonde woman’s face quickly told her that ‘mortified’ was the correct answer to
her current dilemma. When the blonde growled, the receptionist managed to sputter,
“S-she’s not in.”
“Good to know,” Buffy replied graciously and she heaved the receptionist the
rest of the way over the desk, placing her gently on the ground. She pulled on the hem
of the strange woman’s blouse to straighten it. Then without warning, Buffy struck the
receptionist on the temple just hard enough to knock her out and guided her to the
ground. “Sorry,” she whispered, then hopped the front desk and popped the door open
from the inside.
Giles was bent over one of the guards, stealing his keycard, when the hiss came
for him to follow. He quickly retrieved the piece of plastic and a ring of keys, then ran to
the door Buffy was holding open.
While Giles slipped through the doorway, Buffy continued to press forward
through a short hallway behind the front desk. He couldn’t help but recoil when the fate
of the first two men was spelled out for him in graphic detail. After glancing ruefully
down at the two fallen guards, he hauled them into the security office and made his way
to the T-juncture where Buffy had halted and stood smiling.
Buffy turned to glance at the fire hose and axe behind the glass case in the wall,
then winked over her shoulder at Giles. Using her sleeve to cover her hand, she
wrenched the door open and noted, “There’re just certain things you see that really
make you think bad things. I’ve always wanted to do this.” Then she giggled and
grabbed the fire hose as the alarm sounded.
People came pouring out of the offices, shoving past Giles as he stood fixedly
staring at the sign that said, ‘Chief of Police.’ Taking in the arrow, he peered down the
hall at the slayer who appeared to be skipping while she towed the heavy hose through
the departing throng. She’s lost her bleeding mind. He looked again at the sign and,
before he turned back, Buffy was at his side. Glancing back down the empty hall, he
noticed more unconscious men.
A charming smile lit her features and Buffy gestured to the valve. “Would you
like to do the honors?”
It took about two seconds for the Ripper in Giles to say, Bloody right, I would! A
wicked smile twisted the corners of his mouth and Giles pulled out his handkerchief and
reached for the valve, using the cloth to avoid leaving any prints. As he turned the valve
the hose began to flail around violently, taking chunks out of the drywall. When he
turned around, Buffy had disappeared again. Seconds later, she emerged from a room
just down the hall carrying two two-liters of cola. He quirked an eyebrow at her as she
passed by, shaking the bottles.
Upon entering the security office, Buffy stepped over one of the unconscious
guards. Twisting the top on the first two-liter, she pointed the spewing bottle at the
surveillance equipment around the guard’s desk. A curtain of smoke filled the room as
she hosed the electronics. When the first bottle was done foaming, she poured the
remains on top of the stack and opened the second. Glancing over her shoulder, she
winked again at her slack-jawed watcher.
“Something Will said a while ago. If you really want to screw up electronic
gizmos: soda. The sticky never goes away. Then she broke off into a rant about
keyboards with sticky keys and—well, I sorta stopped listening,” Buffy remarked as she
emptied the bottle into the second rack of equipment and waved the foul smoke from
her face. Pushing past Giles, she ran down the hall and stopped at the intersection.
Prompting, “Coming, Giles?” she ducked into the stairwell and waited.
Giles numbly followed the slayer, observing the chaos. Two men were trying to
get control of the fire hose and it was going rather poorly for them. As Giles glanced that
way, one of the men had the misfortune of being caught in the stream. The Englishman
thought it looked very much like one of those terrible cartoons Xander was so fond of.
I’m certainly grateful she’s on our side. Amused laughter poured from him as he
followed his charge up the stairwell. Several people pushed past them as they ascended,
causing him to sober.
Extracting a hair clip from her bag, Willow pulled her shoulder length hair back
and coiled it around her hand, clipping it into a bun at the back of her head. She turned
on the cold water faucet and peered at her tear-stained face in the mirror. “You look
like hell, missy,” she commented with marked authority.
Time to play ‘rational girl,’ Willow reflected as she cupped her hands under the
icy stream that poured from the tap. Last night was a weirdness, hellmouthy and
severely wigged, regardless how you feel. Leaning over the sink, she brought the frigid
water to her face to emphasize the point.
Placing her wet, cold hands on the back of her neck, she considered, Buffy might
not feel the same. It might not be as easy for her to—she might not be as comfortable—
as fluid… Scooping up another handful of water, she dipped her face into the chilly
puddle, holding it for a moment. In fact, I know she isn’t. I’ve seen it. Faith had her
freaked. She got more comfortable, but at first—major wiggage. As the water in her
hand warmed slightly, she splashed it against her skin and reached for more. And major,
grumpy jealousy from yours truly—not so much helpful on the open-mindedness front,
she chided.
Another handful of cold water met her face and Willow brought her hands in a
sweeping motion to the back of her neck. The chill felt good against her tight muscles.
She started to rub some of the tension away as her face dripped into the sink. So what
now, rational girl? She pondered this for a fraction of a second. Now, I guess, I give her
what she needs. Buffy will want space to figure things out. Above all, I’m her friend.
That’s first. I need to let her know, then—
Looking up, Willow met her own soggy gaze in the mirror.
It’s up to her.
“Way I’ve got this figured, Giles, it’s gonna be as far from the front door as
possible. That means upper floor. From there, we look,” Buffy offered as she bounced
up the stairs. Glancing back, she noted that Giles was looking very serious again. “If
there’s a hose up here, I’ll smash, you grab. Use it as a weapon,” she instructed, quickly
adding, “I don’t have to tell you not to—”
Buffy pulled a stake from her sleeve and kicked the door. It flew off its hinges
and clattered into the opposing wall, carrying one of the two awaiting vampires with it.
A feeble groan issued from behind the steel sheet as the second vampire gawked at the
slayer. Buffy glowered and made a simple ‘come hither’ gesture with her free hand.
When the vampire recoiled instead, she surged forward, whirling into him and smacking
him so forcefully that she spun him back through the stairwell doorway. His body flipped
over the railing and fell into the open pit. As he hit bottom, a plume of ashes dusted the
concrete stairwell.
Buffy burst into the hallway and kicked the door again. A cracking noise and a
pained grunt issued from behind the buckled steel plate. She whipped the door aside. It
clattered down the hallway as the other vampire tried to crawl away. Reaching down,
she jerked him to his feet, plunging the stake into his chest. After dusting herself off, she
ripped the glass door open to the enclosure with the fire hose. “There you go, Giles.
Have a blast. I’m gonna go find it,” she directed and ran down the hallway.
After opening several doors, Buffy was finally attacked. Must be getting warmer,
she mused as she ducked a punch and drove the stake into the vampire’s chest, sending
a cloud of ashes across a large table. She shoved the second vampire into an office chair,
then kicked the chair and the vampire out the window. Not even bothering to watch,
she ran back into the hallway and tried the next door. It was locked.
Do we have a winner? Buffy kicked the door in. On the table in the middle of the
room was an ancient looking box. I’ll take door number six. She broke into a full run,
covering the distance between herself and Giles in a few seconds. “Bingo, Giles,” she
chirruped and ran back down the hall.
Giles looked over his shoulder as he tried to control the fire hose. He quickly
wedged the hose into the doorway and followed the slayer. Once they arrived at the
box, he took a pouch of powder and a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. After
motioning for Buffy to stand clear, he quickly sprinkled the powder as he read the
incantation, “Sis modo dissolutum exposco, validum scutum! Diutius nec defende a
manibus arcam, intende!”
Buffy cocked an eyebrow while she watched the shield flicker. “’Kay, so…grab
the box. Make sure it stays closed.”
Giles followed the instructions. A wave of apprehension overcame him. He didn’t
like the slayer’s tone one bit.
“Got it?” Buffy asked. When she perceived a nod, she directed him to the
window. “Just focus on the box. Keep it closed,” she added to reinforce the instruction.
Then she seized Giles from behind and flung them both at the window. She hit the
window first, pirouetting as she kicked off.
Time lingered. Spinning…aiming…revolving…guiding…falling…
Buffy landed underneath Giles on the hood of a squad car. The hood buckled.
She felt her ribs crack. When Giles jerked to a halt, his head smashed into her face.
Stars.
Glass rained over them and Giles held the box over his face to shield it. He
faltered for a second or two before he rolled off the car. His knuckles were white where
he’d been clutching the box for dear life. He staggered as he stood, peering back up at
the broken window. His gaze fixed on the roof access ladder that was bolted to the
building right next to their impromptu exit. Unsure whether he was gaping or grinning,
he simply pointed.
Her vision spotted as Buffy blearily watched the clouds drift by, struggling to
breathe.
Giles began to chortle manically as he pointed.
Finally regaining her breath, Buffy craned her head up and stared at the agitated
Englishman. Her gaze traveled from his extended finger to the ladder. She groaned and
floundered her shoulders back and forth, preparing to sit up.
Turning to shake his head at the slayer, “I do wish you would warn me—” Giles
started to chide until he caught a glimpse of her face. Blood was pouring from her
broken nose. He changed his tune, offering instead, “We should get you to a hospital.”
Rolling painfully off the hood of the police car, Buffy hit the ground with a grunt
and started moving. A small crowd was already gathering to gawk and she wanted to be
anywhere else but here. Sharp pain caused tears pour from her eyes, but she ignored
them and wheezed, “No time. Let’s get moving.”
Awkwardly fishing into his jacket pocket, Giles helplessly jogged behind the
slayer as she took off down an alley behind City Hall. Finally, he managed to extract his
handkerchief.
“Headed to your place…a more Mom-free zone… Unless you’re still—” Buffy
snuffled, intentionally cutting short the barb. “I’ll guard while you work on the
destroying.”
Gratefully slowing pace to match the slayer, Giles passed his handkerchief off,
then breathlessly answered, “That’s rather simple, Buffy,” he puffed, “I think the Breath
of the Entropics is typically used for this sort of thing.”
Blinking the tears away, Buffy put a hand out to halt and scanned the cross street
cautiously. Setting off again, she gingerly mopped the blood from the lower half of her
face with the hankie and mumbled, “Whatever works.” The coppery taste returned as
she licked her lips.
Buffy flopped heavily onto Giles’ couch and groaned, peering muzzily at the box
on the coffee table. “You had better be worth it.” She’d reluctantly looked in the mirror
when she went to use the bathroom. It wasn’t pretty. Both eyes were blackened and
swollen. In short, she looked like a throwback from a Rocky movie.
Y’know…way I have it figured, if you can get the what-not-to’s down, you pretty
much got a plan. It’s never really about what you do—course that’s important—but it’s
always more about whatcha don’t wanna do. Like putting your hand on the oven door
glass. Most of us ramp up on that being a major what-not-to pretty early on. I’m adding
a new one to the list. This one’s important. Never, ever, ever, not even if your life
depends on it, let an English librarian set your nose. The depth of the suckage is
unquantifiable.
After turning to lie down, Buffy put a throw cushion under her head and shut her
eyes. Not sure they’ll open again, but whatever. Slayer healing can kick in any minute
now. I need to look decent by four or Mom will wig. That’ll be fun. Whatcha think the
odds are? Wonder if Giles will run more interference? Trouble is, Mom has an avoidy
cap. She hits her limit and it won’t matter. I’ll have to give up something. Right now,
which bit of truth y’think Mom would handle best? Survey says: none of it.
Giles felt surprisingly good, considering the fall. His left calf was painfully bruised,
but otherwise he had been mercifully spared by the slayer’s protective nature. The
experience had been strangely reassuring, giving him hope that their relationship would
one day be completely mended.
He limped into the library through the side entrance. Once inside, Giles made his
way to the study table where Willow was sitting with her untouched lunch spread out in
front of her, obliviously reading a paperback novel. “You should try to eat,” he offered
in a soft, kindly voice.
Willow flinched at the sound of the voice. Turning to face Giles, she remarked
sullenly, “I tried. I’m just not very hungry.”
After taking the seat across from the redhead, Giles nodded and said, “I’m not
terribly surprised. If you wish to talk—”
Willow marked the page in her book and began to pack her lunch back in the bag
as she replied, “Oh, I—well, I’m not sure I can, Giles. I mean, it’s really sweet of you,
but—”
Watching the young hacker throw away her uneaten lunch, Giles met her gaze as
she returned to her seat. Simply offering her a nod, he rose to being gathering the
things he would need.
As she watched the Englishman limp around the library, gathering supplies,
Willow stood up and asked, “What happened?”
“Our attempt to procure the Box of Gavrok was quite successful, however not
without complications,” Giles stated simply as he searched through the supply cabinet.
Willow glanced up from packing her school bag and queried with marked
concern, “Is Buffy okay?” Procure? They got it already? Umm…wow! That was quick.
Buffy must’ve seen that thing about the mayor’s press thingy on the morning news.
Slime ball taking one last chance to taste the babies—figure out which ones are
yummiest, I guess. She should’ve been watching that with me. But I guess if she had, she
wouldn’t have seen it, ’cause— The faintest trace of a smile flickered across her features
and was instantly replaced with sadness and worry.
Giles looked over his shoulder to take in the troubled expression on the
redhead’s face. Wanting to gloss the situation over, he simply offered, “She was injured
as well, but she will make a full recovery.” He stooped to gather a few remaining items
off the lowest shelf. Willow was crossing the room from the book cage with a box, when
he painfully stood up and placed them on the counter.
As she started to pack the items Giles had selected into the box, Willow
remarked, “I’m coming with you, Giles.”
When Willow was finished, Giles swept the box off the counter and replied
genially, “Certainly, as you wish.”
Hastily collecting her cola from the table and Buffy’s school bag from behind the
counter, Willow followed Giles out the door.
Once they were in the relative privacy of his Citroën, Giles started the engine and
backed out of the parking slot. As they left the school parking lot, he began to speak
candidly, “Willow, I pray you will forgive me for being so intrusive, but I feel I have little
choice given the circumstances. I believe I bear a portion of the responsibility for
yesterday’s occurrences. I should have voiced my concerns. Unfortunately, given the
personal nature of the issue, I had difficulty doing so.” Spying a fairly secluded place to
park, Giles pulled the car over.
“Umm…Giles, why are we stopping?” Willow asked nervously.
Giles removed his glasses and withdrew a handkerchief to clean them with
before he answered, “This is a matter of some delicacy. I believe it best that we be
afforded privacy. Willow, this morning’s exchanges left me with the impression that
something might have transpired between Buffy and yourself.” After replacing his
glasses, he turned to take in the gaping expression on his passenger’s face.
When nothing was offered in response, Giles continued, “I recognize fully that it
is not my place to pry. Furthermore, it is easy to see how confusing this must be for the
two of you. I do not wish to aggravate an already difficult situation, but I must impress
upon you that occurrences of this nature are rarely without consequence.”
After a few scant moments of silence, Willow arrived at the conclusion that Giles
was so skillfully avoiding. Her complexion went stark white. “But—umm—oh,” she
stammered, trying to figure out how to tell the stodgy Englishman that there hadn’t
been any ejaculation with Buffy’s climax. “Giles, umm…I…I’m not—I mean…not much
with the knowledge…er…umm…definitely not ‘knowledge girl’…and the experiencing,
but—well, I do know how—” An exasperated sigh slipped out. “I got that the stork’s a
myth… See, thing is, there are things that are sorta supposed to happen and
well…umm…” By this point she was completely convinced she wanted to die. Heat
radiated off her face as she slouched gradually lower in her seat. Finally, she managed to
sputter, “They sorta didn’t.”
Giles brow was deeply furrowed with confusion when the young hacker finished.
“Willow, I’m not certain that I’m following you.”
Willow dropped her face in her hand and rubbed her eyes. Ever notice there’s
never a huge rock to crawl under when you need one? Then she spied her soda and an
idea took form. After rolling the window part of the way down, she shook the bottle and
held it outside the car, carefully releasing the cap. The soda briefly sprayed the side of
the car, then shot a stream out of the bottle. She pointed.
Appearing even more mystified, Giles watched the redhead drop her soda on the
ground and shake her sticky hand. I don’t understand the fixation with shaking
carbonated beverages. It seems to be something of a theme today. I do hope we move
on.
Pulling her arm back inside the car, Willow looked around for a napkin. Accepting
the handkerchief Giles offered her, she wiped her hands. When she eventually spoke,
Willow sounded vaguely perturbed, “Put it in the context of the conversation we
weren’t having, Giles. Please! I’m begging you.” Stifling the annoyance with another well
placed sigh, she concluded, “It didn’t happen…and it sorta needs to.”
When Giles finally firmed up, he hastily replied, “Right then. We should be on
our way.”
Thank Goodness!
Her body sliced through the lawn with practiced ease. Strong scales gripped the
earth as she undulated left, then right. The sun beamed down, warming her cool skin.
There was something liberating about the sensation. She felt completely free. All that
mattered was the earth.
She flicked her tongue out to taste the air. With the action came a barrage of
sensory awareness: she smelled the fresh cut lawn, the odors of humanity, hot tarmac,
sweat, blood. She was hungry. A girl stepped over her, seemingly ignorant of her
presence.
As the girl passed, Buffy flicked her tongue out again, barely brushing the hosiery
that clung to the girl’s ankle. The girl continued on, oblivious to the gentle touch. Sweet,
salty, warm, succulent skin lay under the fragile garment. Buffy’s pulse leapt with
anticipation.
She followed the girl, watching her long, auburn hair sway in the gentle breeze.
Buffy blinked as she moved. The awareness that she could see even with her eyes closed
wasn’t new or shocking, though she momentarily felt it should be.
She watched the girl move. There was a nervous, guarded quality to the motion.
The girl somehow knew she didn’t belong. Her plain attire didn’t match the bright
adornments of her peers. It was dull, drab, and far too lifeless for such a vibrant
creature.
The girl reached her destination. Taking a seat on a concrete bench, she lowered
the bag she carried to the ground and opened it, removing a brown paper sack.
Buffy slithered under the bench, aware that the majority of her body should be
plainly in view to the girl. Naked and trusting, she ventured forward. Again, there was no
reaction. It was as though the girl couldn’t see her, or didn’t want to. Buffy looped back
under the bench, slipping her body behind the girl’s ankles. The thickest part of her form
brushed the underside of the cold concrete slab as she passed through this abbreviated
maze.
Rising up to peer at the girl eating a homemade lunch, Buffy was struck by the
beauty of this creature. The desire to consume, to destroy, was overwhelming. She
pulled back, watching, waiting, then abruptly she lashed forward. When her jaws met
soft, delicate flesh, she began to coil around the girl, looping, twining.
The girl let out a piercing scream that was quickly choked off by the strength of
the cold coils that seized her.
Buffy snapped awake and screamed. A sharp pain shot through her chest.
Disoriented by her surroundings, she struggled to open her eyes. When they refused to
respond, her pulse raced. She curled into a tight ball and fell. Her body thudded,
sprawling on the hard floor. Something connected with her arm, inflicting more pain.
She gasped for breath.
The nightmare flashed painfully through her mind. In the black, her eyes welled
up. The salt of her tears burned as it seeped past the thick shroud. As she flopped onto
her back, cotton and denim clung to her clammy skin. Barely aware, she started to
shiver.
She was suddenly stuck by the fact she couldn’t breathe—or maybe it was that
she was breathing too much? She fought to gain control. Her chest tightened and
burned. The nightmare vision continued to haunt her in the dark. She was cold and
alone. Then, just as suddenly, she wasn’t.
Arms gently wrapped around her, propping her up. As they cradled her, soothing
sounds broke through the terror. She was being rocked, held in someone’s arms.
A piercing shriek sounded from inside the apartment as they pulled up. Willow
threw the car door open and jumped out before the car had entirely stopped. She
staggered when her feet hit the ground, nearly collapsing to her knees. The instant her
balance returned, she ran. When she got to the door, a feeling of helplessness briefly
gnawed at her. She rattled the locked door, wanting to break it down.
Giles wedged himself between the desperate young woman and the door,
inserting his keys.
Once the door was unlocked, Willow burst into the apartment and scanned what
appeared to be an empty room. Quickly pressing on, she rounded the couch and
gasped. After taking a hasty and remarkably clumsy seat on the floor, she pulled Buffy
into her lap. I’ve never seen—oh God! She’s actually so scared she’s hyperventilating.
friend.
Making gentle hushing noises, Willow started to rock and caress to calm her
“I thought you said ‘injured’? How could you leave her like this?”
Willow’s voice rang through the maelstrom and Buffy recoiled. No! The arms
tightened around her as she began to struggle. I’ve got to—I have to get away. Don’t
make me hurt you, Will.
“Buffy, it’s me. I won’t hurt you. Please don’t hurt me,” Willow said anxiously.
The word found voice and Buffy screamed, “No!” as she fought to get away.
Breaking free, she scrambled across the floor until she collided with something. “I will
hurt you! I did hurt you!” What? Wait? Hurt you? Umm… Suddenly, like a dash of ice
water, it hit her how irrational her previous thoughts were.
“Willow, perhaps it would be prudent to allow her to get her bearings first?”
Giles suggested in a mild tone.
“No, Giles. Would you mind—? I mean…umm…I know it’s your place and
everything, but—” Willow replied bashfully.
“Certainly, but do be careful. I’ll just be outside should you need me.”
Willow ignored the exiting librarian and asked Buffy calmly, “You hurt me?”
The door opened, then shut, and the slayer was alone with Willow. Sensing
movement, Buffy turned to face it and spat blindly in the direction of the voice, “I hurt! I
used! I violated! I betrayed!”
Distress and confusion tainted her voice as Willow remarked, “That might all be
true if…if I hadn’t freely offered.” An exasperated sigh hissed from her and she seemed
to calm. Her tone was more level and forthright when she added, “Now settle down and
let me see you.”
Buffy didn’t struggle when Willow tentatively closed a hand over her shoulder.
As the gentle caresses continued, pieces of the nightmare vividly hung in Buffy’s mind.
She felt the bones snap. The sound of Willow screaming filled her remaining senses. No!
I gotta get a grip. It was a dream. Just a dream. A truly scary, really messed up…God,
Buffy! Freud much? It was a dream. Course ‘not being able to see’—not helpful either.
It’s like the blindfold: you can see, just listen.
In a tranquil voice, Willow offered, “Buffy, I know you need time to think, but I
also want you to know: you’re my friend first and foremost. That means more to me
than anything. If I have to, I can bundle up everything that happened yesterday and put
it someplace safe. Hold onto it as a beautiful memory.” Taking a deep breath, she
amended, sounding marginally terser, “And don’t you dare tell me it wasn’t beautiful,
Buffy Summers. I couldn’t forgive you for that.”
Buffy didn’t struggle when Willow moved next to her and pulled her into a gentle
embrace. The soft movement and soothing caress resumed. Tears leaked out again
through the puffy flesh. Buffy winced. “A beautiful memory? How can you call it that,
Will?” She raised her hand, asking to be heard out. “I took something from you—I stole
something that should’ve been Oz’s. I don’t get you. Don’t you feel bad about Oz?”
The movement abated as Willow stiffened. There was an extended silence;
finally, she replied patiently, “Of course I feel bad. Feeling bad—feeling horrible—it isn’t
going to undo what happened. All the regret in the world can’t change it.” She sighed.
“As to the stealing: you musta missed the whole ‘freely offered’ part of the speech. You
can’t steal what’s freely given. It’s an impossible combination. It was mine to give. That
wasn’t your choice or his and I refuse to regret an instant of it.”
While the calming motion continued, the lingering images of the nightmare
faded, driven away by soothing touch and gentle words. It was just a nightmare. Me. My
guilt. I guess if she doesn’t feel that way—which is totally wig-worthy. At least—I mean, I
guess it is. I know that, after Xander put the whammy on me, what I really wanted most
was to stuff him in a trash can. An image of Xander’s feet and head sticking out of a
galvanized steel garbage can flickered into view. I was nice…actually kinda regret that. In
her mind’s eye Buffy kicked the can on its side and sent it rolling down a hill. Let’s hear it
for a healthy fantasy life. No ‘trash can stuffing’ for me. Nope. Instead she’s holding
me—comforting me. Maybe— The tears calmed, but Buffy was afraid to wipe them
away. Finding the strength to answer, she simply whispered, “I’m sorry, Will.”
mood.
“What for this time?” Willow teased playfully, obviously trying to lighten the
“For leaving,” Buffy whispered.
“That you can be sorry for. The rest: you’re not allowed.”
Willow’s lips brushed Buffy’s forehead ever so gently and soft finger tips swept a
lock of hair from her cheek. Her eyes burned from the drying tears and she struggled to
think through the proverbial ‘salt in the open wound’ sensation. Gathering the
remainder of her resolve, she commented wryly, “I’m just glad you’re not trying to stuff
me into a trash can. ’Cause right now, you might have a shot.”
Willow gasped, “Huh?” sounding utterly mystified.
“Nothing really, Will. Just, with Xander, I felt used. I figured you’d feel the same,”
Buffy replied weakly.
Willow’s tone changed, reflecting amusement as she responded, “That wasn’t a
love spell, Buffy. Like I said last night, it wasn’t like I just ‘had to.’ I was there because I
wanted to be. The only weird thing I felt was—I dunno—like really, really lusty. I actually
thought about it and decided—made the decision to stay.”
“Oh,” was all Buffy managed to say. All of the pieces snapped into place and it
was her turn to be mystified. She meant it—like really. Not an ‘I love you’ you’d say to a
friend, but— Wow! She’s right. I need time. Umm…wow…lemme think. Fingertips gently
caressed her jaw line. I’m an idiot.
Buffy could feel a smile starting to form and it hurt. Suppressing the impulse, she
sighed at the mess she’d made. I did the same thing to Will that Angel did to me and got
attacked by him for it. Didn’t deserve it, did I? Then for icing: I get grounded by my
mother. Still utterly undeserving. I wigged over Oz and got pounded to a pulp. Me doing
the badness to myself. There was a ladder? Signs might be helpful. Nightmares, horror,
and pain, I give you: Buffy Summers. I’m an idiot.
“Let’s get you back up on the couch. I need to go see what’s up with Giles.”
Buffy moved from Willow’s lap and put a hand in the air. When Willow’s hand
met hers, Buffy stood and followed the subtle cues. Feeling the couch behind her calves,
she sat back and crossed her legs casually. She sensed Willow moving away.
Utterly blind, but strangely calm for the first time in days, Buffy began to
seriously consider her reactions. Not a love spell? Harmony’s reaction was totally love
spellish. Harmony’s also—well, when her IQ hits fifty she should totally sell. What about
the others? Was I just tweaking over women checking me out? Were the ones that were
‘following me’ just walking—going somewhere—just like me? Maybe. Oh Christ,
Summers! You are an idiot! Overreact much?
The front door clicked and swung open. Giles voice sounded from outside,
“Ah...Willow, I was just about to knock. Very good. If you would bring the box, we can
end this and get on about our lives.”
Willow returned, leaving the door open. Buffy could hear the crackling sounds of
fire drifting in from the patio. The Box of Gavrok slid across the coffee table and
moments later a hand met hers. Rising to her feet, she wrapped her arm around her
friend’s slender waist and began to walk where directed.
“Sorry you can’t watch this,” Willow reflected in a soft voice.
The heat of a fire warmed Buffy’s tender skin. Giles muttered words that she
didn’t understand and honestly didn’t care to. There was a sense of closure in the air as
the Box of Gavrok thudded against a metal surface, starting to crackle and pop. As she
listened intently, the slayer could swear she heard the sounds of stifled shrieks. Leaning
close to her friend, Buffy murmured, “I’m watching, Will.” For the first time in days.
Just How Damaged Have I Become?
Mayor Wilkins plastered a forced smile on his face as he walked through his
office doors. His feet made splashing noises with each step. He glanced briefly around
the sodden room. The door to his altar had been opened during the vandalism and the
picture was more than a little grim. His coveted ‘Books of Ascension’ had been reduced
to so much pulp by the deluge of water.
Eventually the mayor managed through gritted teeth, “You know, Faith, we’re all
just products of our environment. Poor upbringing, bad manners, they can’t be excused.
But really, who’s to blame? The criminal or the ones who influenced the criminal?”
room.
“I sorta think it’s both,” Faith replied simply as she looked around the ruined
“That’s why I want you to—” the mayor started, then cut short as his temper got
the better of him. He took a couple of sharp breaths and continued, “To provide our
little friends with an environment more conducive to acceptable behavior. I’m thinking
something in a satin-lined box.” He took another deep breath. “And speaking of boxes—
” The rage won out and he screamed, “I want my box back!” He walked around to his
desk and sat in his leather chair. As his weight settled, the cushion poured water onto
the already soaked floor; he seemed utterly oblivious. “Please, Faith, the box and Buffy
Summers’ eyes.”
Ignoring the mayor’s aberrant behavior, Faith put on her best waitress
impersonation when she replied, “Comin’ right up, boss. Want the eyes breaded and
fried? Maybe a little ketchup for dipping?”
The mayor shot the slayer a terse glare. With his elbows on the desk, he dropped
his head in his hands. Eventually he rubbed his face and looked up. Rage reflected sharp
around his eyes, betraying the charming mockery of a smile he put on. “Oh, no… Yuck!
They’re just hard on the old ticker that way, all that oil and starch. Good nutrition’s just
as important as good manners, Faith. Now run along.”
Faith smirked. “Sure thing, boss.”
Buffy peered into the mirror while she brushed her teeth. Grateful that the face
that stared back was almost familiar, she quickly finished up and went to her room.
Fuzzy flannel pajamas were located and she stripped out of her robe to dress. Almost
human again—nearly me. The mom wig was bad, but not so much I couldn’t deal.
‘Worried Mom’ is way better than ‘Suspicious Mom’ any day.
After crawling in bed, Buffy pulled the covers up and did something extremely
out of character: she grabbed a textbook. Holding the heavy book open, she began to
read her English assignment. Anything’s better than an encounter with ‘Suspicious
Mom.’ Even homework. Pushing the limits, giving her what she needs to become
‘Suspicious Mom,’ not a plan. ’Cause ‘Suspicious Mom’ could—more likely, would—
spawn the most horrifying of all Moms…‘Questioning Mom.’ ‘Questioning Mom’ would
summon ‘Answer Buffy’ and, and, and…well, I’m supposed to stop apocalypses not cause
’em. So, homework. Homework is an excuse that trumps ‘Worried Mom’—cuts her off
before things get outta hand. It’s a small price to pay for world saveage. Amazed it
worked. Think I scared her.
Just about the time Buffy was beginning to read, comprehend, and perhaps even
retain a fraction of the material, the world conspired against her. A knock issued from
her window. Crap! Stuffing a scrap of paper between the pages to mark her place, she
dropped the book over the side of the bed and got up. After donning her robe, she went
to the window, mocking softly as she moved, “I love you. Always will. Know that.” Her
voice dropped to barely a mumble, “But I’m not your fucking whore,” then she pushed
the curtain aside and slid the window open, making eye contact with Angel. “What?”
Angel appeared somewhat perplexed at first; back-peddling to recover, he
gasped a hasty, “Huh?”
As she met her former boyfriend’s gaze, Buffy grumbled tersely, “Just a line from
a stupid movie, Angel. What do you want?”
“To say I’m sorry,” Angel responded plainly.
Still appearing less than tolerant, Buffy nodded and aridly observed, “I’m in no
position to really get all judgey. It’s been a crappy couple of days.”
“I can tell,” Angel remarked, gesturing to the sickly looking yellow bruises around
the blonde’s eyes.
“Yeah…had a little run in with a thick-headed old British guy. I managed to get it
figured why knocking him out seems to have so little lasting effect,” Buffy commented
wryly. Perking up, she added, “But hey, snagged and torched the mayor’s magic box,
so…no more ascension.” Dropping back to the dry tone, she snarked, “Yay us,” then
started to shut the window. “Anything else, Angel?”
Angel appeared sheepish as he reached for the sash. “Can I come in? There’s
something—I don’t want to intrude, but—”
After taking a step back from the window, Buffy drawled, “Yeah…sure,
whatever,” while she removed her robe and hung it up. Slipping back into bed, she drew
the covers over her chest and leaned back against the pillows. When she looked up,
Angel was standing by the window, peering out into the darkness.
“I’m leaving, Buffy,” Angel offered in a flat tone, “But, before I go, I want to talk
with you about something.”
Once settled, Buffy picked her English textbook up off the floor and mumbled,
“Okay, I’m all ears,” in a vaguely sarcastic manner while she opened to the correct page.
“It’s about Willow. Something you may not understand,” Angel said gently as he
turned to face the bed. Ignoring the fact that the blonde instantly grew uneasy at the
mention of the name, he continued with marked distaste, “It was common practice not
that long ago—still is in some places—to arrange marriages based on family affluence or
whatever other petty reasons. Men mostly, making decisions to gain some advantage,
using their daughter’s lives for barter.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Buffy asked, “What’s that got to do with Will?”
“Ever wonder why it works? Why people can do something so crass and get
away with it?” Angel replied, countering the question with a question blatantly.
Buffy set her textbook aside and propped herself up against her pillows. “Never
really thought about it, I guess. But you didn’t answer my question.”
Angel stepped away from the window, still keeping a respectful distance from
Buffy’s bed and reflected, “My point is this: women fall in love with the first person they
have sex with, unless the sex is in some way cruel, or they’re severely repulsed. It’s a
universal truth. That’s why a woman’s status as ‘virgin’ holds such significance.” He
sighed. “You can answer the question for yourself now.”
Allowing Buffy a moment to comment, Angel went on, “You need to be very
careful with her. I know you love her, but…what happened, it changes things. Doesn’t
matter how much you want it not to, or how much she says it doesn’t. She’ll say things
just to make you happy.”
Taking in the harsh stare the blonde gave him; Angel cleared his throat and
continued, “You know I’m right. Just look at how you held onto me, come hell or high
water. Not that it wasn’t absolutely mutual. I still love you, Buffy. I clung to you too, but
it’s time for me to stop. It’s time for you to live. I need to leave to allow…” His voice
trailed off.
The sharp expression was replaced by an air of melancholy as Buffy queried,
“Wait, you mean you’re leaving Sunnydale, ‘leaving’?”
Angel looked away, unable to meet the forlorn gaze the blonde was giving him.
“I have to, Buffy. Here, where we are, my being here is just causing you—causing us
both pain. I can do more good someplace else. You stopped the mayor alone. You’ve
proven yourself many times over,” he sorrowfully muttered, “I’m proud of you.”
God! He sounds like my mother! “But I love you,” Buffy murmured.
Fully aware that Buffy was on the verge of tears, Angel whispered, “And I love
you, but love can be the most painful thing in the world. I have to do this, Buffy. It’s
what’s right and you know it.”
Buffy found herself at a loss for words.
“I couldn’t ask for better,” Angel reflected, then turned for the window to make
his exit.
Watching Angel leave, Buffy asked, “Better?”
Angel slipped outside and leaned back in through the open window. “I know it’ll
be hard at first, but it’s good, Buffy. There’s so much good there. Willow’s a remarkable
woman.”
By the time Angel finished speaking, Buffy was at the window. She leaned down
and embraced him, then muttered in his ear, “Wait. You—you aren’t suggesting—? Oh,
Angel, I don’t know.”
Withdrawing from the embrace to make eye contact, Angel replied frankly,
“Buffy, understand I’m not trying to make any decisions for you. All I’m saying is that
you should think about it. Don’t let other people tell you what’s right. You and Willow
are the only ones that should make that choice.” He cupped her cheeks and swept the
tears away with his thumbs. “And you know as well as I do you don’t get to plan who
you love. It doesn’t work that way and we both know it.”
Buffy took in the sad smile on Angel’s face and nodded. “You’d better get going.
Mayor’s probably all rampagey. Hanging out in my window might just qualify as an
extreme sport,” she remarked sardonically through the tears.
As Buffy relaxed her grip, Angel slipped away. When he was gone, she closed the
window and drapes, then listlessly went back to her book.
Willow pulled the afghan that was draped over her up to her chin and turned
onto her back on Giles’ couch. After staring at the ceiling briefly, she closed her eyes.
We’re right where I expected. I need someone to talk with and…I can’t talk to him.
Turning toward Xander where he lay on the other side of the coffee table in a
sleeping bag, Willow opened her eyes and began to imagine telling him all her troubles.
Buffy didn’t say a single word, nothing. We burned the box and she clammed up. Her
expression was— Well, there wasn’t one. Every once in a while it was like I’d see the
faintest hint of a smile. Guess it hurt—the expressiveness. It looked like it hurt. Lots
actually. Her facial muscles tightened, crinkling her brow. At least I got to say what I
needed to before the burning. Not like she had bunches of choice with the listening, but
still.
All she really said in return was that she’d expected me to feel used. She seemed
happy I didn’t. Not used—I don’t feel—I feel…umm…lonely, isolated, cut off, ignored,
neglected… I shouldn’t though. I told her I’d give her space. I just wish I knew.
Clutching her shoulder, Willow crossed her arms over her chest in one of those
mock hugs that never feels quite right. I wish I could get a Xander hug. He gives good
hugs…and I miss them. Ever since the fluking, Xander hugs have been really, really rare.
Always with others around, but never Oz or Cordy. I miss my Xander hugs.
I don’t understand how something so beautiful could be so difficult, so painful.
Willow listened to the ambient noises coming from around the apartment. He’s
not asleep. Xander’s breathing was slow and steady. Back when we were kids, Xander
used to hug me all the time. He’d see I needed a hug—that someone, usually Cordy, had
been picking on me and he’d just—he’d hug me and it’d get better. Nothing complicated,
just simple comfort. Now, all of a sudden, there are all these rules about the hugging.
And Buffy—now Buffy—does this mean that if we can be friends that there’ll be
rules about the hugging? Only around lots of other people, but not Xander or something
like that? It just seems so silly.
So now I’m alone. I’m the bad and— Willow brought her hand to her mouth,
brushing her lips, then returned it to her shoulder almost defensively. All I really want is
to kiss her again. What if I never get to? What if it never happens again? Can I be okay
with that? I told her I could. Friends first, that’s what’s important. It really is, so I guess
I’d have to.
I should’ve appreciated it more.
Her face relaxed, leaving her expression neutral, but not placid. A tear leaked out
of the corner of her eye, pooling against the side of her nose and Willow quickly wiped it
away. Oh! And she said she was sorry for leaving. That’s a good sign. Actually, as signs
go, that’s a really, really good one. Guilt. Yeah…always a positive thing. I should know. I
have a Jewish mother.
Willow turned away from Xander to look at the shadowed ceiling again and
rolled her eyes. The rest of our big talk, like it was ‘big,’ was about the ‘why’ and Oz. I
wish I actually understood the ‘why’ myself. I don’t. It was—looking at it, there wasn’t a
choice. Oz or Buffy. Buffy or Oz. Makes it sound like I don’t love Oz. Like, ‘Oh, it’s no big,
no great loss.’ That’s not true. I’ll always love Oz…and it’ll probably always hurt. But the
choice—in that moment—there wasn’t a choice. It was like a dream. Not sure why. I
suppose it was just so far outside the realm of possibilities that—
Lifting her hand from her shoulder, Willow rubbed her eyes. I wish there had
been a choice. I meant it when I said, ‘no regrets.’ I don’t. There’s no regret. But if Buffy
can’t handle it—if she leaves—if she never speaks to me again— Her hand flopped limp
against her shoulder again.
I’ll die.
shovel.
Not exactly regret, is it? Nope. No siree, Bob. No regret here. Just gimme a
Tears streamed freely down the edges of her cheeks now, but Willow didn’t
make a sound. As they collected and trickled into her ears, she cringed and clenched her
jaw muscles, trying to bite back the unrest. I need to get a grip, have a plan, do
something—something proactive. I need to be ‘proactive girl.’ What can I do? Well,
there’s the standard list: candy, flowers, stuffed animals, jewelry, cards, bad poetry…
Oh! I could write a sonnet. I’m good for at least a sonnet. ‘An Ode to My Bestest Buddy
Buffy.’ She’d slay me and I totally get the ‘why.’ Wonderful ideas, all… If I never want her
to speak to me again. Not like any of them really say ‘friend’ either. I could buy her a
mocha. And we all know what that got me last time. Well, we don’t—not all—Xander
doesn’t know. My other bestest buddy’s totally in the dark…and I still need a hug.
Actually, we’re both in the dark, literally and figuratively.
A soft, grumpy sigh disturbed the silence of the room, sounding more like a hiss,
and Willow wiped her eyes. There’s always Prom. Guess we’re going stag if we go at all
now…and we have to go. It’s a ‘Rite of Passage’…and what good is a ‘Rite of Passage’
without the passagers…er…passengers …umm… passers—without the people to go
through it? I could take her as a friend, right? I could do that and it wouldn’t have to
mean anything. Question is: do I have the nerve to ask? ‘Buffy would you go to the Prom
with me?’ See, easy-peasy. Getting the words to actually pass through my lips without
choking on my tongue and passing out: that’ll be the trick. It’s always so flattering when
that happens.
I can do it. I can. I’m psyching myself up. I am.
Willow turned toward Xander’s voice when the sound derailed her reverie.
Angel picked up a small rock and carefully lobbed it at the wall next to Giles’
bedroom window. Really don’t want to push it, but he needs to know this. Waiting a
moment, he listened for movement inside the apartment, then tossed one more rock.
When the window finally slid open, he took in the expression of annoyance on the
Englishman’s face. “Giles, I’m really sorry to bother you like this, but I have something
important to tell you.”
“It is perfectly acceptable to knock at the front door, Angel, though it would get
you no closer to setting a single toe inside my flat again,” Giles replied in a bitter tone.
Angel nodded and accepted the barb at face value. “I appreciate that, Giles, but
this is something I’d rather not say around the others.”
Giles leaned against the window sill. “Then please, carry on, but do be quick.”
“The potion we made to counter the effects of—” Angel started, cutting off
when he received a nod from the former watcher. He did his utmost to keep his tone
neutral, but failed miserably as guilt tainted the remainder of his account, “Something
happened—something bad and it had to be the potion. I ran into Buffy in the cemetery
last night and, Giles, there was—it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever been around before.
She smelled like a human male, but not— There was a very strong male pheromone—
but it wasn’t—it was like there was something else—something demonic,” he hung his
head shamefully, “I attacked her. I did everything I could not to, but I attacked her.”
Giles started to say something, but Angel cut him off, noting the harsh
accusatory expression. “Giles, I know you feel I’m not good for Buffy. And right now, I’m
not gonna argue, but you’re a watcher,” he pleaded, trying to appeal to the analytical
side of the Englishman’s nature. He took a breath to continue, “This thing, it caused me
to change. It brought out the demon and made me want to hurt her. It’s dangerous. If I
didn’t care— If it had been more than one vampire— It needs to be recorded so others
know. Just a simple ‘stay home’ in the margin would save the next person a lot of pain.”
Giles appeared pensive as he considered the vampire’s words. It seemed rather
silly to me in the moment that one would allow themselves to be driven mad by the
‘aspect of the demon,’ however in retrospect, perhaps the cost was simply too high?
Having to choose: saving oneself versus the violation of another human being and
becoming a target for every creature of the night? It certainly doesn’t sound appealing.
And where we’re concerned, there still remains the question of Willow’s health.
Speaking in a careful even tone, Giles replied, “That assumes the situation would
remedy itself of its own accord. However, I will certainly note what you’ve said in my
records,” After a brief pause, he prompted, “Now if that is all?”
“Thanks, Giles,” Angel returned sincerely and nodded. “There’s one more thing.
I’m leaving as soon as I know the mayor can’t hurt any of you. I’ve already said goodbye
to Buffy. Don’t let the others know I’m still here. I’d rather just—”
“Yes, yes, well, thank you for your candor,” Giles responded crisply, then shut
the window.
When Giles closed his blinds, Angel began a lap around the apartment building,
searching for a way to access the roof. Around the rear of the building he spied a terrace
he could leap to. From there he jumped up and out, grabbing the rough tar surface and
pulling himself to the roof. He walked to the front corner of the building, positioning
himself over Giles’ apartment door, and stooped down to wait, sitting on his heels.
“Did you say something?”
Willow blinked in the darkness, trying to make out exactly where Xander was.
Still recovering from the discomfort of her internal monologue, she babbled anxiously,
“Say? No, no saying, just sighing. If ‘sighing’ is ‘saying,’ then I said—” then produced a
phony sigh.
Suppressing a chuckle, Xander asked bluntly, “What’s wrong, Will?” Under the
sleeping bag, he raised his shirt and rubbed his tummy. Then, careful not to pull any
hair, he fished out the day’s collection of bellybutton lint, rolling it between his fingers.
“Nothing,” Willow lied badly, seconds later covering by adding, “Or, I mean,
nothing much.” Her arms tightened defensively as Xander began to probe for
information.
“You sure? ’Cause you and Buffy both have been acting really wigged all day. I
mean, I get the weirdness over Buffy with the injury, but before, you were both just
weird. At least what I saw of you was weird,” Xander said, finally voicing his inner
concerns. He turned on his side and looked at the silhouette of his friend in the dark.
“What was up with the ‘hand’ thing? Buffy didn’t hurt you did she? She wouldn’t hurt
you. She couldn’t, right? I’m talking crazy,” he stammered, amending by quickly
pleading, “Please stop me, Will.”
Willow brought her hand to her sides in an abrupt movement, actually pounding
the cushions of the couch. The afghan moved with her arms, exposing her sleep shirt to
the waist. When she eventually spoke, her tone was curt, “No she didn’t hurt me,
Xander.”
Sounding slightly wounded by her unusual brusqueness, Xander took a deep
breath and implored, “Then what’s with the weird? ’Cause ‘weird’ is mostly hellmouthy
and hellmouthy is always bad.” Bringing his arm out of the sleeping bag, he dropped the
lint and propped himself up attentively, cupping the side of his head in his hand.
It was apparent from her harsh demeanor that Willow was fed up with the
questioning. Her tone was utterly arid as she prompted, “You really want to know?”
“Yes, I really want to know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” Xander replied, sounding a
little too curious, “Oh! And what was up with Oz? Is he okay?”
Willow ignored the question and simply pressed again, “You won’t wig on me
and you won’t talk about it?”
His brow furrowed as Xander tried to imagine what could cause his friend’s
uncharacteristic mood. Putting on his best ‘reassuring voice,’ he replied, “I’ll try not to.
And if it’s a secret, I can…I’ll keep it. Just tell me, Will.”
Stalling a moment to psych herself up, Willow blurted out, “I had sex with Buffy,”
then drew in a sharp breath.
Xander gave his head a tiny shake hoping his ears would clear. “No, really, Will.
Just tell me.”
“I did.”
Faith skirted around the back of the Summers’ residence, concealing a few select
weapons as she went. Her favorite bow was the first item stashed, far away from the
main house, then a knife and a short sword. It was just enough to make her feel
comfortable, but not enough to offer a chance advantage to the other slayer. Now all I
gotta do is getcha out in the open, blondie.
After making her way to the tree under Buffy’s window, she scaled it and leaned
in place to wait. We get to see just how good you are now, B. How long will it take for
the perfect slayer to sense my presence? An hour? Two hours? Make it three and you’re
gonna end up with company in that snug little bed of yours.
When the light finally flipped on, Faith’s legs were very nearly asleep. About
time, B., she mused, then dropped to the ground. Listening intently, she heard Buffy
walk over to the window, pause for a moment, then move away. When the door to the
room swung open, Faith climbed the tree and slipped silently inside. Bit disappointed. I
expected her to at least pull the curtains back. After taking a seat on the bed, Faith made
herself comfortable, propping herself up on the pillows and flopping her boots on the
clean, white sheets.
The door opened and Buffy walked back into the room. Without taking a look in
Faith’s direction, she said, “I wondered when you’d show,” as she shut the door.
Seemingly unaffected by the brunette’s attempt to raise her ire, Buffy turned toward
the bed and simply folded her arms, awaiting the snarky comeback.
Well, alright, B.! You go, girl! She’s not been missin’ me, she’s been ignoring me.
Takes guts. I may have to show ’em to her. Faith folded her arms across her chest and
said in a disinterested manner, “Never been one to disappoint.”
Buffy looked at her nails, feigning boredom, then put her hand to her mouth and
yawned deeply. “Sorta depends on who you ask.”
Faith ignored the cheap taunt. Sorta walked into that one. “Well, y’know, B., if
you weren’t walkin’ around like some snot-nosed, preppy-princess reject from a John
Hughes film, you mighta noticed that I wasn’t tryin’ to unseat you from your throne. I
just wanted to fit, didn’t really care how. And yeah, maybe I tried too hard,” she laughed
mirthlessly, “Trying to impress the great Watcher Giles and make friends with your
lackeys. Anyway…I’m over it. I got on with my life. There wasn’t any room for me in
‘team misfit.’ My heart bleeds for the loss. Now can we move on?”
Buffy glared at the brunette slayer. After tilting her hip to the right, and placing a
hand to her waist, she remarked dryly, “Been moving on. You were barely a hiccup on
my social calendar. Now what the hell do you want, Faith?”
Faith met the unspoken challenge, locking eyes with the blonde. She cocked an
eyebrow and asked, “There’s the little matter of my boss’s box, B. Any ideas?”
A wicked little giggle slipped out and Buffy replied, sounding very amused,
“Yeah…ideas, lots of ideas. Picture this, Faith: all us pitiful Scoobies huddled around a
roaring fire, toasting marshmallows and singing ‘Nobody Likes Me.’ We ran low on
firewood and sacrifices were made. Good times. You shoulda been,” she yawned and
stretched, “Now, if that’s it, my bed misses me.”
Faith’s eyes narrowed for just an instant. Boss’s not gonna like that. “Yeah…it’s
pretty comfy,” she countered, reaching back to fluff a pillow. Bitch isn’t gonna take the
bait and I’m not throwin’ down here. Mrs. S. was decent to me. Killin’ her daughter in her
house? Even I’m not that low.
Crossing the room, Buffy stood beside the bed and remarked, “You’re on my
side. Scoot over.”
Jesus fuckin’ Christ, B. Faith shot outta the bed, stepping square in Buffy’s face,
and growled, “Bit late for us to be bunk buddies, B. Sorry—had your chance. I wouldn’t
fuck ya with Xander’s dick.”
Buffy didn’t even blink, she stood utterly still and snarked in a low, dangerous
voice, “Good. I don’t like where it’s been.” Appearing completely impervious, she
mimed a yawn at Faith and stretched again. After stepping around the other slayer,
Buffy slid back in bed. As she drew the covers up over her, she commented absently,
“Leave the window open on your way out. I sleep better with the fresh air.”
She’s gotta have somethin’ up her sleeve. Faith strutted over to the window,
stopping just as Buffy flipped the light out.
A not-entirely-unexpected knock issued from the door and Buffy flipped the light
back on. “Yeah, Mom? Come on in. Join the fun…that’s not—” she grumbled,
abandoning the sarcastic attitude when she met her mother’s gaze.
Faith turned toward the elder Summers and smiled sheepishly. “I was just
leavin’, Mrs. S.”
Joyce ignored Faith entirely and fixed her glare on Buffy. “Would you mind
explaining this? You’re grounded, Buffy. ‘Grounded’ doesn’t mean that you can have
people dropping in to visit at all hours of the night.”
Buffy muttered a curse under her breath, then glanced at Faith and glowered at
the cocky smile. Turning back to her mother, she smiled coyly and stammered, “Er,
umm…visit?”
Faith smirked at the blonde slayer and interjected, “Hate to butt in—such a
touching family moment and all—but” — she glanced at her nonexistent watch — “look
at the time.” After climbing back out the window, she commented, “There’s this little
redhead I was gonna visit,” leaning in the window to wink at Buffy, “Helluva lot cuter
than you, B.”
Prying her attention from the glare her mother was giving her, Buffy turned to
watch Faith slip into the darkness.
“I’m waiting,” Joyce prompted impatiently, “And what exactly did she mean by
‘cuter’?”
“Uh-boy,” Buffy intoned, then turned to face her mother, and looking a little bit
desperate, shrugged. A sigh revealed an acceptance of her fate and she answered dully,
“I dunno, Mom.”
Still smirking, Faith dropped to the ground. Not exactly an arrow to the chest, but
definitely fun. Good times, B. We’re gonna have such good times.
Did she just say ‘sex’? Like the naked kind? Xander stuck his finger in his ear and
wriggled the digit around, hoping for a popping noise or some indication that his hearing
was somehow at fault. He gradually became aware that his mouth was hanging open
and quickly clamped it shut, grateful for the darkness. She did say ‘sex’! Oh! My! God!
How could she? Okay, think this through. On the upside: two girls having sex; downside:
Buffy having sex with somebody else not me. My…two…best…friends and…uh, er,
umm…sex… I’m gonna die. Should I ask her what it was like? I mean, details, never a
bad.
Thick silence hung in the room and Willow was left feeling guilty. “Xander, I
shouldn’t—I didn’t mean to—to hurt you. Did I hurt you?” She paused briefly, hoping for
an answer. “I just really, really, really need someone to talk to. I-I feel so alone. I can’t
talk to Giles. He figured it out. I figured you’d figure, but you didn’t and, well… I told
Buffy I’d give her space to— Now I’m alone and I don’t know if I’ve lost one of my best
friends and…” she stammered until she ran out of steam. Tears welled up in her eyes as
she spoke. By the time she drew silent, she was sobbing.
But Buffy? I saw her first. Of the two—the ‘her’ and the ‘me’—who’d’ve thought
she actually had a better shot? In point of fact, it never crossed my mind. What does that
say about me? Xander rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
No, no, I have real reason to be upset. What if they never make up? Where does
that leave me? I’m the go-between-guy then. That never goes well. Especially when
you’re dealing with— Xander suddenly realized that Willow had been speaking and he
hadn’t heard a single word of it.
“Xander, are you mad at me?” Willow asked bashfully.
Xander sunk back into his reverie despite himself. Oh! What if they make me
choose? Who would I pick? I’d have to pick Will, but what about Buffy? My best friend,
the girl who used to carefully take home each picture she drew in school and hang it on
her refrigerator hoping her parents would notice, had sex with— Does that make her a
lesbian? Is Buffy a lesbian? Xander tilted his head trying to imagine what it might look
like for his two best friends to even kiss.
“Xander?” Willow tried again. She wiped her teary eyes in the darkness and
prayed he would answer.
“Huh?” Xander gasped.
“Are you mad at me…and please say ‘no’ ’cause I’m not sure I can take any
more,” Willow prompted, sounding a little desperate.
“Not mad—not exactly—just very, very confused. I thought you loved Oz? I
thought Buffy was still all angsty over the evil dead?” Xander offered. He stopped, not
having the heart to go any further when he recognized the sobs that were coming from
the couch. But Buffy over broody boy would be a major good. This might be a ‘good’?
Huh? We’ll see. Right now, Willow, she’s sort of melting. Might wanna deal with the
melty redhead.
Willow sniffled. Eventually, she managed, “Oz and I are—we’re ‘not’,” thickly
through the tears.
Sitting up to turn on the lamp next to his feet, Xander located a box of tissues
and handed it to Willow. After taking a seat next to her on the floor, he gently brushed a
clump of hair out of her face and waited patiently for her to speak again. Big brother
mode: check. I can do this. Just listen. Let her talk herself out. Nod lots. And, above all,
find something funny and make her laugh. Silly faces are a little desperate, but a valid
last resort. I’m not proud. Getting used to it, whatever it is. I got used to my parents
throwing lamps at each other. This should be a piece of cake.
Naked Buffy, naked Willow, naughty touching. Xander’s eyes glazed over.
Willow snagged a tissue, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose, then asked
tentatively, “Xander?”
Xander slapped himself on the cheek at the same moment Willow thumped him
on the crown of the head. He barked, “Ow,” and rubbed his head, “Yeah, Will?” I can do
this.
A high pitched whirring noise blended harmonically just above the frequency of
the sound of a passing car. Angel spun in the direction of the familiar sound. As he
swept his forearm across his chest, he turned sideways, sending the arrow clattering
across the rooftop. Then he began to carefully survey the point from which the
projectile had originated. Movement betrayed the would-be sniper. Angel dove to the
ground, rolling to absorb the impact. Using a parked car for cover, he quickly crossed
the street and dashed between two houses. When he got to the tree-line—the site
where the assassin had been—it was vacant. A few disturbed weeds were all that
remained.
Angel inhaled deeply. Faith. I could track her but, being lured away—pretty
stupid, all things considered. She could easily double back. Aware that he might be
settling himself up for another attack, he turned and swiftly made his way back to the
roof. En route to his post, he swept the arrow up, inspecting it as he went. Aluminum?
He felt the cold shaft of the hunting arrow and brought the tip up to his nose. Poisoned.
Nasty stuff too. I’ll sneak this to Giles tomorrow so he can figure out what she’s playing
at. He carefully checked to make certain he was uninjured. The only mark the arrow had
left was a small scrape on the sleeve of his leather duster. He shook his head ruefully at
the damage, grateful it wasn’t skin, and put the garment back on.
Faith ditched her weapons behind a dumpster and snuck in through the
backdoor of The Bronze as a couple was leaving. Tonight’s a bust. Boss’s just gonna have
to be patient. The Scoobies may be a lot of things, but they aren’t stupid—well, not for
the most-part—not where it matters. They’re something else too that’s even more scary:
painfully, amazingly, ridiculously…lucky.
Reaching the bar, she took a seat. Once she caught the bartender’s attention,
she flashed a fake I.D. and ordered a draft. It’s tactically stupid to attack any of ’em on
their home turf. Especially all clumped together like that. A vampire, two kids with
crossbows, and the old man’s pretty handy with a blade. Bad odds. Listen to me thinkin’
tactics. My watchers would be so proud, if two of them weren’t a little too stiff to be
anything and the other one wasn’t… Jesus! Is he an idiot—too busy singin’ ‘God Save the
Queen’ and screwin’ with his new suits to notice shit.
Faith accepted her beer and paid the barman. After taking a drink, she rapidly
surveyed the room. Bad things out tonight. She watched a vampire leave with a victim
through the backdoor. I think the mayor will appreciate wantin’ to go for the hurt. Kill
’em off slow. Give ’em time to grieve. I mean, once he knows his box is gone and all.
Course tellin’ him that— I wonder if I could get one of his stupid vamp lackeys to deliver
the news? I’d rather not be around when he firms up.
Flashing a seductive smile at a cute guy who approached her to flirt, Faith took
another healthy swig from her glass. Dunno how this whole thing’s gonna play out. The
mayor’s in pretty deep. Missin’ A-Day’s probably gonna be unhealthy for him, not to
mention anyone around him. Sad too, I liked the old guy. He’s been more of a dad than
my real one. Course, that doesn’t take a helluva lot. Stayin’ sober and not—
After quickly finishing her beer, Faith winked and took the guy’s hand, leading
him from the bar.
Bad as I don’t wanna—survivor in me’s screamin’, ‘get some and get gone.’
Ornate violet lace and sheer white muslin hung draped organically from the top
of the large canopy bed, spilling out onto the rich hardwood floor in a rolling sea of
fabric. Deep purple satin sheets gave the surface of the bed a warm, reflective glow in
the diffused light of the multitudes of white candle sticks burning in wrought iron stands
around the room. A gentle breeze disturbed the stillness of the room and caused the
candles to flicker, lending brief radiance to the darkest corners, and giving the wave of
flowing draperies and fabrics life. The singular occupant of the room, a slender redhead,
lay casually, curled on her side in the middle of the bed, bathed in a flow of gossamery
lavender and ashen fabrics that demurely shrouded her unclothed form. She faced the
doorway patiently in wait.
The redhead grew taut with anticipation when the door swung aside, revealing a
petite blonde woman clothed in a white laboratory smock and carrying a clipboard. The
blonde strode wordlessly across the room and placed the clipboard in a vacant space on
the bureau. Her manner spoke of efficiency and grace as she skirted the perimeter of
the large room, directing her attention to the occupant of the bed. Buffy spoke with the
distinct authority of experience when she murmured silkily, “I’m gonna show you the
right way to play doctor,” then made her way to the bedside, pushing aside the delicate
veil. The technician’s frock fell open and slid slowly from her alabaster shoulders,
drifting languidly toward the floor where it came to rest in a milky pool, exposing the
blonde’s perfectly sculpted body.
The redhead gulped thickly when her blonde companion crawled onto the bed
and closed the distance between them, slipping between the layers of fine textiles. A
faint blush suffused Willow’s features with color as the slayer nestled against her bare
form. The timbre of the redhead’s voice bore testimony to her discomfiture when she
queried, “So…playing doctor is—?” wrapping her arms around the enthusiastic blonde.
Warm light and shadow played at the slayer’s features as the perfume of balmy
salt air wafted into the room on a mild breeze, causing the candles to shimmer once
more. She lay motionless, studying her redheaded lover, appearing mesmerized by the
subtle traces of fretfulness. Tenderly cupping her companion’s cheek, Buffy trailed her
finger tips along the border where smooth, lightly-freckled skin met the soft red hair
that framed her lover’s face. Her touch soothed the worry away as it followed a path set
by the delicate angles of the redhead’s jaw line, coming to rest at the tip of her chin.
Using the supple point of flesh to guide her reluctant lover, Buffy drew her into a brief
tender kiss. Their lips barely brushed before they parted, then the slayer whispered,
“No, it’s not ‘all the way’.” Touching lips again, she withdrew and appended, “But, we
don’t have to go ‘all the way’ to have fun.”
Drifting peacefully on the edge of slumber, Xander suddenly became starkly
aware where his dreams had taken him. He shot upright, blushing fiercely. Holy Halifax!
Wanting nothing more than to burrow into the sleeping bag that he had outgrown a few
years prior, he glanced nervously around the room.
Lying on her side with her head propped in her hand, Willow met his gaze with
one eyebrow arched inquisitively.
Xander collapsed backward in a heap on the floor and silently lamented, ‘I’m
gonna die!’ as Willow broke into a fit of giggles. Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt
to purge some of the guilt, Xander then sat back up, suddenly and extremely
disconcerted by the need to pee. He didn’t even need to check, he knew his condition
would be readily apparent beneath the shorts he’d unwisely chosen to sleep in. That’s
it. God hates me. It’s a conspiracy.
Willow watched amusedly as Xander made two attempts to stand, clutching the
sleeping bag to his waist. On the third try, he found his footing without breaking the
coffee table. She withheld her applause, anticipating that it would be better served if he
made it to the stairs. Her eyebrow arched again when her friend set off in a dangerous
looking sack race across the living room, nearly knocking over a standing lamp, only to
catch Giles’ high-backed leather chair at the last second. When Xander made it to the
landing, Willow was laughing so hard she fell off the couch with a thud.
Rubbing her hip, Willow groaned, “Ow!” then turned onto her stomach. Already
facing away from the stairs, she propped her chin in her hands, covering her eyes. “I’m
not gonna watch,” she grumbled, “so neither one of us is seriously injured before you
make it to the bathroom, ’kay?”
Faith raised an eyebrow and started to back slowly away when the mayor began
to chuckle.
“Well, how about that?” the mayor mumbled to himself. Slapping the desk
suddenly, causing every vampire in the office to jump, he rose to his feet and started
pacing from person to person within the room.
“Destroyed my box, did she? How about that? That's gumption there, people.
That's initiative and daring, that is.” He put his arm around the closest vampire.
“Wouldn't you agree that that little girl really showed some forethought in destroying
my box? Er—?” he asked cordially.
Appearing anxious and confused, the vampire replied, “Frank.”
“Some forethought in destroying my box, Frank?” the mayor finished.
The Vampire nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Always nice to be agreed with,” the mayor said cheerfully, shoving Frank into
the nearest rays of sunlight. Moments later, as the mayor herded the vampires into the
corner opposite the slayer, a desperate wail echoed through the room and the mayor
chortled, “Yes indeed. I can see the positive influences of my various youth policies at
work here!”
Faith took a slow casual step toward the door.
“Responsibility, planning, sacrifice, daring, initiative,” the mayor rattled off,
ticking each one with a finger. “It's…it's just…just neat” — he beamed — “to see all my
efforts paying off. And I mean, really…” then spun and suddenly moved toward Faith.
Faith flinched and appeared unsure how to react.
The mayor began to herd Faith into the other corner as he spoke, still smiling,
still chipper, still happy, and warm and fuzzy, but apparently completely insane. “What
better way to see the future generations coming along but to have them come skipping
into the very center of my operations and without any trouble at all…from any of my
trusted allies” — he raised a finger, stabbing the air between himself and the slayer —
“and destroy that which I've spent the better part of a century preparing for?”
He snickered, then turned away, almost screaming between clenched teeth,
“Just dandy, isn't it?”
Still damp from the shower and wearing a robe, Buffy fell back onto her freshly
made bed with a thud and a bounce. She snatched up Mr. Gordo and placed him on her
chest. Peering into his plush, piggy face, she began to speak, “It’s just you and me, Mr.
Gordo. Mom’s gonna be at the gallery all day cataloging an exhibit,” she shrugged, “And
yours truly is still grounded. So, we’re up for a boring day around the house, but
honestly, I could use the downtime.”
An exaggerated sigh exhausted through her slightly parted lips. When the last
traces of air exited her lungs, Buffy took a breath and commented, “Dunno if you’ve
noticed, but things have been pretty wiggy lately.” She tilted the pig’s head as if to make
him nod. “I figured you would.” Raising a hand to rub her itchy nose, she restrained the
action, gently brushing the bridge with her nail instead. “So, whatcha think about what
Angel said last night? Pretty messed up? But as usual, he was making the inconvenient
kinda sense. I think he enjoys that.” A twitch of her fingers caused the pig to nod again.
“Yeah…I thought so too. I hate it when he does that crap.”
Falling silent, Buffy continued to look at Mr. Gordo as she mused, I keep doing
that and one of these days someone will walk in…and it’ll be straight back to— Kay,
so…not really funny. Someone might hear though…and then more grief. I can always use
more grief.
So, yeah…grumpy mothers, redheads and Angel’s inconvenient truths. Sound like
a full day.
Funny thing, it seemed like the dumbest thing when Angelus killed all of Will’s
fish. Dunno why I just thought of that. Jenny was the worst part. But sometimes it’s the
little details that get missed ‘cause of the big stuff—they get smushed, pushed aside,
forgotten… And I guess the other night reminded me. I really wondered if something had
happened. He was so much like— It scared me.
But yeah…Will’s fish…it seemed so stupid, but it was the smartest thing in the
world. It was so stupid that most people would’ve totally dismissed it—brushed it off.
But it got him exactly what he wanted from me. He knew I loved Will—that I love Will. If
he had hurt her I would’ve gone straight on the offensive. I would’ve hunted him like an
animal and ripped him limb from limb. Kill a tank full of stupid fish and I get all defendy.
Protect Will. Keep her safe. Keep her near. And of course, miss the little details… Buffy
gently set Mr. Gordo on her pillow, tucking her blanket under his chin, then rose to
dress.
Crossing the small room in three steps, Buffy began to open dresser drawers,
selecting comfortable items to lounge around the house in. Listen to me. I sound like a
Slayer. The Slayer that wanted to be a real girl— She chuckled bitterly. Just like
Pinocchio or something. It’s kinda pitiful, but then it isn’t. I should be able to have a
normal life. That is if a normal life means always stressing that the things you love will
be ripped away by some new bigger bad. Picking up the pile of clothing, she placed it on
the bed and removed her robe, hanging it in the closet. Once dressed in a tank top and
sweats, she flopped back onto the bed next to Mr. Gordo. We only get the highest
quality evil here at the mouth of Hell. New and improved, concentrated, ultra strength
evil. Only the best for the slayer.
So, I guess the sixty-four-thousand dollar question is this: can I give Will what she
needs? Can I be ‘in love’ with her? Am I? I never really thought about it. It just sorta
was… I mean, there has to be something—some pull for the ‘friends’ thing to work. But
can I feel those warm fuzzy feelings with her again without the hellmouthy weirdness? I
guess asking isn’t making it any better. Experimenting would really screw things up
worse. But then, the other night was—what did Will say? ‘Beautiful.’ I could toss out a
few adjectives myself, but that was a good one—it works. When I peel away all the
horror, all the guilt, and all the ugliness, that was the one thing—it was frightening, but
it was also ‘beautiful.’
Principal Snyder was shown into the mayor’s office by a large man in a threepiece suit. He stood expectantly in the doorway, wondering why he’d been summoned.
The mayor glanced over his cup of coffee, taking a sip before he spoke, “Ah,
Principal Snyder. Thank you for coming in on your day off. Please, have a seat.” He
gestured at a chair in front of his desk. “Can I offer you something? Coffee perhaps?”
Principal Snyder took a seat and fluttered a hasty reply, “Oh, I know you’re a
busy man. Please, don’t go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. No, trouble at all,” the mayor responded genially and rose to
prepare another cup of coffee. Crossing the room, he stood in front of the coffeemaker
and took a cup from the stack as he reminisced, “My dear Edna Mae used to serve me
coffee with just a touch of almond extract. It gave the coffee such a nice, nutty flavor.”
After pouring a cup, he asked, “Do you take anything in your coffee?”
“Cream and sugar,” Principal Snyder responded nervously as he watched the
mayor turn to him and smile graciously. When the cup was offered, he accepted it and
began to mix it to taste from the creamer pitcher and sugar bowl the mayor had placed
on the table next to him. He set his spoon on the saucer provided and took a tentative
sip, smiling as the mayor returned to his seat. “This is good coffee,” he offered politely
and took another sip.
After watching as the beady-eyed little man took a drink from his cup, the mayor
stated, “I know you’re wondering why I asked you here, so let’s just cut to the chase.”
He took a sip from his own cup. “Please set that down,” he asked as he gestured to the
cup in Principal Snyder’s hand. Once the cup was safely in its saucer, he continued, “You
allowed one of your students to leave campus on Friday. A student I specifically warned
you about. When you took the job, you assured me that you could keep her in check,
Ronald.”
Feeling his throat tighten, Principal Snyder gasped, “But—”
The mayor ignored the obvious discomfort of his guest and continued to remark,
“This building was vandalized, costing the taxpayers thousands of dollars. You may have
noticed the construction crews downstairs.” As the principal started to claw uselessly at
his throat, struggling for air, the mayor smiled insipidly, then resumed, “It’s the
darnedest thing, though. Thousands and thousands of dollars in security equipment and
there’s no evidence of a crime. You might ask why.” He accepted Snyder’s futile
struggles for life in lieu of an answer. “It’s simple really: the vandal poured soda pop on
all those expensive little gadgets. So the only record we have is the one of her leaving
the school.” His guest began to convulse and fell to the floor as he concluded, “Your
school, Ronald.”
Angel stood in the shadow of a large crypt far away from the others. He could
hear their muffled conversations, but he wasn’t there to eavesdrop; his goal was to
protect. He didn’t even need to see them to be successful. A brief glimpse now and then
was enough. More than he wanted really. The important part was that he remained
sufficiently removed that his presence not be detected. One last thing for Buffy. Joyce’s
right: I don’t belong here anymore. If I thought she— That’s not fair. She could handle it,
but I can spare her. Faith in the equation makes it messy. If all the mayor had working
for him were vampires and demons, I’d leave right now, but Faith’s human.
There’s something else, too. Faith’s not totally gone. It’s hard for Buffy to see
that. There’s too much bad blood. But Faith, she’s close to the edge and teetering. Pull
really, really hard and you might just bring her back. I’d like to try again. Take her with
me and try to help her away from all this. What Faith really is is damaged. She’s the
stereotypical ‘bad girl.’ It says volumes that any society would have a stereotype for
young girls who’ve been so severely tortured that they lash out. I made a few myself, as
Angelus, so it’s easy for me to see.
A faint rustling at the edge of the woods caused Angel to turn and focus his
attention. Suddenly he sprung to life. Moving in the direction of the sound, he slipped
silently through the darkness. I don’t think she’s—it takes a special kind of madness to
look into the eyes of someone you know and kill them. I don’t think she’s that far gone.
She’ll be under pressure and wanting to use her bow. It’s like the thing with humans and
guns. You can kill and never really have to look them in the eye. It’s impersonal, or as
impersonal as murder gets. I have to stop her. Not just for Buffy, but for both of them.
Willow fixed her attention at her feet as she walked. She hung back with Giles to
allow Buffy some space, trying to resist the temptation to stare. With each step she
took, little wisps of ash rose from her shoes. She watched them, numb and tired from
fighting. Gosh…I’ve become Pig-Pen. If I had to become a male cartoon character, why
not Schroeder? And why did the child prodigy have to be a boy anyway? I think Sally
should’ve— Oh! And Lucy— Glancing to make certain that Buffy was distracted; she
leaned over to Giles and whispered, “I was accepted to Oxford,” in an effort to strike up
conversation.
Giles positively beamed with pride at Willow, then replied, matching her tone,
“Oh, Willow, that’s just marvelous news. Oxford is the oldest and one of the most
prestigious universities in the world.”
“I’m not going,” Willow whispered.
Unaware that she had said anything, Giles continued to gush, “Being accepted is
quite an honor. I’m very proud of you. You’ll receive an education worthy of your
intellect in beautiful, historic buildings older—” he cut off as Willow tugged his sleeve.
“I’m not going, Giles.”
Appearing dumbfound, Giles asked, “Why not?”
Willow met the watchers’ gaze and replied resolutely, “Because what we’re
doing here is more important.” Seeing that he still seemed befuddled, she continued,
“Giles, I don’t want Buffy to think it’s because of her, so I’ve not said anything, but the
fact is this—all of us—it’s really important to me—fighting evil. I’m not gonna find that
there. Not like here. I can find an education here, though. Do you sorta understand?”
As Willow spoke, Giles’ initial surprise ebbed and his manner grew more pensive.
When she finished, he remarked candidly, “I do, but I must say that I am no less
surprised. Passing up such an offer is quite a sacrifice.”
“It’s a sacrifice that’s mine to make. I believe in what we’re doing, Giles.”
Giles nodded his understanding and smiled warmly at Willow.
Griping her bow tightly, Faith crouched down and ran across the open lawn.
Swiftly blending into the shadow of a mausoleum, she edged around the structure to
get a better view. I need to get this done or get my ass gone quick. Considering all the
kindness blondie showed me I’m shooting for the former, then the later.
Pausing briefly to listen, she hugged the darkest parts of shadows and moved to the
next large crypt for cover. Wow! The mayor’s pissed. You’d think he’d get that you just
can’t expect and make it happen. I’d like to come out of this with all my parts in the right
places. Course that little detail about the box wasn’t helpful. Right now, all he cares
about is blood…revenge… Giving it to him…it’s the least I can do. We’ll call it a ‘going
away present.’
“I’m telling ya, Xander, the adults in my life need a serious reality check. By the
time I see daylight, I’ll be able to celebrate by having a beer.” Buffy sighed. “It sucks—
not being able to tell my mom stuff. We used to talk about everything. Now…pretty
much nothing. I can’t. I just can’t make her worry, but then I say nothing ’cause I can’t
lie. And guess what? She worries,” she ranted absently, not really caring if Xander was
listening. Taking a deep breath, she concluded, “It’s like this double-edged sword.
Problem is—the metaphor—I keep falling on my double-edged sword and it’s way past
sucking.”
Xander waited patiently for Buffy to wind down. This is almost mean, but I might
actually get her to talk if I hit her outta the blue. Clearing his throat to prepare, he very
gently asked, “Did you have a one-night-stand with Willow?”
“What?” Buffy hissed, causing Xander to jump. Glancing cautiously over her
shoulder to make sure the others hadn’t heard, she glared at Xander and challenged, “I
don’t see what business it is of yours.”
Hanging his head, Xander said sheepishly, “Alright, admittedly, not my business,
but I’m worried about her, Buffy.” ’Kay, so…rethinking…and maybe ducking.
Her demeanor grew reserved. Silently contemplating for several moments, Buffy
finally prompted, “Why?”
Xander gave the slayer a sideways glance. Noting the change in her behavior, he
reflected, Pushing my luck here, then prodded, “You didn’t answer.”
Buffy returned the glance and mumbled, “It wasn’t a one-night-stand. It might
be a one-time-thing, but it could never be a one-night-stand. I love her, Xander. You of
all people should know that.”
Fixing his gaze at the ground at his feet, Xander watched the dust kick up off his
shoes. His posture relaxed in reflection of her honesty. “I get that. Sorry for—” he
replied sincerely, leaving the rest unvoiced.
“It’s okay.” Buffy offered reassuringly, then murmured more for her benefit than
his, “I just don’t want to hurt her anymore.”
Xander glanced up and whispered, “She is hurting, Buffy. She’s not sure you can
still be friends with her. She was a total wreck last night. I sat up and listened to her until
she talked herself out and fell asleep.”
“Thanks for that—the listening,” Buffy responded and turned toward Xander as
she walked, taking in the gloomy expression. “Xander it’ll be okay. I just need some
time. I still love both you guys. You’re still my best friends. It’s just…”
Angel spied Faith in the distance. She was perched on a tombstone, looking like
some bizarre cherub. He ran at the slayer desperate to stop her.
Sighting down the shaft of the arrow, the slayer moved between targets. Eeny,
meeny, miny, moe… Catch a Scooby by the toe… If she… Fuck it!
Tackling Faith as she released the shot, Angel snatched at the arrow, feeling it
brush just past his fingertips.
When Xander looked back in Buffy’s direction, she was gone. He spun, gasped
and ran.
Like Bees Working in a Glass
Hive
I wonder if she’s gonna be okay? Xander chanced a sideways glance at his oldest
friend and squeezed her hand reassuringly. Still the same. She’s had that same sort of
dull, lifeless look on her face since the car.
Xander rubbed his eyes and turned his attention to Giles who was speaking with
one of the nurses. I suppose there’s something sorta wrong with sitting here worrying
about Will when Buffy’s upstairs in surgery, but—well, it’s just that Buffy’s the strongest
person I know. I have no doubt she’ll be okay. Will, on the other hand—Will’s not okay.
Doesn’t matter how many reassuring things I say, fact is: someone she loves nearly died
for her tonight.
I’m not sure of the entire ‘why’—the whole reason she’s acting this way. But it’s
pretty wig-worthy. She just kinda snapped in the car after Buffy woke up and started
trying to pull the arrow out. I’m pretty grateful Will didn’t snap before ’cause trying to
stop a slayer from doing anything she’s set on doing—it’s not fun—in a big way not fun. I
knew it was bad—the pulling—so I tried to pin her arm. She nearly ripped mine off. Then
Will just looked at her and said, ‘No,’ then took her hand. Their eyes met and Buffy
stopped. It was pretty amazing. Maybe there is something there I was missing. Since
then, Will’s been quiet. Not one word. Not a single tear. It’s like something broke. Wish I
knew what so I could help put it back.
When the doors slid open, Xander turned to look and Willow averted her eyes to
the floor. He watched Mrs. Summers enter the waiting area and walk up to Giles and the
nurse. Then he turned his attention to Willow. She seemed to be shrinking. Guilt. He
bowed his head too as if effected vicariously by Willow’s display and began to study the
bland, beige carpet. Maybe I’m selfish. Is it wrong for me to be glad that Buffy did?
’Cause, I mean, if she hadn’t, Will would probably be…and—I can’t think that.
Buffy will be fine. I know she will.
Giles turned to meet Joyce’s worried gaze when she entered the room. Rupert,
you need to get a hold of yourself, old man. No good will come of you making a
spectacle of yourself. These people require reassurance and reassurance is what they
shall have. He took Joyce’s hand briefly, offering a heartfelt, “I’m terribly sorry.”
Giving him a quick nod in return, Joyce turned her attention to the nurse.
After withdrawing to allow her to privately speak with the hospital staff, he
moved over to the others. Seating himself next to Xander, he reflected quietly, “It
appears as though she will pull through the surgery,” repeating what was already
known, but omitting the thing that caused him the greatest concern.
Afraid he might upset Willow more, Xander leaned in and asked nervously, “Do
they know anymore about…?” trailing off and leaving the remainder of the question
unsaid.
“I’m afraid not, however Joyce may well discover something I was unable to
glean,” Giles replied honestly. How could you allow yourself to fall into this
predicament? I never once questioned the rightness of the organization to which I
dedicated my life. We were working for the greater good. That knowledge was absolute.
Being subsequently removed from their service was one of the most shocking and painful
events I’ve had to bear. And now I find myself in the very worst of situations. These
people have become my friends, my trusted allies, and in a very real way more my family
than those to whom I have blood ties. How can I not warn them? How would I even
begin to? Would any good come of it if I did?
Joyce walked over, taking a seat next to Willow, and began to speak in a soft,
careful voice, “I’m afraid we won’t know much until she’s awake. The doctors say that,
with injuries of this sort, there’s a very real chance that —” she sighed despondently “—
she’ll be left with some permanent nerve damage and maybe some loss of motor
control, but they can’t speculate the extent.”
Giles listened numbly to Joyce as she reiterated, in a trembling voice, the
information he had already offered the others. At the point Joyce drew silent, Willow
was sobbing into Xander’s arms and Giles had turned his attention toward the carpeting
under his feet. How does one begin to reveal the truth?
Joyce sat silently staring at her hands. The others had left, first Willow — no
doubt to freshen up — and then Giles. She barely noticed their passing. Finding herself
alone with Xander, she took the opportunity to attempt to discover more of the truth,
beginning to question on a very casual level, “Would you mind telling me what
happened tonight, Xander?”
Appearing extremely puzzled, Xander turned toward Buffy’s mom and swiftly
stammered, “Umm…I thought you—how could you not know? Buffy was shot.”
Joyce stood up just enough to rotate toward Xander in her chair and smoothed
her skirt underneath her as she settled. Crossing her legs and lacing her fingers in her
lap, she prompted, “That’s not exactly what I was getting at. What I meant to ask was
why it happened.”
“Oh,” Xander gasped and froze up for just an instant. He suddenly appeared very
nervous as he answered, “Well, I guess it happened because the mayor wanted it,”
casting his gaze at the floor.
The mayor? Joyce forced herself to maintain a neutral expression.
Starting off still quite anxious, Xander’s manner eased as he spoke, “Faith’s been
working for him. She shot Buffy. Not that I saw it, but—well, I saw right after—Buffy, not
Faith. She was actually aiming for Willow, but Buffy….” He glanced up to gauge her
reaction.
“Ah, I wondered about Willow. I hope she doesn’t think I blame her,” Joyce
remarked casually. Why on earth would the mayor want to harm Willow?
“Blame? No, it’s not that simple. It’s worse actually. Guilt. No one has to blame,
the guilt just sorta happens. I’m just guessing. She’s not really been too chatty since—
Thing is, there’s more than just the guilt. It’s really pretty….” Xander realized he was
being too honest.
“It’s okay, Xander; it’s perfectly obvious that both you and Willow care for my
daughter.” When Joyce looked up, Xander appeared close to tears himself. He cleared
his throat to cover and stood. Pardoning himself by nodding, he exited the waiting
room, leaving Joyce alone. She tilted her head again to stare at her hands. It’s funny that
asking questions seems to always leave me with more questions than answers. One of
these days I may learn to stop asking.
Willow dully sat in the one place she knew she could be guaranteed some
measure of courteous privacy: the ladies’ room. The fact that she’d just thrown up and
was sitting on the floor bothered her much less than it occurred to her it ought to.
Pulling herself to her feet, she flushed the toilet and made her way to the sink to wash
up. I really need to get—to fix my head.
She turned on the tap and washed her hands. Once they were clean, she
scooped up a handful of water to rinse her mouth. I’m not sure the others get this. ’Kay,
well, Giles would. I got it right after I saw. The Council’s already pretty much shown that
they have about as much regard for Buffy as a Post-It Note. Her birthday proved that. If
she’s left partially paralyzed…
I’m sorta jumping to conclusions. I should get the facts before I make with the
jumping. After splashing her face, Willow dried off and started for the door. I can’t hide
in here. They’ll wonder and worry…and making them worry more is no good, especially
Xander. He’s already wigged out enough over me. She reached to open the door and
familiar voices in the hallway caused her to freeze.
“I’m not certain you appreciate the extent of this, Angel. If Buffy cannot fulfill her
role, the Council will seek to replace her.”
“By ‘replace,’ you mean ‘kill,’ right, Giles?” Angel’s bitter voice fell off for a
moment and a perceived nod hung in the air. When he continued, he was livid, “I won’t
let that happen. I’d rather—” cutting short when Giles spoke again.
Willow nearly turned around and ran back to the stall to throw up again. Well, so
much for jumping. This would be falling. She fought for control while she listened to
them.
“I appreciate your anger, but this is simply not the time to allow our emotions to
run rampant. Rational thought is much better served.”
“Rational thought? Would it be rational to consider taking her and running?”
Angel asked, sounding almost pensive.
After swallowing hard to clear the lump from her throat, Willow opened the
door and met the stunned gazes of the two men. “If you do, I’m coming with,” she
stated in a ragged voice, then stepped out into the hall to join them. “But I’m not so
sure we should do much until we know exactly how bad it is. Right now—the travel—it
might just make it worse.”
Giles nodded and remarked evenly, “Good to see you are somewhat better,
Willow. Well stated.” Redirecting his attention to the vampire, he confirmed, “Should
the need arise, we will graciously accept your offer, Angel. However, until we better
know what we are facing, we should play our cards close to our chests.”
“Agreed,” Angel replied with a nod.
Facing Willow, Giles responded cordially, “Very well then.”
Willow peered down the hallway after the vampire, offering politely, “Good to
see you, Angel.”
Angel looked back just long enough to say, “You too,” then limped away,
clutching his side.
“Angel does not wish for the others to know he has remained in Sunnydale. Your
candor will be appreciated,” Giles commented as the vampire took his leave.
“Sure,” Willow mumbled as she continued to watch Angel struggle to walk. “Is
he gonna be okay?”
Giles returned a kindly smile and replied, “I’m certain he’ll be fine by this time
tomorrow. Now what is your concern?”
In a hushed voice Willow reflected, “Y’know that conversation we didn’t have in
the car the other day?” directing her attention to Giles mid-thought. When he nodded
his affirmation, she continued anxiously, “I just want you to know, there’s no reason to
worry. I know you will—worry that is…and well, there’s no reason.” Dunno why I care
about this. Guess it’s good if we can stop worrying about something. Not that I was, but
Giles might be.
His brow crinkled with uncertainty as Giles queried, “What makes you say that?”
Willow stared at the floor at her feet and stammered hastily, “Well…umm,
y’know how I said that there were certain things that had to happen…and umm…thethey didn’t?” she sighed “Well, there are other certain things that should happen. And
when they do, they make you stop with the worrying…and they did happen, that is…or
are happening. So, no more worry.” Drawing silent, she glanced up and gave the
watcher a small, sheepish grin, feeling suddenly ill again.
Giles puzzled over the code for several moments, appearing lost in thought.
Finally, he replied, “Ah, very well then. I shall stop worrying,” and smiled reassuringly at
Willow.
Joyce glanced through the doorway, meeting Willow’s gaze briefly. When the
young redhead averted her eyes, Joyce entered the room and took a seat, then began to
speak frankly, “Willow, I’m not sure what you think, but I want you to know that I don’t
hold you responsible for any of this.” Her attention moved from her unconscious
daughter to Willow’s face as she spoke, lingering momentarily on their joined hands.
Nodding and carelessly wiping a tear with her hand, Willow feebly replied,
“Thanks, Mrs. Summers.”
After searching through her handbag, Joyce produced a packet of Kleenex and
passed them to Willow. She vaguely watched while the younger woman struggled to
control her emotions as the sheer helplessness of the situation threatened to cave her
resolve as well. Centering her attention on her curiosity instead, she asked, “Willow,
why would the mayor want to harm you?”
Willow appeared momentarily startled and gasped, “Huh?”
“Xander told me he thought Faith might’ve been aiming at you,” Joyce clarified.
Willow’s expression transformed from dull and lifeless to deeply pensive. “You
understand what your daughter is and you know that lots of bad things happen here,
right?” she stated more than asked. When she received a nod from Buffy’s mom, Willow
continued, “’Kay, so…why is it so hard for you to grasp that a bad place where bad
things happen might be run by a bad man?”
Joyce digested this, unable to see a flaw in the logic, then prompted, “But that
still doesn’t answer why he would be interested in you.”
Willow fixed her attention on the hand she held. “He wasn’t—Faith wasn’t. See,
thing is—the thing you might not get—Buffy—when she’s alert and not hurt—she’s fast.
You probably don’t see it ’cause she hides it, but I’ve seen her catch arrows. It’s really,
really neat. She can catch or block knives too. Like if you throw them at her,” she
stammered, then smiled warmly.
Appearing taken aback for a moment, Joyce completed the picture for herself.
“So she aimed at you to—”
Willow’s face sagged. “Yeah…it was really horrible.”
Semi-lucid and woozy, Buffy listened to the voices of her mother and Willow.
They sounded like they were in the next room or down the hall, but she couldn’t tell.
“I’m sorry, Willow. This must be very hard for you.”
“I’ve had better weeks,” Willow said sounding really depressed. “But then,
things seem to get really bad this time of year. It’s pretty normal for the bad to get really
bad.”
As Willow spoke, her voice wavered in and out until Buffy understood they were
in the same room. Then she was wrapped in a slightly awkward, but extremely gentle
hug. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was Willow. Smell and touch told her
all she needed to know. It brought back vivid memories of just a few days prior, but this
time she wasn’t frightened.
Willow began to whisper as the blonde weakly placed her arm around her,
“Remember the blindness, Buffy? This is temporary just like that, ’kay? Don’t be afraid.”
When Willow’s forehead came to rest against hers, Buffy recognized what was
wrong: she couldn’t feel her right leg. It was like the limb was absent. She started to get
frightened, but trust won out when her friend’s lips briefly touched hers. Then Willow
withdrew and moved away. Buffy opened her eyes and looked over at where they were
seated to the right of her bed.
“There’s some swelling that’s causing the numbness. It’ll go down. Then the
doctor says—” Willow offered, choking off obviously fighting to contain her emotions.
Buffy met her mother’s gaze and turned to Willow who was peering at the floor.
“Just say it, Will.”
“They’re not really sure, Buffy. They couldn’t tell us much, but from what I’ve
read if the damage—if it’s not so much, then the body can—it can sorta pick other
pathways to send the information. Sorta like if a phone switch is busy, it moves to the
next one. Not sure that makes sense.”
Buffy pleaded, “Bottom-line it for me, Mom, please,” staring at the sling her right
leg rested in.
Understanding that her daughter didn’t like mincing words, Joyce replied plainly,
“Well, honey, you may have to relearn to do a few things,” she sighed, “You’ll have to
use a brace at first to walk. But then, you heal quickly, so I’m not certain myself. I think
we should wait and see before we react too much.”
As Buffy listened to her mother’s trembling voice, she felt a lump form in her
throat. When the only sounds in the room were coming from the monitors, she
swallowed thickly and offered what she knew her friend needed to hear, “Will, not your
fault, ’kay?”
Willow nodded feebly without looking up.
After giving her mother a sweet smile, Buffy asked, “Mom, can I get you to do a
huge favor for me?”
Joyce a cracked quirky half-smile in return and replied, “What do you need?”
“Would you mind taking Will home real quick so she can shower and change?”
Buffy picked up the remote and turned on the TV. “I mean, it’s not like I mind, but she’s
starting to get extra Willowy and well—” she turned to wink at her mom “—make sure
she eats too. Do that thing you do to me if she gets grumbly.”
“I think I can handle that.” Joyce rose from her seat and offered a hand. “Come
on, Willow. I think she’s kicking us out so she can watch ‘E! True Hollywood Stories’
without us making fun of her.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and absently said, “Thanks, Mom,” as she stopped from
channel surfing briefly to watch them leave. “Hey, Mom, can I have a sec with Will
before you—?”
“Sure, I’ll be right outside,” Joyce said, continuing to the door as she released
Willow.
“Would you lower the railing?” Buffy asked. When her friend managed to figure
out how to lower the annoying bed rail, Buffy chuckled and hit the remote to raise the
bed to a sitting position. “A real one, please,” she whispered, holding her arms out.
Willow accepted the embrace gratefully.
“Y’know it’ll be okay, right?” Buffy murmured, she felt Willow nod and
continued, “Things are a little weird. But when aren’t they? Sorta expected when you
live in the middle of weird-apalooza.” Buffy moved to cup her friend’s face in her hands.
“Now I want you to believe the first thing you told me. I know you said it to keep me
from wigging, but—”
“I’ll try,” Willow replied, reluctantly pulling away. “I shouldn’t keep your mom
waiting. I’ll come back if you want me to.”
“Of course I want you to. Don’t be silly. You think I’m gonna eat the world’s
worst lunch alone?” Buffy chided.
“’Kay.” A silly grin played at her features as Willow made her way from the room.
When Buffy was finally alone, she grimaced and lowered the bed, hitting the
page button. The truth was that her lower back felt like it was on fire. She went back to
flipping channels to take her mind off the pain.
The Mayor glanced up from his desk to see Faith leaning against the doorframe
and gave her a stern glare. “Well, don’t be bashful. Come on in.”
The Mayor’s expression told her all Faith needed to know. She reluctantly
entered the room and took a seat as he gestured to a chair. “I can explain, sir.”
Ignoring the slayer’s attempted excuses, the Mayor remarked in a deceptively
chipper manner, “Little filly’s hardly going to win any races.”
Faith broke in, “Got jumped, boss.”
The Mayor continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “So, next time you’ll
knock ’em dead tiger.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Faith replied honestly.
“Well that’s just swell!” the Mayor chimed, smiling when the slayer flinched.
After pulling out a packet from his top desk drawer, he said cheerfully, “Well, aren’t you
just a real go-getter. I think you deserve a reward for your pluckiness,” placing the
packet on the far edge of his desk.
Faith eyed the package cautiously, finally picking it up. She quirked an eyebrow
and said, “Gummi Bears?”
After taking a packet for himself, he ripped it open and pulled out a piece.
Turning the candy bear to face him, he remarked, “I just love these little guys. Look at
them. Each one a smiling face.” He bit the little bear’s head off. “Soft, sweet…and just a
little bit tangy.” Shoving the rest of the candy in his mouth, he chewed enthusiastically.
“But you know the best thing about Gummi Bears, Faith?”
“No, sir.”
The Mayor smiled warmly before he answered, “When you’re finished with one,
there’s always another to take its place,” pulling another bear out as he spoke. Winking,
he popped the candy into his mouth and beamed at the slayer.
Faith’s gaze traveled between the Mayor and the candy packet in her hand as
she firmed up.
“Do we have an understanding, Faith?”
Faith nodded and rose. “Yeah…I gotcha.” Her expression turned grim as she
made her way to the door.
“Excellent!” the Mayor chortled gleefully. Setting the package on his desk, he
reached for a moist towellette to clean his fingers. “Oh and, Faith? Be sure to brush and
floss after you eat those.”
Faith rolled her eyes as she traveled swiftly down the hall. The candy hit the first
trash can she passed. “Gawd, I hate Gummi Bears,” she grumbled and swung the door
to the lobby open. As she passed through the doorway, a black and white spotted rat
bolted by her. “Well, you should fit in real well here,” she groused, ignoring the fallen
security guard as she moved to the exit.
After picking up the receiver, using his shoulder to press it to his ear, Wesley
dialed a long string of numbers from memory. When a crisp, female voice extended a
greeting, he said, “Quentin Travers, please. This is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.”
Several moments passed before Travers’ voice growled back through the
receiver, “How may I help you, Wesley.”
“A situation has arisen here, sir, which I believe requires your attention.”
“Yes.”
Wesley took the receiver in his hand and sat down behind Giles’ desk. “It
concerns the rogue slayer, Faith. She has made an attempt on Miss Summers’ life.”
“Ah, that is unfortunate,” Travers offered. The muffed sound of him clearing his
throat sounded over the line. “A team will be dispatched within the hour to apprehend
the rogue.”
“Very well, thank you, sir.”
“Certainly.” There was a brief pause, then Travers instructed, “Your further
involvement in this matter is unnecessary. You will not mention it to anyone, nor will
you take it upon yourself to assist. Do I make myself clear?”
The chair creaked as Wesley leaned back. “Yes, sir.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Xander grumbled as he strode through the
garden of the Crawford St. mansion. After pausing to knock, he swung the door open
and ventured inside. What he found searching the mansion surprised him. The entire
house stood empty except for a few larger pieces of furniture that were covered with
sheets. Satisfied he’d looked in every room, he trotted to the exit. Grumping under his
breath, “Well, it seemed like a good idea,” he let out an exasperated sigh, “Figures
Captain Courageous would bail when we actually need his help.”
Reentering Buffy’s hospital room with an armload of books, Willow set the stack
down and took a seat.
Buffy looked from the pile of musty books to her friend and asked, “Research? I
thought we were out of crisis mode what with the —” she gestured to herself “— and
the mayor not exactly being effectual guy.”
“The —” Willow gestured to her friend “— is part of the research. Besides, the
mayor’s not exactly ineffectual. He’s still pretty much ‘wrathy guy.’ I figured I’d see what
I could find to help. Y’know doing nothing makes me crazy.” She clamped the bridge of
her nose between to fingers as if fighting a headache, “Actually though, Giles is pretty
much working on the helping. I have a side project I wanna look at. If it’s okay,” then
pulled a book from the stack and opened it on her lap.
“What do you mean, ‘if it’s okay’? I can’t exactly tell you what to do, Will.”
“Well, yeah…but you can refuse to—this is sorta an ‘us’ thing—it kinda takes
two,” Willow offered. Glancing up to see the slayer still keenly observing her, she
continued, “Oh, I just thought that ‘telepathy’ thing was pretty nifty, so I wanted to see
if I could—” Blushing, she buried her nose in the book on her lap as she stammered, “I-I
mean it’d be really useful on patrol.”
Buffy quirked an eyebrow and stifled a giggle. After taking a deep breath, she
reflected, “We should talk.”
“If that’s what you want,” Willow mumbled noncommittally. “Talk then.”
“Look at me, Will,” Buffy prompted. When the redhead sheepishly met her gaze,
the slayer commented, “It’s a good idea, the ‘telepathy’ thing, but there’s other stuff,
pretty complicated stuff and you know it.”
Willow nodded and set the book aside.
When her friend didn’t say anything, Buffy continued, “Here’s what I think: I
think we sorta—that things sorta got mixed up—out of order and jumbley. What we
should do is: try to put them back in order. Actually work on the ‘friends’ part and see if
it can be more, but slow. Rushing would be a bad. Our friendship’s just too important to
me not to wanna give it some time.”
“I agree,” Willow replied in a soft pensive voice. “It was pretty confusing and
painful, but then—” she trailed off thoughtfully.
“It was also beautiful?” Buffy filled in.
Nodding her agreement, Willow continued, “It was…and it was so not what I was
looking for, or expecting.”
Buffy took her turn to simply nod. After several moments of silence, she asked,
“How’d you know I was awake?”
Willow looked up from the book that had drawn her interest in the respite. “I
dunno. I just sorta felt it. Same as I can tell you want to press that button now, but don’t
bother.” Smiling at the confused expression on the blonde’s face, she added, “The nurse
will be by in about ten minutes to give you your medication.”
“Okay…now you’re just getting scary. How do you know that?”
Returning her attention to the book, Willow replied absently, “I read your chart
while you were sleeping this morning.”
Giles entered the hospital room with a small package under his arm.
Buffy’s expression turned mischievous as she chimed in, “Oh, presents for me?”
Giles set the bag down and replied, “Not as such.”
Willow curiously looked up from her book. “Find something, Giles?”
“Indeed. It required a rather exhaustive search; however, I did manage to locate
something useful. Curious thing about dark magick: the practitioners often don’t hold
much value for life. You’d be surprised how many of these spells are lethal to either the
thing requiring protection—” Giles prattled thoughtfully as he removed a book and two
containers of fine powder from the bag.
Buffy’s brow crinkled with concern and she cut in, “Whoa…did he just say lethal,
Will? ’Cause really not liking that. We’re not gonna be—? You did test this, right, Giles?”
Giles sighed when the slayer cut him off and began to leaf through the book as
he spoke, “If you’ll allow me to finish, I did indeed test the results. In fact, I took a page
from your book, not to be outdone.”
Buffy cocked an eyebrow and motioned for him to continue.
After locating the correct page, Giles poured a small amount of one powder into
the palm of his hand. “Oh, it’s rather simple really. I acquired a pet. His name is Clifford.
I named him after a great uncle who was quite a prankster himself.”
“We’ll be arriving at a point sometime soon?”
details.
Willow giggled as she stood up to look over Giles’ shoulder and read the spell
“Yes, yes… Once I located a useful spell I practiced it on Clifford. I then put the
little fellow in the pocket of my overcoat and took him to City Hall. I posed as a tourist
and whilst the nice receptionist was giving me directions, I slipped Clifford from my
pocket. At the time I left, one guard had already succumbed to my prank.”
her.
Buffy was still gesturing for more details when Giles sprinkled the powder over
“It works under the same principles as static electricity, building a large charge
around the object you wish to protect. It may feel peculiar, but it is quite safe,” Giles
filled in, starting to intone the spell when he finished.
When Giles fell silent, Buffy inquired, “And the guard?” as the air around her
started to crackle and buzz.
“Oh, he was flat on his back and very much unconscious when I left. It packs
quite a wallop but, if one is smart, there are ways around it: gloves, for instance. That’s
how I handled Clifford.”
Willow slid off her shoe and placed her foot against the metal bed frame.
Buffy tried to flinch away, looking amused as Willow caught her hand. There was
a slight pop on contact.
Willow raised an eyebrow as she explained, “I grounded myself, Buffy.”
Faith slipped into the dimly lit hospital room, shutting the door in her wake.
After pulling a knife, she stalked silently up to Buffy’s bedside. Her gaze fixed for a
moment on her intended victim. It’s over, blondie. End of the ride. Wish I could say ‘it’s
been a blast,’ but I won’t lie to ya. We both know the truth.
I didn’t wanna play it this way, but the boss—well, the bastard scares me. Read
the subtext and gettin’ the feeling the crazy BAMF would hunt me like Kakistos. When I
break, I need it to be clean, so…
Besides at this point, think I might be doin’ you a favor with the big finish.
Faith deliberately moved the knife to the blonde’s throat as she pressed her
other hand in the middle of her victim’s chest. The instant her hand made contact, Faith
was thrown against the wall. Fuck!
Swiftly reclaiming her knife and shaking off the daze, she ran across the room to
where Willow was seated. “Remove it, Red” — she held the knife to the redhead’s neck
— “or I remove your head.” Faith drew the blade across Willow’s throat, leaving a fine
red line.
All the redhead said was one word, “Thicken,” and it pissed Faith completely off.
“What the hell do you mean, ‘thicken’? I said remove the—” Trying to move, she spat,
“What the hell?” as a hand coiled in her hair. She was frozen in place. Then the little
redheaded bitch asked, “Ready?” and her head snapped violently back. Aware for only
an instant she was flying through the air again, Faith blacked out.
When Faith came to, she was handcuffed in the back of a squad car. “Shit.”
Willow opened the blinds to let the dwindling daylight in. “Well, that was fun.”
“Cool is what it was, Will,” Buffy responded enthusiastically. “Well, the mojo
was cool. The cops pretty much sucked.”
Flopping back into her chair, Willow blushed furiously and stared at the floor.
“Y’think so? I mean, it was no big.”
“I know so,” Buffy assured, then snickered softly at her friend’s modesty. “Did
you see the look on her face when she crashed through the door?”
Willow glanced up. “That wasn’t a look, Buffy; it was the effects of catatonia.”
Her tone turned guilty when she added, “I just feel sorry for the poor lab tech.”
“Yeah…having your rounds interrupted by ‘the Amazing Faith’s Death-Defying
Flying Act’ has to suck.” Unable to resist the urge, Buffy chuckled. “Bet they’ll be happy
when we’re gone.”
Willow curled sleepily back up in her chair, replying dully, “Probably,” as she
draped a blanket over her.
“I’m sorry you got hurt. I didn’t mean—”
Absently rubbing the bandage on her throat, Willow murmured, “It’s only a
scratch.”
Buffy pressed the button to flatten her bed and mumbled, “I’m still sorry.”
Willow opened her eyes and met her friend’s gaze. “No need. I’m here by
choice.”
A sentimental smile warmed Buffy’s features as she studied the redhead. She lay
silent for several minutes just watching. When she finally spoke it was simply to
reaffirm, “I love you too, Will.”
“And I love you. But do you really think—?” Willow reflected stopping short as it
occurred to her how insensitive the comment was.
“Do I really think what?”
Willow sighed, instantly chiding herself. “It’s just actions, Buffy. I mean, you
sorta— Well, you’re lying in a hospital bed ’cause you—and then you tell me you love
me. It seems…I guess it just seems pretty clear. Very nice to hear—something I wanna
hear again, like lots, but right now—”
“Little obvious, huh?”
“Just a little,” Willow said with a warm smile.
Buffy returned the smile. “So it looks like I’ll be picking out a prom dress based
on cut. That is if I go. Something long, but not too full. Sounds pretty actually.”
“You’re always pretty. Doesn’t much matter what you wear,” Willow replied
honestly. Turning pensive, she asked, “What do you mean ‘if you go’? You have to go.”
Her brow furrowed with concentration as she forced herself to say, “I wanted—I mean I
hoped—” A frustrated growl slipped out and she hastily spat out the rest of the request,
“I hoped you’d go with me.”
Buffy appeared taken aback by the proposition. “Oh, I dunno, Will.”
Willow’s demeanor turned bashful again and she mumbled, “I meant as friends.”
The silence turned thick and oppressive and she started to babble defensively, “I just
thought—I mean, I hoped that because of everything—all those things—instead of
going stag we could— We deserve to celebrate. Making it through this is a big deal—a
really super huge deal—and I just—I-I wanted to dance with you. Oh! And make fun of
Xander. He’s bringing that creepy…” she trailed off sullenly.
“It’s totally not you, Will. Just give me a few days. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to
walk by then. I’m not gonna be much with the ‘merry making’ if I can’t,” Buffy replied
honestly. When a soft hurt sounding little, “’Kay,” came in answer to her statement, she
felt horrible.
Buffy laid quietly watching Willow sleep, grateful that after all the excitement
they had gotten a new room. The new room was private and it actually had a recliner for
her friend. She listened to the soft snores that sounded to her more like the noise a
teddy bear might make in a cartoon than a human being. L3: why do I feel like I should
be saying, ‘You sank my battleship’? Mom and Will left me alone long enough to actually
talk to one of the stupid doctors. ‘L3’ sounds like total garbage to me—like something
from a game. Who’d of thought those two little letters…umm…numbers, er — she
furrowed her brow — digits? Whatever—would ever mean a thing to me? Now they
mean everything.
Seriously considering turning on the TV to distract herself, Buffy played with the
remote for a moment or two before setting it aside. I don’t have the heart to wake her.
I’m sorta stuck here with my—with— Okay let’s face it. With a crap load of horror to
keep me company—with the worst of all possible… I can’t believe Will asked me to the
prom. I’m paralyzed. Paralyzed! I haven’t had the heart to tell her to go away. I couldn’t
bring myself to. Not on top of the guilt.
I should. It’d be best. I mean, what can I really offer her but pain? We all know
how slayers are replaced. I don’t need to go there—something else… Something that’s
not—
After sweeping her fingers over her eyes in frustration, Buffy placed her hands at
her sides gently to avoid making any noise. I want to hit something, but waking her… It’d
be mean. She’s had so little sleep. That and breaking your bed…generally frowned on.
Broken.
The doc basically said ‘broken.’ Funny, that was the only word I needed to hear.
But go figure, he kept talking—stuff about bone fragments and severed nerves.
Whatever. I had him bottom-line it for me. ‘The prognosis looks good.’ See footnote that
says: to him. To me it looks like shit. I’ll be able to walk again after I learn how and
probably only with a brace. They’re coming to fit that tomorrow. I feel like telling them
to forget it. It just seems like a waste of cash Mom doesn’t have. If I can’t fight, then I’m
useless. I have the life expectancy of a whiny chick in a slasher film.
And y’know they’ll wanna protect me. She looked at Willow again and a tear slid
down her cheek. I’m not sure I want protecting.
Buffy stifled a soft, bitter laugh. Will’s read my chart. She admitted it. How can
she still be hanging on? It’s crazy. Totally screwed up. Angel and I are actually the
perfect couple now, but he’s gone. The ‘unfuckable’ and the ‘can’t fuck.’ God, how can I
live like this?
Y’know…the truly screwed up part of all this: I’ve got no clue what sex with
another girl would be like and one of the two sorta is… I mean, it just seems like it
wouldn’t be that much different than self-serve. Assisted self-serve? I guess it must be
better. It has to be better. Somehow I ended up in some twisted backward reality where
Angel’s telling me I should and I couldn’t feel it if I did. Though, that’s not really fair. It is
better.
Her mind drifted briefly and she smiled despite the anxiety. Weird to be talking
about friendship…and how important it is. Not that it isn’t. I just never thought I’d end
up— Buffy clamped her eyes shut. I know all the little noises, the expressions, what she
feels like, how she tastes. All those intimate details a friend shouldn’t know. I can still
close my eyes and hear her, see her face. Wow, she was beautiful. Still is…
Several moments passed and her eyes fluttered open. Buffy’s gaze fell again on
the occupant of the recliner. Doesn’t really matter though, just the fact that I can’t even
control—peeing in a plastic bag—it’s a real turn on. Totally sexy. All that stuff’s linked.
As long as one’s missing, the other is too so…
And Will still wants— I can’t let her… Buffy looked away from her friend, picking
a blank patch of wall to focus on. L3…
I feel like a piece of cheese. Never thought I’d be the one playing bait. A helpless
cripple. Though not exactly helpless, I did toss Faith through a door…with Will’s help.
I guess the bad is also the good though. Mom and Will are right. The doc doesn’t
know crap about slayers. He sees me as an eighteen-year-old girl. But he did say: best
case—if I do walk again—no brace—its all good—miracle Buffy. The catch: even if I get
that fairy tale ending, my back will always be weak. If I ever break it again—and he said I
could do it falling down—it’ll never heal right…instant cripple—for real—no cheery pep
talks…just in a chair for the rest of my extremely abbreviated life. And back to the
‘abbreviated life’ thing ’cause that’s my reality. She clenched her jaw and cringed.
Can’t take a fall, can’t take a punch, can’t slay… Not a slayer—just a girl. If I
could only dream. I don’t get to dream. I get to stay in the present…and right now…my
present sucks.
I should just go to prom with her—one last good memory. But would it hurt her
more or less? If I told her to go away now it’d hurt. Would it hurt more for me to—for us
to have that one last time together? It wouldn’t be me hurting her. That’s a good. So I
guess ‘yes’ is it. One last—then nothing. Her resolve finally caved and Buffy started to
weep in anger and frustration. No, not nothing—then I make the choice. I rob that fat
fuck Travers of the satisfaction by doing it myself. On my own terms.
Mayor Wilkins walked briskly through the halls of the hospital, smiling cheerfully
at the people he passed. Striding down an empty corridor, he mumbled to himself, “If
you want something done right you just have to do it yourself.”
Sweeping his fingers through his hair, he continued to mutter, “Progress is the
cornerstone of any community and it’s time this community moved forward, starting
with a new slayer. Yes, it’s past time our little filly was put out to pasture.”
He fell silent as he rounded a corner and moved past a nurse’s station. Once he
was out of earshot, the mumbling resumed, “Do you realize that she’s old enough to
vote? A slayer? Next thing you know she’ll be asking for a pension.” He smiled warmly as
he passed the waiting room.
A short distance down the hallway, the Mayor turned and opened a door. His
gaze fixed on the room’s occupant. “What a load of malarkey. I’ll give you a retirement
package, young lady,” he grumbled under his breath and moved swiftly to the bedside,
closing his hands around the slayer’s throat. A crackling noise and a loud pop followed.
His body jerked, but he didn’t let go.
Buffy woke up choking and gasping for breath. She put her hands to the Mayor’s
forearms, struggling pry loose his grip.
The Mayor’s head spun violently, whirling through the air. He caught glimpses of
his body still standing over the slayer as he flew. Landing abruptly on something soft
with a bounce, he heard a stifled shriek.
There was a momentary pause where he was able to deduce his fate. The British
Librarian stood behind his headless body with a sword, poised to remove one of his
arms. As the Englishman swung, he tumbled to the hard tile floor.
Twirling as he traveled, he caught glances of girl leaping from the chair he
must’ve come to rest in. Then things got even more bizarre. There was a sharp pain to
the side of his head and he whirled away from his body, colliding sharply with a wall.
Xander barreled down the hall, ignoring the complaints. I just went for
something to drink. Good timing, Xander. Standing at the vending machine and who
walks past? The mayor, of course. Yup…that’s me: Mr. Perfect-Timing-Guy. He burst
through the door to Buffy’s room and into complete chaos. Giles was chopping the
Mayor’s arms off, one after the other, trying to get them to let loose of Buffy. Each time
he swung, the limb would simply reattach. At the same time, Willow appeared to be
playing kickball with the Mayor’s head.
Xander stood slack-jawed in the doorway for a moment just trying to decide who
to help. ’Kay, so…didn’t see this coming. Quickly shutting the door, he stood behind
Giles. The moment the swing came, he grabbed the arm away, jerking it from the
slayer’s throat.
“Ah, thank you, Xander. Do be so kind,” Giles commented and swung at the
other arm.
Buffy sputtered as the final hand wrenched free.
When the arm separated, Xander seized it and held it clear. “Go help Willow,
Giles. Get something to put the head in. If it reattaches, we’re done.” He stepped away
from the body, struggling to hold the arms. There was a strong magnetic pull between
them and the body. It occurred to him that, if the Mayor got his bearings, the body
would simply move to reclaim its parts.
Giles rifled through the locker by the washstand and came out with a personal
property bag with a draw string. After quickly dumping the contents into the locker, he
ran to assist Willow, pushing past Xander.
Willow moved around to kick the Mayor’s head back against the wall. When she
completed the kick, Giles swept in behind her with the bag and scooped the head up as
it began to gravitate towards the body. He closed the bag and let out a relieved sigh.
“Will, more bags?” Xander asked nicely as he moved toward the bathroom. After
shutting the arms inside, he walked across the room. Looking at the body, which was
still standing ineffectually over Buffy, he offered, “Chop him up like The Judge, it’s the
best way.”
Willow ran for the door before Xander finished speaking.
Beaming at Xander’s smiling face; Buffy teased amusedly, “Look at, Xander, with
the big brain.”
“Indeed,” Giles noted. Grabbing the second container of powder and quickly
muttering the word, “terminus,” he sprinkled a pinch of the powder over the slayer to
dispel the shield.
The tingling was a bit unnerving when the shield dropped. Buffy felt her hair
stand out and couldn’t stifle the urge to giggle.
Giles opened the washroom door and seized the arms as they slid across the
floor. When he handed them to the slayer, there was a crackling noise and Buffy’s hair
settled. “Xander, assist me with the body. It makes far more sense for this to be in the
lavatory. Otherwise, some passerby may notice the decapitated, dismembered corpse
standing in the center of the room.”
Buffy held the Mayor’s squirming arms out, watching with delight as the two
men struggled to move his torso and legs into the bathroom. “Knock off the wiggling or
I’m gonna make sure your head gets left in front of a TV. Then y’know what? I’m
personally gonna walk into the room and change the channel. I’m thinking MTV.” The
arms went limp and Buffy started to snicker.
Giles nearly collapsed as the rigid body wilted in his grasp. Once they had
wrestled the carcass under control, he glanced over his shoulder and gave the slayer a
dirty look. “That will be quite enough ‘help’ from you.”
The expression on Giles’ face made the giggle fit worse. “And to think…I left my
camera at home,” Buffy wheezed thickly through the mirth.
When someone knocked and tried to enter the room, only to collide with the
open bathroom door her face blanched and Buffy fell silent. “Oh crap. Company, guys,”
she hissed, wondering what to do with the arms.
A black, late-model cargo van pulled into a parking lot behind the Sunnydale
Police Department. From inside the vehicle emerged five armed men dressed in black
paramilitary gear and wearing ski masks. The largest of the men exited the back of the
vehicle dragging a cart with tanks of compressed gas. He towed the tanks up to the
metal outer door.
The leader announced in a thick Scouse tongue, “Juss like we planned, men,”
setting the ball in motion.
The large man turned the valves on the tanks and flicked a striker, adjusting the
cutting torch head he held until the flame burned white hot. He put the torch to the
hinges of the door and began to burn through. Moments later, he cleared the tanks and
tugged on the door, lowering it quietly to the ground. He motioned the others ahead as
he went to reload the cutting rig in the van.
The four remaining men ran as one through the narrow halls, clutching their
rifles. The leader directed them into a stairwell. They marched up the stairs. Once they
pressed through the doorway, two of the men leveled their weapons and fired at the
pair of police officers that were passing down the hall. Darts hung from their backs as
the policemen slumped unconscious to the floor.
The leader directed his team left down the hall.
As they broke into a large, open room, three more officers fell victim to their
tranquilizer darts.
The leader made his way to another metal door next to a large glass window.
The officer behind the window scrambled for the phone. The leader ignored the officer,
producing two small cakes of explosive from a pouch on his belt. He swiftly stuck the
putty to the door hinges and pulled a device from a different pouch. After unwrapping
wire leads from the device, he stuck them in the putty and pressed the device to the
door. Entering a series of numbers into a keypad on the device, he motioned his men
clear and ran himself.
The team crouched in an alcove down the hall with their hands cupped over
their ears. A loud explosion shook the building and the team stood up and moved as one
back down the hallway. Black scoring covered the once-white walls, the window was
shattered, and the door was buckled and folded in its frame. Two of the men moved the
door aside and the team filed into the space. The officer who had been trying to use the
phone was lying unconscious on the floor with blood trickling out of his ears.
The leader moved behind the desk and took a set of keys. Using the keys to
unlock the inner door, he motioned for his men to follow. The team entered the jail and
hurried to the one occupied cell.
Faith stood up and sputtered, “What the—?” falling on her face as the darts hit
her chest.
The leader snarled, “Filthy traitorous mongrel, I have no interest in anything you
might say,” and spat at Faith as he searched for the key. Once the door was opened, he
motioned for one of the larger men to take her.
The man nodded and stooped to pick up the unconscious slayer. When she was
manhandled over his shoulder, the team set off for the exit at a brisk march.
Giles abandoned Xander, who seemed to have matters in hand, and quickly took
the arms from his charge and shoved them in the locker. Then he went to see where the
head had gotten to. He found it stuck along a wall and slowly sliding toward the
bathroom door. Snatching up the bag, he lifted one of the chairs and threaded the
drawstrings around the leg. After casually taking a seat, he shoved the bag under the
chair with his feet.
Xander popped out of the bathroom and hastily shut the door. There was a thud
when the Mayor’s body collided with it. He straightened his shirt and ran his fingers
through his hair then opened the door. “Oh…hi, Mrs. Summers,” he offered warmly,
“Sorry about that. I didn’t feel like going down the hall.”
“Its okay, Xander” Joyce walked past him with several garments over her arm.
“Oh, a full house. Where’s Willow? I’m surprised she’s not here,” she commented,
offering a warm smile.
Utterly straight-faced, Buffy returned the smile. “She just went to get
something. She’ll be right back.”
Joyce moved to open the locker and heard Xander gasp. “I brought you some
clothes and your robe. I’m not sure when they’ll be releasing you, but it never hurts to
be ready.”
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Mom, don’t—!”
fuzzy.
Joyce took one look at the body parts inside the locker and everything went
When Joyce fainted, Xander caught her up and carried her to the recliner. He
picked up the dropped clothes and draped them over a chair, taking a seat. “Oops.
Sorry, Buffy.” Hearing hysterical laughter, he glanced up to see Buffy rubbing her eyes
and cackling.
“No, I’m sorry. I so shouldn’t be laughing, but,” Buffy struggled to say through
the giggles, “it’s just—” gesturing vaguely at the mess.
Xander was quick to join her, followed closely by Giles. The three of them were
chuckling like idiots when Willow entered the room.
Willow took in the scene and commented, “Trash bags were all I could find.
Seemed fitting somehow. Now stop laughing and get moving, people. We’ve got fortyfive minutes before the nurse makes her rounds.”
Giles came to his senses first and quickly retrieved his sword to begin the grizzly
process.
Willow took one of the arms and passed it hand first to Buffy.
Buffy couldn’t help it. Catching the hand, she gave it a quick shake and said,
“Pleased to meet you,” then started laughing again.
“Quit screwing around, Buffy. Clamp the hand into a fist for me,” Willow directed
impatiently, “I got some zip ties too. We need to make sure he doesn’t try to claw his
way through the plastic while we move him.” When the ties were applied, she took the
arm to Giles to cut down. “Wiggling would be a bad. We need to disarticulate all the
joints and cut the torso into pieces small enough to carry.”
Giles looked up long enough to confirm, “Right, Xander, help control the body
and separate the pieces. Willow you bag. You’re quite correct about the seriousness of
our situation.”
“Buffy, when your mom comes around you need to try and talk her down. We
need her. The Mayor’s roughly a two-hundred pound man. That’s fifty pounds for each
if we split him four ways,” Willow remarked as she held out the second hand to be
bound.
“No, Xander, you may not put the mayor’s head in a jar. Just because you saw it
on Futurama does not make it a good idea,” Giles remarked from the bathroom.
Buffy started to chuckle again as Willow glared at her. As Willow went to have
the arm cut down, her mother started to wake up. “Uh-boy,” Buffy mumbled to herself,
meeting her mother’s gaze.
When Faith came to, she was lying on her side chained to the floor of a van. As
she tested her restraints, a creepy looking, rodent-faced man directly in her view began
to speak.
“Faith Lehane, by order of the Watchers’ Council of Britain, you are hereby
taken into custody pend—” the creepy little man stated, falling silent as the slayer spoke
over him.
“Save the speeches. Caught the act last time you were in town,” Faith growled
as she sensed the others around her, trying to get an exact idea of their number and
strength. Her efforts to see them went in vain. There wasn’t enough chain to allow her
much movement. She considered fighting her way to a sitting position, but the
realization hit her that she would be hopelessly folded in two if she did.
Another man spoke, his voice was deep with a thick British accent, “Yes, yes,
quite right. Let’s just dispense with all the pleasantries, shall we? Be assured that should
you try anything so foolish as to— What is it you bloody Americans say?” While he
mocked puzzlement there was movement behind her and the creepy little man began to
remove his belt.
The second man started to speak again, filling in an answer to his lame question,
“Bail?” The belt was fashioned into a noose and slipped around her throat by the creepy
man. As the voice continued, the creepy man passed the belt off to someone unseen
near the crown of her head, “We’ve been given authority to use whatever” — the belt
pulled tight around her neck — “means are necessary to detain you. The Council wants
you back” — something cold slipped between the collar of the orange jumpsuit she
wore and her neck — “and they are simply past caring how you arrive.”
The jumpsuit began to tear open down Faith’s back. Gloved hands brushed
against her skin as it was ripped away. The belt pulled tight causing her to choke.
“My personal preferences aside, you’d be well advised to keep your snide trap
shut,” the unseen speaker drawled, “Travis, you may have your go at this wretched little
piece of filth.”
Faith didn’t have time to consider much before something lashed across her
back, opening the skin up, but she was certain she knew the speaker’s voice. Her body
wrenched reflexively with pain, drawing the noose tighter.
“Would you mind explaining yourself to me, young lady?” Joyce asked harshly.
“Umm…” Buffy sputtered, lowering her eyes, “Er…umm…Mom, the mayor was a
bad guy.”
Joyce glared at her daughter. “So I’ve heard but, Buffy, even if he is corrupt it
doesn’t give you the right to slay him.”
Glancing up Buffy looked utterly confounded. “Huh? Corrupt?” she stammered,
not quite believing what she heard. Taking a deep breath, she snarked, “And this, Mom,
is why I never tell you what’s going on.”
Rising to her feet, Joyce rounded on her daughter.
Buffy put her hand up to hold off the pending tirade. “First of all: I didn’t. That
would be Giles. Remember, Mom, bum leg,” she explained patiently, gesturing to her
leg, “Second: He’s a bad guy as in ‘not human’,” then directed for her mother to look in
the bathroom. “No blood.”
Joyce’s jaw was sagging when she got back from her quick glance in the
bathroom. All she managed was to gasp, “Oh.”
Willow muttered nervously, “This is actually sort of interesting. Does his
appendix look enlarged to you, Giles?” pointing in the doorway as she quickly shoveled
another part into a bag and taped it shut.
Giles’ voice sounded from the bathroom, “Yes, yes it does, but the man’s health
is hardly an issue, Willow.”
“We don’t slay humans, Mom. Ever wonder why Sunnydale hasn’t had a mayoral
election in a hundred years?”
“Honey, we just moved here. How would I know that?” Joyce replied defensively.
“The mayor was setting himself up to become a demon—a real one. Think: huge,
no social skills, and more than a little snacky. He was gonna do it on graduation day.
Giles and I busted into City Hall and took something he needed to make it happen,”
Buffy filled in, falling silent to allow her mother to speak.
“That was you?”
The terse sound of Giles’ voice erupted from the bathroom, “No, Xander, you
may not keep those.”
Buffy quirked an eyebrow and stared for a moment in their direction. “I so don’t
wanna know,” she mumbled dismissively and turned back to her mother, shaking her
head. “Yeah, Mom, broken nose,” she reminded, sighing before she resumed, “If he had
become a demon in the middle of the ceremony, lots of people would’ve died.” She
paused to let the sink in, punctuating a moment later with, “Lots of kids, Mom.” Glaring,
she concluded, “Me, here, now… It was revenge. The mayor came to finish me off.”
Giles interjected from inside the bathroom. “Mrs. Summers, your daughter is
quite right. What she has accomplished is not only good, it might be called miraculous.
Unfortunately, she’s paid a heavy price.”
Flabbergasted, Joyce made her way back to the recliner. Watching agape as one
of the chairs was pulled along by the handles of a white plastic bag with something the
size of a large melon in it. A moment’s debate left her with the overwhelming conclusion
that she really didn’t want to know.
When Buffy finally got her mother’s attention again, she said, “Mom, we need
your help.”
All the King’s Horses
Willow opened the door to the chapel and ushered Joyce inside. “We gotta do
something about this. Its way too obvious,” she noted, setting the packages she was
carrying on the floor in the aisle. She spread them out and gestured for Joyce to do the
same. The bags began to gravitate toward one another, arranging themselves, like with
like. “The ones that stick, we need to pick up and keep together. Having what we’re
carrying go all wonky—it’s bad—someone will notice.”
Joyce nodded in agreement. As they watched the bags drift into clumps on the
floor, she struck up conversation out of curiosity, “What do you make of Buffy?”
“’Kay…the big ones that wanna stick together we put between us,” Willow
commented offhandedly as she began to pick up bags. “Sorry, Mrs. Summers, but we
need to get moving. Getting caught…it’d be bad—really, really, bad in new and
interesting ways.”
Joyce began to load herself down with the bags until they finally managed to
distribute the weight evenly and none of the bags were doing anything unnatural. She
walked beside Willow, keeping the bags between them in contact.
“Too much,” Willow finally answered as she pushed the door to the chapel open.
After filing through the doorway alongside Buffy’s mom, they set off a brisk pace down
the corridor toward the front lobby.
“Pardon?”
Willow clarified, “Too much. She’s doing too much to hide. She should be more
upset, but she’s trying to keep me calm—keep us all calm by putting up a front. I’m
really worried about her.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one that sees it,” Joyce replied as they passed through
the lobby. Once they were outside and had begun to make their way across the parking
lot, she added, “It’s an awful thing for me to admit, but I think you probably know her
better than I do.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Mrs. Summers. I’ve only known Buffy for a couple
of years.”
“This way,” Joyce directed, guiding their course left down a row of parked cars.
“Yes, but, Willow, her life has changed a great deal and you’ve been a part of that. I
haven’t.” She stopped at the back of her Jeep and set the packages down. When she
managed to locate the keys in her purse, she opened the back hatch and began to load
the bags in the car. “There’s something else I’d like to ask you, but—”
Willow placed the last of the bags in the car and stood up to face Buffy’s mother.
“But what?”
Joyce shut the back of the car and locked it. “But it’ll probably upset you and I’d
rather not. I know that’s sort of silly.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Willow stood patiently waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’m just curious what the nature of your relationship with Buffy is?” Seeing the
younger woman pale, she continued, “Willow, you have no reason to be upset.”
“Oh,” Willow half gasped. Struggling to choke down the anxiety that threatened
to well up, “I-I…I’m—it’s complicated,” she stuttered, then sighed in annoyance. “I’m
not sure. I mean I am sure that we’re—it’s just—”
Joyce put her hand up. “It’s okay. I know it has to be confusing for you both.”
Tearing up, Willow nodded gratefully.
“I’m glad she has you.” Joyce placed her hand over Willow’s. “We should go find
the others. They should’ve been here by now.”
Jenkins turned the steering wheel, lazily negotiating the van through a bend in
the road. He did his utmost to put the sounds coming from the aft compartment out of
his mind. Though he was a large, imposing man, he did not have the taste for violence
that some of the others on his team displayed. His sheer size was what had won him his
role within the unit. He was the one that looked the part, while the other, smaller men
played it.
As the road straightened out, Jenkins blinked and confusion set in. Illuminated by
the headlamps, a figure stood in the middle of his lane, dead ahead. He started to put
on the brakes, but a barked order from his superior forestalled the action.
“Run him down.”
Jenkins studied the man while they barreled towards him. He stood unflinching,
with his arms folded in front of him. His leather trench coat billowed in the slight breeze.
As the distance closed, Jenkins made out the look of grim determination on the man’s
face. Bloody hell!
Time froze the instant the van collided with the man. Instead of the expected jar
of tires rolling over a body, the windshield shattered. Frightened by the sudden loss of
visibility, Jenkins mashed the brakes. As glass rained over him, a pair of feet smashed
into his head. He was thrown across the front of the van. Weatherby let out a yelp as
the two men crushed into the passenger door. Jenkins struggled to focus his eyes as the
van flipped onto its left side, sending him back across the cab. His head went through
the open window. The moving pavement contacted his temple and everything went
dim.
Harold stood eyeing the Englishman and his son. One of the plastic bags the
young man was holding shifted strangely and he said, “Pets aren’t allowed in the
hospital, sir.”
“Quite right, we’ll be pleased to move on—” the Englishman replied coolly,
cutting off when the guard spoke over him.
Harold vaguely watched two women approach from the lobby as he demanded,
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. I need to see what’s in those bags.”
The eldest of the women walked up behind the Englishman and pinched his ear,
tearing into him, “Richard Mills, there you are! How dare you run off like that!”
Appearing stunned, the Englishman tried to pull away.
The blonde began to tow the Englishman away while she fumed, “I woke up
alone! Alone! I knew you’d be here sneaking in to see that little hussy of yours!” She
released her grip and seized the packages in his left hand. “And what’s this? Bringing
her presents too?” she snarled, opening the bags in front of her as she shoved the poor
guy along.
Harold stood for a moment watching the display completely slack-jawed. Uhboy…poor guy, looks like he’s gonna get worse at home than I could ever give him.
Then the redhead shrugged ever so slightly and went into a tirade too. She
grabbed the younger man’s ear and started in. “Alex Mills! Shame on you—just shame!
Following your father into this mess—” the redhead raged.
“You folks have a nice evening,” Harold mumbled, shaking his head. As he turned
to continue his rounds, the young redhead was still going on. Man, do I ever feel bad for
those two.
“And getting caught! Embarrassing me and your poor mother like this! When I
get you alone there will be beatings…horrible, hurtsome, ouchy beatings…”
Angel jumped seconds before he hit the windshield of the van. This is probably
crazy. He tumbled over the top of the van, seizing the luggage rack. Using his inertia, he
swung himself into the driver’s side window. His feet struck the driver, causing him to
whip the steering wheel to the right. The driver was torn from his seat and thrown to
the other side of the cab.
As Angel landed between the two seats, the van started to roll. He braced
himself, tucking into the small space. The driver slid across his back when the vehicle
listed on its left side. He felt the van tip. A sharp thud sent a shudder through the
chassis. Then things went straight to hell. His sense of direction became confused as the
vehicle tumbled madly. He held tight to the seats, wedging himself in place. Okay,
scratch that—definitely crazy.
When the van came to rest on its right side, Angel pulled himself free. As he
moved to the back of the van, his eyes fixed on Faith where she hung from the nowvertical floor. He began to check the bodies of the Council members for keys to remove
the manacles that held her in place. The smells of blood, filth, and fear played havoc
with his concentration. One dead, lots of broken bones and other injuries. None of these
men will walk away. I should feel bad, but— Once he located the keys in one of the
men’s pockets, he moved to release the battered slayer.
Angel removed only the U-lock that held the cuffs binding Faith to the floor while
he steadied her to keep her from falling. When she was free, he kicked the rear doors
open and carried her away from the van, pocketing the keys. He stopped briefly to
bundle her bare, broken form in his coat, glancing back at the van. It looked like it’d
been put through a car crusher. The others would think I’ve lost it, but I couldn’t let them
take her. Not like that.
Trudging across the open field from the wreck, Angel leapt the steep ditch that
divided the grassland from the road and stepped onto the highway. Finally reaching his
car, he loaded Faith in the rear seat. After taking the driver’s seat of the black Dodge, he
backed the car onto the highway, then set off to find them a room. I’ll call the cops
when we’re safe. They can collect the pieces.
Willow stole into her friend’s room to find her still awake and flipping channels.
“There’s never anything on this late,” Buffy grumped and turned off the
television.
After taking a seat in the recliner, Willow pulled the blanket over herself. “Why
don’t you try and get some rest. It’s been a pretty awful day,” she covered her mouth
and yawned, “The others are on their way to box up Mayor Meany at the gallery.”
“No more ‘red alert.’ Guess that’s a good.”
Quirking an eyebrow at the blonde, Willow remarked, “Yeah, it’s a good. Now if
you’ll rest and get better, maybe things will get normal,” realizing it wasn’t a very good
lie once she said it.
Buffy brushed it off by switching subjects, nervously stating, “I’ll go with you.”
Putting the leg rest up, Willow turned onto her side in the chair and mumbled,
“‘Go with me’ where?” as she closed her eyes.
“I’ll go to the prom with you.”
Willow turned back to face her friend and leaned forward in the chair.
“Oh…umm…wow,” she smiled, “Wow! You mean—?” the smile brightened, “You really
mean it?”
When Buffy nodded, the redhead sprung out of the chair. Before she could react
Buffy was wrapped in Willow. “Whoa,” she chuckled, “I’m supposed to be resting
remember. Kinda hard when—”
Letting go, Willow appeared sheepish as she said, “Sorry. I just…I’m just so
happy. We’re gonna have fun. I promise.”
“It’ll be fun if I can walk. Not so much sure now, but you’re right, I should go and
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather go with.”
Willow began to positively beam as her friend fell silent. “We’ll make it fun even
if you’re still—” she offered resolutely, adding, “I promise.”
“’Kay, Will, I’ll hold you to that,” Buffy replied with a warm smile. “Now put this
stupid railing down and give me a hug without all the bendy, twisty chiropractic
badness.”
Faith cracked an eye open. As she took in her surroundings, her brow knit tightly
with alarm. After unsuccessfully trying to rise, she snarked, “Y’know, I got that you guys
were all about the kinky fun, but isn’t this—?” Briefly assessing the nylon rope that held
her to the bed, she began to struggle to get free.
“Don’t move, Faith.”
“Ah, Jesus! Not you. Lemme guess, this is another lame attempt to rescue me.
Don’cha ever give up?” Faith spat as she continued to thrash against the bonds.
Angel took a cup of blood from the microwave and stepped out of an alcove by
the door, taking a sip before he answered with a simple, “Yes.”
“‘Yes’ what?” Faith snarled, continuing to fight until the pain became too much.
Narrowing his eyes, Angel replied harshly, “Yes, I give up,” starting to pace, “The
others, they’d be upset if they knew, but I couldn’t let it happen. Not that way. So, just
call me Saint Jude.” He rubbed his right shoulder and groaned.
Faith gasped, “Huh?” craning her neck to see the vampire who had walked out of
her field of view. Either he’s just that much of an idiot, or—
“Saint Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes and desperate situations.”
He’s that much of an idiot. “Jude, eh? Sounds like my kinda guy,” Faith replied
with a quirky half grin.
“Look, Faith, both your shoulders were dislocated and your right wrist was
broken. I patched you up, but if you screw around and mess it up I won’t do it again.
That’s part of why I tied you down. They need to stay put until they’re healed. We
clear?”
Faith watched the vampire step back into view, taking in the limp and the
stiffness in his shoulder before she replied, “Gotcha, boss,” relaxing as she sighed,
“Looks like you’re pretty beat up yourself.” Not sure I had Angel pegged as the Vin Diesel
type. Witness me, here, now, for the serious clue up. That was one wicked wreck. What I
remember of it.
Angel stopped pacing and turned to glare at the slayer. “I’ll live,” he stated
plainly, “I need to know where you stand, Faith, and I need to know now.” He took a sip
of his dinner. “I’ll protect you—keep you alive—but if you turn on me, if you so much as
breathe wrong, I’ll feed you to the first dog that snarls.” Moving to the bedside, he
added, “This is it: end of the line. What’s it gonna be?”
“Guess I’m in…like I got loads of choice.” Can’t exactly doubt the sincerity. I’d still
be playin’ my new role as favorite bone to those Council brown shirts without—
“Be sure, Faith,” Angel growled.
Nodding, Faith said resolutely. “Alright, I’m in.” Not sure why he gives a shit.
’Specially with the little number I did on his honey, but I got no choice. Wonder what he’s
playin’ at. Guess, I stick to see what he wants…and bail as soon as he wants too much.
Angel narrowed his eyes and breathed deeply. Once he was satisfied, he walked
over to the chair and sat down. “Get some rest. We move as soon as you can.”
There’s a chance he’s bein’ straight with me, though. I sorta ran outta options a
few exits back. If there’s a chance I gotta take it. Not like I inspire all kinda charity.
’Cause right about now…I look like Unicef.
Willow strolled into the library with Xander at her side, taking a seat at the table
as he moved to sit across from her. I didn’t want to leave, but Buffy insisted. Now I’m
stuck here until this stupid meeting’s over and she’s all alone. I guess she watched TV all
day. She probably would’ve done that with me there. At least I got to pick up the
assignments we missed. Not so much a deal for me. I have enough credits to graduate
even if I fail every class this semester. Buffy, on the other hand…I gotta get her caught
up.
They both turned their attention to the stacks when Giles came into view.
Giles remained standing at the end of the table. “Wesley will be along shortly.”
When ‘shortly’ became ‘forever,’ Willow pulled out her chemistry textbook and
began to catch up on homework while Giles seated himself to pour over a musty book
from his collection. Only Xander appeared immune to the topic of ‘using time wisely.’
His answer to the boredom involved making paper airplanes and seeing how far they
would fly. Willow looked up after a particularly dramatic crash—which nearly landed
one of the planes in Giles’ tea—to glare at Xander.
The harsh stare caused him to develop an interest in his hands which were
placed casually in his lap. Appearing bored to tears, Xander was amid contemplations of
either leaving or suggesting they order pizza when Wesley finally arrived.
“Terribly sorry, Los Angeles traffic is abysmal,” Wesley said crisply as he took a
seat next to Giles. “Thank you for waiting.”
Xander was the only one that actually turned his attention to Wesley.
Wesley began by making eye contact with Xander as he spoke, his awareness
drifted between the other two who seemed to be more interested in their respective
books. “I’ve just come from Olive View Medical Center. It seems that Council members
who were transporting Faith met with misfortune last night.”
Seeing that he finally had the interest of the room, Wesley continued
confidently, “From what I can gather, a man wearing a black trench coat was hit by the
van transporting the prisoner. From there the accounts get sketchy at best. What we do
know is that there was an accident, one man is dead, four more are severely injured,
and that the prisoner is again at large.”
After clearing his throat, Wesley prompted, “Would any of you know the
whereabouts of Angel? While it would be ludicrous to discount the possible involvement
of agents of the mayor, it certainly does sound to me as though they were describing
Angel.”
“Actually, the mayor is in no position to authorize any such action. That is in
large part the reason we tolerated your tardiness so readily. The mayor has been
detained. It would be very good of you if you could have the Council pick up the pieces
for us, so to speak,” Giles offered, ignoring a chuckle from Xander.
“Certainly,” Wesley replied.
After nodding affirmation, Giles remarked, “I will give you the specifics later. As
to Angel’s involvement in any such matters: to the best of my knowledge Angel has
departed from Sunnydale.”
“There is also the matter of Buffy Summers. We are in the unenviable position of
having more slayers than at any time in our history, however not even one that is
actually fit to perform the duties,” Wesley commented, openly displaying his dismay. “I
have not been able to assess her condition, nor have I been allowed—”
Giles cut Wesley off, remarking waspishly, “Had you proven yourself to be
anything more than a political puppet, you would have the access you demand, but I’m
afraid that since you are neither ‘friend’ nor ‘family’ you will just have to take my word
that she is doing quite well. Now I’ll thank you to drop this matter immediately.”
Wesley glared at the former Watcher as he asked coolly, “What are you hiding,
Mr. Giles?”
“Pardon me, one moment,” Giles interrupted, raising a finger. “Willow, Xander,
that will be all for now.”
move.
Xander got up to leave, giving Willow a perplexed stare when she refused to
Willow defiantly made eye contact with Giles. “No, I think I’d like to hear this.”
Giles replied, “I would prefer you didn’t,” appearing nonplussed at Willow’s open
refusal.
Xander hung back, moving to stand behind Willow as if to protect her.
Giles sighed and remarked politely, “Willow, really, I must insist. I do not wish to
be curt in your presence.”
Willow crossed her arms and turned to glare at Wesley. “Actually, I’m sorta
hoping for a little curt. Curt’s been pretty much absent and I think curt’s long overdue.”
Unable to stifle the subtle smile that flashed across his face, Giles demeanor
turned earnest when he admitted, “This would be far easier for me were you not here.
You have my deepest apologies.”
Willow submitted, saying, “Alright, Giles,” as she rose to leave. After hastily
packing her things, she reluctantly made her exit with Xander in tow. They walked in
silence together until they were outside, then Willow asked, “So, how do you feel about
Mexican?”
Xander playfully wiggled his eyebrows.
Enjoying the sunlight and fresh air, Willow set off at a brisk pace down the
sidewalk. “For dinner, silly. I need to pick something up for Buffy. She’ll never get better
with that garbage they’ve been feeding her.”
“Sounds good,” Xander replied, matching pace with his friend. “Did I hear
Wesley right? Faith’s free and Angel may’ve made with the big rescue? You don’t
suppose he’s—?”
Willow stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and swung around to face
Xander. Giving him a look, she asked tersely, “And just what makes you think that,
Xander?”
Xander hung his head. “I dunno. I guess it’s just the disappearing act and—”
“There’s only a couple of things we know of that’ll cause that. One of them is
pretty unlikely—what with Giles…and Buffy’s not exactly been feeling frisky,” Willow
filled in, adding in a low mumble, “And if she were I—well, I’d hope the frisk would be—
” Falling silent, she started off at a casual pace again.
Striding beside her, Xander offered, “I’m sorry, Will.”
Several moments of silence passed between them. Finally, Willow asked, “The
charlatan or the fanatic?”
Xander snapped out of his reverie and gave his friend a sidelong glance. “Huh?”
“If you really needed something—just had to have it—and you knew two people
had the ‘it’ you needed, but neither one was gonna give ‘it’ up without a fight. One’s a
charlatan and the other’s a fanatic, which one would you choose?”
“Dunno, Will. It sounds like bad choices all around,” Xander responded
thoughtfully.
“I’d pick the charlatan,” Willow answered resolutely.
Hiking the backpack she carried along with her own book bag, Willow gratefully
handed the bag off to Xander as he gestured, then started to explain, “See, thing is,
once you get a faker figured, they usually back down. A fanatic never will, ’cause they
believe—regardless how wrong they are—that they’re right. You can’t reason with a
fanatic. You may as well try to get Cordy to wear shoes from Payless; it just won’t
happen.” When she glanced over Xander was motioning for more. “The Council is the
fanatic and the charlatan is Faith. Of the two, I’d rather deal with Faith.”
Xander’s expression flashed with understanding for just an instant. Then he went
back to looking completely mystified. “What’s that got to do with Angel?”
“There’s hope for the faker. Regardless how we may feel about her, there still
may be hope. Angel’s enough on the outside he may see that. He’s disconnected
enough she may even listen. Feeding her to them—even I had problems with that and I
can’t stand Faith. Just ’cause I can’t stand her doesn’t mean I want to see her tortured.”
Xander quirked an eyebrow and asked, “Tortured?”
Willow gave her friend a quick glance. “Reconditioned, reprogrammed,
reeducated…whatever euphemism they’re using this week. Fact is: I go straight to the
bad place.”
The receptionist sat studying her computer terminal. It had been miserable lately
and she was both worried and grateful that her boss had not been in. A flash of
movement in the hallway to her left caused her to divert her attention from the screen.
She sat staring at the space for few seconds. Whatever it was, it had been very small.
There was another flourish of motion and she screamed jumping out of her chair
as the rat scurried past her. As the rat brushed her ankle, her vision clouded and she
swooned. There was a loud cracking noise on contact. Her leg convulsed and she
collapsed to the ground twitching.
Giles turned to Wesley. His expression hardened as he queried, “What do you
know of the Cruciamentum?”
Wesley quickly rattled off, “It is a test administered to the slayer on her
eighteenth birthday. She is stripped of her powers and pitted against a vampire foe.” A
harsh glare darkened his features, “It is also the point at which your shortcomings
became apparent.”
Brushing off the barb, Giles continued, “When I first became aware of the test, it
occurred to me that there was little difference between it and what either of us might
confront were we to find ourselves facing a vampire foe.”
Wesley nodded in agreement.
“This would indeed be the case were the slayer pitted against an ordinary
vampire. In the case of my charge, Miss Summers, the Council went out of their way to
locate a foe so vile that they, themselves feared him. They sedated him to keep him
under control. Zachary Kralik.” Giles paused momentarily to watch with satisfaction as
Wesley paled. “I see you recognize the name.”
When he received a nod, Giles prompted, “Can you think of a reason they might
do this?”
Recovering, Wesley puzzled over this for a moment, finally replying, “I’m certain
they had their reasons.”
“This was the thing that caused me to question the wisdom of the Council. It
seemed an extreme measure aimed at one purpose.” Giles offered frankly, “My
involvement in the test will forever haunt me. It was tantamount to attempted murder.
The fact that Miss Summers survived only goes to illustrate how extraordinary she
actually is.”
“That seems a bit overstated,” Wesley crisply remarked.
As Giles responded, his brow furrowed with disquiet, “Is it?” and he sighed, “The
vampire in question turned one of the skilled agents the Council sent to oversee the test
and killed another.”
“I fail to see what this has to do with—”
Giles snapped at the younger man, cutting him off, “It has everything to do with
her condition. Do you not see that these people have little regard for the lives of these
young women? They view them as one might a tool. The word ‘instrument’ is even
freely cast about.” He rose to his feet and began to pace.
When he spoke again, his tone changed to reflect regret, “Would you make a
phone call knowing that Cordelia would be injured or perhaps even die as a result?”
Wesley wheezed, “No.”
“Yet you would do the same to Buffy or Faith? How can you not see the flaw? Do
you honestly believe that the Council wished to play tiddlywinks with Faith? Can you be
so blind to trust that their interest in Miss Summers’ condition is purely academic? You
are a much more naïve than I suspected if you believe they would not eliminate her in
order to summon a replacement.”
Wesley wore an expression of unadulterated astonishment as he stared at Giles.
“Are you willing to sign her death warrant?” Giles ranted, “The Council loves to
tell us that we are waging a war. They tout stories of grand battles and great defeats of
good over evil. These are romanticized notions, to be sure. If we really are speaking of
war, then the intriguing thing is that in war no civilized leader would promote leaving a
wounded man behind on the field of battle. If there was a chance to save the man, aid
would be freely offered.”
He grew somber and met Wesley’s gaze. “All I am suggesting is that we show
Miss Summers that same consideration. We exist to aid and offer wise council to the
slayer. Should we not offer aid in her times of need as well?”
After returning to his chair, Giles concluded, “You are either friend or foe. I will
not tolerate anything else. Mark my words when I say you do not wish to cross me. I
give you until nine p.m. to make your decision, if you are willing report to my flat.”
mouth.
Stunned by Giles’ words, Wesley managed to rasp, “Why?” through a parched
Giles cracked a thin smile, turning to take his leave as he clarified, “Patrol. As
they are so fond of saying, ‘the show must go on’.”
Faith scanned her surroundings with marked disgust as she moved through the
dank sewer tunnel along side the vampire. “So, what’re we doing again?”
Angel swung the gasoline can he held into his left hand to avoid hitting the
slayer. “Helping a friend.”
“Right,” Faith intoned, exaggerating the ‘i’ so that the word seemed to drag on
forever. Shaking her head, she added, “We need to get you some new friends.”
Angel chortled as he stopped to inspect a pool of standing water. Once he’d had
a close look, he tipped the can up, dumping about a quarter of its contents into the
pool. After setting the can down, he pulled a box of matches out of his pocket and took
one out. Sweeping the can back up, he struck the match with his thumbnail, winking at
Faith. She started to run as he let loose the match.
A plume of fire chased them down the tunnel as the walls around them trembled
ominously.
Faith ducked into an alcove and spat, “And they say I’m psycho?” as she pulled
the vampire in beside her with her good arm.
Angel started to chuckle again.
Faith bent down, bracing her upper body by placing her left hand against her
thigh. “What the hell is that stuff?” Faith panted, gesturing to the can with her
bandaged hand.
terms.
“Just a little something I mixed up to solve a problem,” Angel explained in loose
“Y’know, ‘pyro’ and ‘vampire’ can only end badly, right?”
Angel ignored the helpful suggestion, setting off down the tunnel from whence
they had come to inspect his handiwork.
Careful to avoid the chunks of flaming debris, Faith looked at what had been a
standing pool of water. At the bottom there was what looked sort of like chalky gray
seahorses with blunt faces. The three tiny creatures wriggled and writhed in pain. Their
bodies were still burning becoming more charred by the second. Faith pressed against
her temples, trying to stave off the burning migraine she’d suddenly developed. “What
the hell are those?”
“My nieces and nephews,” Angel offered cryptically as he turned his back and
began to stride down the tunnel again.
She stumbled after him, slowly due to the throbbing pain. Shaking her head,
Faith raised and eyebrow and sighed when the pain started to ebb. “Well, it beats the
victim act,” she mumbled softly to herself before she set off at a light jog to close the
distance between herself and the latest in a series of crazy bosses.
The late afternoon sun beamed through the window warming her shoulders as
Willow glanced up from her book and winked at Buffy, giving her a reassuring smile.
Buffy rolled her eyes. Jeez, I feel like a dork. I don’t get the audience. Both Mom
and Will insisted on coming to my first P.T. Now I’m on my belly on an oversized beach
ball looking like a total idiot. And all to prove to this reject from a bad seventies sitcom
that I still own a sense of balance.
“Mrs. Summers, the leg must be moved through its full range of motion at least
twice a day now that the” — paper rustled as the physical therapist looked at her
patient’s chart — “injury— This can’t be right.”
“It’s okay. Buffy heals very quickly,” Joyce offered in a reassuring tone.
I’m the slayer, lady! Repeating the expected movements, Buffy tilted right and
left, then back and forward on the ball. Y’know…one girl in all the world chosen to play
punching bag for every evil meanie with a god complex.
“Can we ask you your professional opinion? The doctors haven’t been able to tell
us much,” Joyce prodded.
The physical therapist continued to pour over her patient’s chart for a few more
moments before she offered softly, “Typically the symptoms of spinal shock don’t clear
up for at least four to six weeks after the initial injury. It really is impossible to tell what
the patient’s quality of life will be like until after that time elapses.”
The therapist and her mother moved away to speak privately, but Buffy could
still hear them if she concentrated.
“Part of my job is to be reassuring while not inspiring false-hope. Surely you can
understand that. Patients in your daughter’s situation are prone to deep depression. In
fact, depression is expected. Creating false-hope can only make things worse further
down the line.”
“I appreciate that, but I am not your patient.”
“I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Summers, but I hesitate to speculate. I’ve never seen
anything like this. What I might offer would only be a wild guess,” the therapist
concluded, moving back to her patient.
Just gimme my goddamned crutches so I can go home! After briefly considering
popping the big blue ball, Buffy went back to mindlessly repeating the actions: right,
left, forward, back.
Moving to help her patient up, “Alright, Miss Summers, very good,” the therapist
said, “Now we’ll work on getting you mobile again.”
Buffy nodded gratefully as the therapist sat her back in the wheelchair. At least
I’m in my own clothes. This would’ve been so much more the nightmare in one of those
flimsy paper gowns.
“Have you ever used crutches?” the therapist asked politely.
“Once when I was little.”
The therapist nodded and offered, “Well then, this shouldn’t be hard,” as she
rolled her patient over to a set of widely spaced banisters.
After rising to her feet with the therapists help, Buffy accepted the crutches and
began to pace back and forth between the banisters as expected before the instruction
came. Her lame leg dragged awkwardly on the wooden floor, sliding along against the
sock she wore. Not being able to control it enough to even lift it was unnerving, but she
ignored the unrest and simply went through the motions required to prove herself. I
make it through this and they’ll let me outta this hell. Just a little bit more. It’ll all be
good.
“Look at that. You’re a natural,” the therapist encouraged.
If you only knew.
Wesley took a sip from his snifter and settled back into the sofa in Giles’ living
room. Pulling the first book down from the stack before him, he noted, “We seemed to
function better as a unit this evening.”
After taking a seat in his high-backed leather chair, Giles removed the second
book from the pile and laid it open in his lap before he quipped, “Yes, well, I suspect that
was largely owed to your not running off at the first sign of trouble.”
“I am a scholar, not a warrior, Mr. Giles,” Wesley remarked defiantly, “I’m still
not certain how I allowed you to talk me into this foolishness.”
“The facts speak for themselves, Wesley,” Giles commented offhandedly as he
began to read.
Silence hung between them for several minutes before Wesley decided to
broach a new subject. “You know, I’ve always had more than a passing interest in Norse
legend and mythology. While their culture is largely vilified or romanticized by ours,
their sheer contribution to the society from which we herald inspired me to dig deeply
into their history,” he offered, speaking stream of consciousness. “Several years ago, I
stumbled across a legend that might be of interest. It always fascinated me because it
seemed to merely be one piece of a much greater puzzle.”
Positioning a finger as a placeholder in the book on his lap, Giles regarded the
younger man with mild interest.
“The legend is of Tyrik Turgeis, great-great grandfather of the conqueror Turgeis
who founded Dublin. It predates the proper recorded history of these peoples and
therefore is spotty at best,” Wesley offered pensively.
After a moment’s pause, Wesley began to relate, “The legend recounts an attack
by a pack of wolves. Tyrik was severely injured. It was thought he would surely perish.
Instead, he disappeared along with a score of his strongest men for a time. When he
returned he was fully healed save for the hand he lost during the attack. The key
element that drew my attention was this: after his return he is said to have lived four
lifetimes waging war and dispensing justice.”
Giles reached for his drink, taking a small sip before he remarked, “One might
presume that this is the source of the legend of the Norse god Tyr.”
“Indeed.” Wesley nodded. “One must also understand that life expectancy then
was much shorter than it is now. Twenty-five years, perhaps thirty. Though, even taking
that into account, still places his age at his time of death well over one-hundred years.
The natural conclusion would of course be that he was turned—made a vampire—but
the remaining evidence fails to support this. He was deeply respected by his people. A
vampire would surely feed within the community, thus destroying such impressions.”
Thoughtfully fingering the rim of his brandy snifter, Giles noted, “Medicine
during that time would not support many other conclusions.”
“Magick can certainly be used to heal, but only to a limited degree. These people
were deeply pagan at this point in their history. That fact would support such a theory.
However, the detail of his men’s disappearance would appear to suggest a journey. I
intend to dig deeper. The circumstances would certainly apply to our current dilemma,”
Wesley reflected, beginning to read when he drew silent.
Joyce helped Buffy painfully move from the hospital wheelchair to the passenger
seat of the Jeep. After stowing the crutches in the back seat, she got in, started the
Jeep, and pulled away from the curb, all without saying a word.
The two Summers women rode down the street, enjoying an uncomfortable
silence. Joyce had too much too talk about so she concentrated on driving; Buffy had
nothing she wanted to talk about so she focused on the scenery passing by the
passenger window.
After several blocks of rumination, Joyce settled on what she wanted to say.
When the Jeep pulled up to a stop sign, Joyce looked over at her daughter and started,
“So…” before faltering.
Buffy responded, “So…” with no enthusiasm.
Gamely, Joyce tried again, “So I… I couldn’t help but notice…” Why is it so hard to
get from ‘what to say’ to ‘how to say it’? She wrung the steering wheel in frustration as
she started driving again.
“Notice what?” Buffy asked flatly. Not that she cared to have a conversation on
any of the topics her mother may have had; it was just the expected response so Buffy
filled it in.
Glancing over at Buffy again, Joyce tried a new tack. “I really like Willow, you
know that, right?”
Buffy looked at her mother for the first time since she got in the car. With a
quizzical look, she answered, “Uh-huh.”
Joyce smiled, “It’s—it’s been a joy watching her grow from the timid girl I first
met just two short years ago to the vibrant young woman she is now. And it’s obvious
that you’re responsible for that. She’s a wonderful person.” Glancing again, she saw
the first smile on Buffy’s face that day.
“She is,” Buffy agreed pleasantly.
“She loves you, you know,” Joyce said, punctuating with a look at Buffy to
measure her reaction, “It’s so clear…in every look, every…touch.” She let out an amused
grunt. “Honestly, other than her gender, she’s everything I ever hoped you’d find.”
Worry creased Buffy’s face, “Mom, we’re not—”
“I just need you to know,” Joyce continued over her daughter’s objection, “what
I’m about to say has nothing to do with who or what gender Willow is.”
Buffy waited for her mother to continue, doing nothing to encourage her to do
so, futilely hoping she’d pause all the way back to the house.
“I worry about you getting hurt,” Joyce said compassionately.
“Mom—” Buffy started to protest again. Then again, I’m thinking the ride home
from the hospital…probably not the place to point out I can protect myself.
“God, just a few months ago I was watching the news about Matthew Sheppard
and guiltily feeling relieved that I didn’t have to worry about anything like that.”
“Mom…” Buffy wanted to reassure her, but couldn’t think how.
“I know, I know. You’re this ‘slayer’ and can protect yourself,” Joyce placated. She
changed her approach, “But what about Willow? Have you thought about the danger
she could be in?”
“Mom, we live in southern California, not Kansas,” Buffy said dismissively.
“Wyoming, dear,” Joyce corrected, then waved it off as unimportant. “Do you
think that can’t happen here?” she asked stridently. “I know you’ve never been tuned
into the news, but have you really not heard about the attacks in L.A. and San Francisco?
The rallies the hate-mongers held right here in southern California after Matthew
Sheppard died? Maybe you can protect yourself—” she looked pointedly as Buffy’s leg
“—normally, but Willow can’t.”
Buffy looked defiant. “’Kay, so you’re saying that, without the question about
liking another girl too much, these people would’ve left the little Jewish girl alone?”
Raising an eyebrow, she said, “I’m thinking not.” She crossed her arms and glared at her
mother. “I’ve been worrying about protecting Willow from that kind since we met.”
Joyce moved on to her next point. “Have you thought about all the
consequences? What about Willow’s family? Sheila and Ira are Reform but other parts
of her family are still Conservative. There are aunts and uncles, grandparents and
cousins that might never talk to her again. Has she thought about that?”
“I don’t really know,” Buffy answered harshly. “Not that it matters.” Buffy
glared at her mother and explained, “With the Reform-Conservative thing, there’s
already Rosenbergs she can’t talk to. And just liking-girls-that-way’d be a problem for
them, even if she never acts on it. Even if we never become an ‘us’—which is barely a
possibility right now—she’ll have to deal with that.”
When the Jeep pulled into the driveway, Buffy angrily flung open her door and
started to maneuver her leg out. “And I’m not basing whether me and Willow ever
become ‘me and Willow’ on if there’re Summers that won’t talk to me.”
Reaching back to fluff her pillow, Buffy blinked at the textbook in her lap. I dunno
why I’m bothering. It’s not like whether I pass history or not is gonna matter. I don’t even
intend to be around for the final. Mom and Will are both concerned, so through the
hoops I jump…to make them happy. Doesn’t matter what I feel. I just don’t want them to
wig.
Buffy set the book on the floor by her bed and manually moved her right leg out
to the side, bending her knee. After gently repositioning the rubber catheter hose to
where she couldn’t feel it against her left leg, she picked up the book again. Can’t
believe that stupid therapist yesterday with her depression speech. She doesn’t know
crap, it’s obvious. Another idiot with an expensive degree doling out advice they’re too
clueless to give. She’s still walking; until she isn’t…she lacks the qualifications to know
shit about it.
A knock sounded from her door and she said, “C’mon in.” And Mom…all
concerned about something that’ll never happen. I wish I could put her mind at ease, but
what I got—not exactly the sorta thing that makes you rest well. I could never begin to
explain it to her anyway. And in a couple days I won’t have to.
Walking over to the bed, “It’s time for your pills,” Joyce remarked, offering Buffy
the two pills she was holding and a glass of water.
“Thanks.” Buffy accepted the pills and tossed them into her mouth. Then she
took the glass from her mother and drank half of it down, setting it aside when she was
finished. I just need to make sure—I don’t want Will or Mom to find me. It’s gonna be
bad enough…
Joyce quirked an eyebrow and looked at the text book in her daughter’s lap,
trying to see the title. “Are you feeling okay?
I can’t believe—! Oh… Buffy figured out what her mom was looking at and
giggled. “Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just—I dunno…after my birthday I was sorta struck with
this burning desire to actually graduate. Something about them not caring,” she replied
with a smile. I just wish—there’s not, so it’s pointless to even waste my time… Useless
dreams. Other options…not so much. I’d run if I could, but then if I could run…it’d be a
non-issue.
Folding her hand in the book so her mom could see the cover Buffy reflected,
“Will helped me catch up on homework, but I’ve still got lots of reading to do. So…can’t
do much else. May as well…” I dunno though, someone has to do the job and god knows
Faith won’t so… Regardless what I think, what I feel, what I want… It’s the right thing.
Travers is an asshole—the very worst kind—an asshole with a point. Listen to me. She
hissed.
The smile faded from Joyce’s face as she asked, “What’s wrong, honey?”
Me and my big mouth. Buffy offered her mother a reassuring smile. “Nothing,
just something Will said. Y’know how she is.” ‘The right thing.’ Boy, are there ever a few
religious whackjobs out there that’d have major issues with that…until they got eaten by
vamps…or— Well, fundies actually like apocalypses don’t they? Scratch that.
“Well, get some rest. You’ve got a big day tomorrow,” Joyce remarked and
started for the door.
Buffy focused on the book and replied in an aloof tone as she started to read, “I
will, Mom.” When her mother shut the door, she reached under the side of her tongue
with her index finger and extracted the pills. Opening the drawer of her nightstand, she
took out a small jewelry box and pulled back the felt, placing the pills underneath. This is
gonna suck. I gotta act like nothing’s wrong when—
It’ll all be over soon.
And All the King’s Men
Peering down the sidewalk at the front of the formalwear store, Buffy took in the
squad cars, spectators, and crime scene tape, grumbling under her breath, “Oh, you
gotta be kidding me.”
“It’s okay, Buffy, we’ll just go to the mall,” Willow offered reassuringly. As she
turned to leave, a familiar face caught her eye. Starting to jog down the sidewalk
toward the crime scene, she called over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”
This’d be a whole hell of a lot easier to take with Darvocet. Moving out of the
path of foot traffic, Buffy propped herself casually against the brick wall between two
stores to wait, leaning the crutches beside her. She rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Just
peachy. Prom’s tomorrow night, no dress, and the tinglies I’m feeling are telling me this
is hellmouthy.” Several minutes passed and Willow moved out of the crowd with one of
the people Buffy most wanted to see: Cordelia Chase. Great…more angst for the drama
that is my life. Thanks. Needed that.
“It was awful,” Cordy said as she walked up, remarking snidely when she saw
Buffy, “And where there’s awful, had to figure you’d be around.”
Willow turned toward the cheerleader and snapped, “Lay off, Cordy.”
Glancing from the crutches to Buffy and back again, Cordy’s expression turned
curious. “What’s up with you?”
After gathering up her crutches, Buffy replied dryly, “Not much.” I so don’t
wanna get into this. Tucking the crutches under her arms, she gave Willow an annoyed
glance and took off down the sidewalk at a rapid pace. Not even sure where I’m going
other than ‘away.’ It’s close enough for now. By the time Willow caught up, she was
almost two blocks from the dress shop.
Willow implored, “Buffy, wait!”
Obviously struggling to keep her temper in check, Buffy slowed, then stopped.
She took a deep breath and turned to face Willow, appearing much calmer than seconds
before. “Yeah, Will?”
“Cordy said she’d give us a ride to the mall.”
Buffy took one look at the concern etched all over her friend’s face and put on
her best smile to cover. “Alright.” I need to get a grip. Placate. Good word. It’s my word
for the week. Not gonna use it though. Someone might think I actually paid attention in
English class…and we wouldn’t want that. A genuine smile replaced the forced one.
“She said she’d bring the car around.”
“Wow, Will. That’s, like, almost nice. How’d you get her to do that?” Buffy asked
with genuine interest.
Willow winked and teased, “A lady never reveals her secrets. It kills that
‘mystery’ thing.”
Rolling her eyes, Buffy ventured, “You paid her?” as she watched Cordelia pull
into a parking lot just down the street to wait for them.
A look of mock indignation flashed across Willow’s face, quickly replaced by a
warm smile. She matched pace with Buffy as they made their way to Cordy’s car.
Buffy watched her friend climb in the back seat, then passed her crutches off.
Blatantly ignoring the looks Cordy was giving her, she sat in the passenger seat and
pulled her leg into position with both hands. One word and I’ll be buying two dresses,
Cordy. She shut the door and the car immediately started to move. I don’t own enough
black clothes. You’d think I would…given… Grateful for the silence, she leaned back in
the seat and closed her eyes. Enjoying the warmth of the sunlight and the gentle breeze,
she placed her hand over Willow’s when it came to rest on her shoulder.
After negotiating a turn onto a busy main thoroughfare, Cordy glanced in the
rearview to make eye contact with the redhead and asked, “So what’s the deal with you
and Oz?” After several moments when no answer was given, she continued to pry,
“’Cause word is you two are past tense. So me, I’m thinking you must’ve— What was it
Xander called it? Ah, yeah, you must’ve had another little ‘fluke’.” She glanced down at
Buffy’s leg and commented, “Get another girl hurt in the process too?” Her gaze
traveled up to Buffy’s shoulder and she gasped, “Oh! No way!” then Cordy squeaked in
pain.
Buffy bent Cordelia’s wrist back as she reflected, “Y’know, Cordy, it’s a beautiful
spring day—birds are singing, sun’s shining…and there’s not even that much of a halo
around it from the L.A. smog. To make this picture that much more perfect, we’re in a
convertible.” She sighed whimsically as she wrenched Cordelia’s hand back just a touch
more, smiling when her victim winced and tried to pull away. “What does Cordelia
Chase choose to do with such a lovely day? Keep her mouth closed and enjoy it?” She
mocked puzzlement by tapping her finger against her cheek. “No. Cordy—” she gestured
vaguely “—being the brain-trust she is, decides to piss off a slayer.” As the car rolled to a
halt, Buffy released the hand. “Shut up and drive, Cordy.”
Cordy massaged her wrist for moment, seemingly unconcerned that she was
blocking traffic in a forty-mile-per-hour zone. When she realized that there was nothing
wrong with it other than a little stiffness, she appeared to debate what to do.
Buffy glanced in the rearview to look at Willow. The expression of shock
plastered across her friend’s face caused the slayer to giggle. Well, so much for ‘placate.’
“Drive, Cordy,” she repeated firmly. When the car began to move again, she settled back
in her seat and closed her eyes. Eventually Willow’s hand returned to her shoulder and
she took it.
The sun, silence, and scenery lasted a few moments more and Buffy completely
enjoyed them. All too soon she was picking up the dead weight that was her right leg
and swinging it out of the car. When Willow handed her the crutches, she rose and
moved away from the car. “Thanks, Cordy,” she offered politely while the cheerleader
sped wordlessly away.
As they made their way into the mall Willow asked with a smile. “Were you
defending me?”
“I dunno—I suppose… Frankly, it was as much me defending me, though. Maybe,
me defending ‘us’? Anyway, she did hit the mark with deadly accuracy…and she
would’ve kept hitting… It’s just not in Cordy’s nature to know when to stop without
prompts. So, I gave her one,” Buffy reflected stream of consciousness. When she
glanced over at her friend, Willow was grinning. “Nice I can still make you happy. It
might be one of my few useful skills,” she commented, turning right to head into Macy’s
to browse.
Willow chided, “Oh, I dunno about that,” following her friend, “But it’s definitely
one of your more endearing ones.”
Buffy made her way patiently though the mall with Willow in tow, making
suggestions and, more importantly, keeping her mind off the pain. Finally, in a women’s
clothing shop called The Vanity, Buffy found what she was looking for: a simple, elegant,
floor-length, satin gown that would cover the fresh scars on her back. It was even a
good color: pale cream.
Willow helped her to the changing room with the dress. I just hope it’s the right
length ’cause there’s no time to get it altered and I can’t exactly wear heels. As Buffy
strained to undress and slip the gown over her head, a tear leaked out. She mopped it
absently away and turned to the changing room door, opening it so Willow could help
her with the zipper. When the dress was closed in the back, Buffy faced the mirror.
“Oh,” Willow gasped and offered, “It’s beautiful, Buffy.”
Studying herself in the mirror, Buffy checked the length and drawled, “Glad you
like. ’Cause I’m about…” trailing off into thought. Yeah…this works…one more dress.
Weird feeling; I sorta felt this way with the Master, though…and Mom picked that one.
Buffy forced a smile and, using the walls for support, turned around. This is it.
The dress I’m gonna die in.
Appearing exhausted, Willow frowned as her gaze fixed on a piece of paper
taped to her patio door. She tore the note down and read it. Crawford St.? Weird. Why
would Giles want me to go there? ’Kay, well, whatever. If it was anyone else… After
stowing her book bag in her room, she traipsed back outside and set off for Angel’s old
mansion.
Sticking to a heavily trafficked and well lit route put several more blocks on the
journey, but Willow knew better than to push it after dark in Sunnydale. Despite her
fatigue, she traveled at a brisk pace.
Anxiety etched her features as Willow considered, I gotta wonder what’s going
on with Buffy. The look on her face when she picked out her dress was just creepy. I’m
pretty sure she didn’t realize she was doing it. She’s seriously freaking me out.
That thing with Cordy was weird too; Buffy’s not like that with people. That’s the
sorta thing she does to the bad.
Briefly massaging her temples as she moved, Willow cast her gaze at the ground
in front of her. She was in pain—lots of pain. I caught that. I could feel it if I focused. But
she shouldn’t be. I was there tonight helping her with the ‘range of motion’ exercises
when Mrs. Summers came in with her pills. She took them. I saw it.
What if she didn’t? But she did. But what if she didn’t? I know Mrs. Summers has
been being careful because, well— What if—? Did I look away too long?
Willow thought back and sighed. Yeah…she asked me to help her get ready for
bed right after. I got out some jammies for her.
“Gosh darn it, I’m dumb,” Willow murmured and ran her hand nervously through
her hair. She used the fact that I’m— Buffy changing in the same room…umm…after…
It’s freaksome. I’m afraid I’ll ogle. I don’t wanna ogle. And well…she played me. Has to
be it. Dammit! She played me.
Coming to a halt, Willow hesitated as she considered turning around to go back
to Buffy’s house. She won’t have enough. It’s not time yet. The dress, the pills, the
details, they all point to after prom. Doing anything now could just make it worse.
Willow set off again, nervously doubling her previous pace. I need to know
what’s up with Giles. Him asking like this—it’s weird.
Faith looked across the table at Giles, trying to size him up. So, the mayor’s
history. No denyin’ the luck. I sorta owe ’em for leaving me free and clear. Not much left
to worry about ’cept for the Council sending more goons. I think Angel pretty much took
down the best of the bunch, so… She couldn’t help but smile with relief, stifling a laugh
when Giles mistook the gesture and returned the smile.
Giles stood up and left the room when a knock sounded from the front door.
Faith was bored to death and staring at her hands when the weirdest sensation
struck her. What the fuck! She was flying through the air, but nothing had touched her.
A second, or maybe two ticked by before she smashed into the far wall, hanging with
her feet off the floor. The pressure on her chest didn’t relent when she hit and she was
soon gasping and flailing.
Willow rounded on the slayer as Giles tried to peel her off. She completely
ignored him as if he were simply insignificant.
Faith peered bleary eyed at the redhead. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining
that they were both hanging in the air or not. None of this made sense to her. She
struggled to understand what her attacker was saying, but the words sounded foreign
and distant.
Giles was shouting now, pulling at Willow trying to get her to stop.
The point of focus traveled from Faith’s chest to her throat and she gagged as
she took in the expression of pure hatred on her aggressor’s face.
As Willow’s voice gradually grew muddier, Faith’s vision clouded and spotted,
finally going as blank as the voice. She was vaguely aware of a conflict taking place
around her. Eventually everything faded mercifully black.
Angel sat regarding the younger Watcher who had been equally silent during
most of the meeting thus far. Trusting this young man was intensely difficult, given his
position. A knock sounded from the door and Angel reflected, Finally, we can move on.
Talk of hellhounds, while interesting, is not exactly the reason we’re here. It’ll give Faith
a chance to prove herself, but—
Giles moved from the table to get the door.
Angel slid back from the table and stood up. It’s a fair bet that Willow won’t be
happy to see us. After moving across the room to take position in a shadowy corner, he
stood patiently waiting for the young woman to join them. He watched their shadows
creep through the open doorway on the same wall.
Then everything went straight to hell.
Faith’s chair toppled over backwards as she was thrown from it by some unseen
force. The slayer went careening across the room at a startling rate and was pinned
midway up the wall where she hung, gagging for breath.
When Willow entered the room, she wasn’t walking; instead she appeared to be
floating on a vortex of air that caused her hair and clothing to billow as it flowed around
her. It was as though she was caught in her own personal storm and very much out of
control. Rage filled her voice as she rasped, “Tell me, Giles, why’d you bring this thing
here? Did you want this? Did you expect me to play nice with the trash that tried to
murder the woman I love?”
Angel chanced a glance at Wesley, taking his eyes from the drama unfolding in
the middle of the room. The younger Englishman had fled from his seat and now stood
wide-eyed opposite Angel against the far wall. At least he’s out of the way.
Appearing desperate, Giles followed her, trying to appeal to the witch, “Willow,
you must stop this!”
Alright, so, I may have underestimated how unhappy. Angel watched this with
mixed interest, focusing mostly on the witch. This was not the same shy young woman
they all knew. Besides what was readily obvious, she simply didn’t feel the same.
Something had broken, releasing this new aspect.
Entirely ignoring Giles, Willow closed in on her victim. “I gave you a pass once,
Faith. Cut you slack ’cause I couldn’t—not in front of Buffy. I didn’t want her to see me
as some sorta monster, I didn’t wanna scare her, so, I let her—”
Faith was fading, she hung unconscious against the wall. It was now or never.
Angel flew from his position, hurling himself at the witch. He hit her midsection,
breaking her hold on the slayer. They both crashed into the ground while Faith slipped
down the wall, collapsing into a heap. Sliding across the smooth floor, he crushed
Willow into the far wall. As Wesley scrambled away from them, Faith began to gasp
reflexively for breath.
Angel heaved himself up, checking Willow for injuries. She’ll be fine. He glanced
over his shoulder to see that Giles was doing the same for Faith.
As the redhead started to stir, Angel spoke in a soft, thoughtful voice, “I love
Buffy too, Willow.”
Willow groaned and peered muzzily up at the vampire.
“People make mistakes. You know this,” Angel offered with a sigh, “They get
caught up in things they shouldn’t. And once you’re caught up, leaving can be the
hardest thing in the world. Change is scary.”
“You really think—?”
Angel sensed the anger again and cut the witch off, “I don’t know, Willow, but
we’ll never know if we don’t give her a chance. There’s still hope. I know you see this.”
He offered a hand to help her sit up. As she rose, he continued, “And if she tries to pull a
fast one you have my word I’ll make it right. One more chance. That’s all I ask.”
Composing herself, Willow nodded grudgingly, then stiffly pushed herself to her
feet and moved sluggishly to the table. “There was a reason you asked me to come,
Giles?” she queried gruffly as she took a seat.
Faith barreled through the cemetery at top speed, vaulting the obstacles in her
path. Fuck! Who knew Red was gonna go all Dark Phoenix on me. I mean, I guess that’s
what that was. Not like I gotta good look. She was sorta slinging me around like a rag
doll after all. I got that she and B. were tight, but— Wow!
Sensing Angel behind her, Faith knew, if she slowed for a second, it’d be over.
She leapt the cemetery wall, barely catching the wrought iron spikes in her hands.
Funny, dunno where I’m going other than ‘away.’ Seems to happen a lot. Hazard of my
life. When jumping a fence between two houses, she splashed into a kiddie pool,
faltering only to recover seconds later. Her sneakers squished on her feet as she
continued to run. Shit!
The gap was closing. Faith listened intently; Angel had leapt the pool cleanly. I’m
screwed. Springing onto the hood of a parked car, she skimmed across its breadth. As
she landed in the street, her legs were ripped out from under her. Flipping over the top
of the car, she bounced off the pavement and slid to a stop. Rolling onto her back, only
to watch the vehicle speed away, she groaned as Angel peered down at her.
Angel swept the slayer gently up and began to carry her away as he spoke, “You
get a whole lot harder to protect when you rabbit like that, Faith. I was talking Willow
down when you bolted. Unlike some of us, killing just doesn’t come naturally to her. She
should be fine. How about you?”
Hanging limp in Angel’s arms, “Jury’s still out, but I might live,” Faith replied
groggily.
Willow sat, vaguely listening to accounts of Norse legend. It sounded like the sort
of thing you might tell a child at bedtime, but she knew better than to discount such
things. Most of what she now knew to be absolute fact had once sounded like fairy tales
to her.
Willow’s gaze traveled between faces as she listened. Giles looked unusually
pale, almost ill. Angel sat regarding her with interest as though he were studying her.
Faith appeared barely aware of her surroundings. She looked as if she’d been beaten. I
wonder what Angel did to her. Only Wesley seemed unruffled by the events of the
evening. I don’t feel bad. I’m not gonna say sorry ’cause I’m not. It’s just that simple.
Faith deserves a lot worse than I could give her.
“Through my Council contacts I was able to uncover further evidence that does
indeed suggest a journey was undertaken by these men,” Wesley offered. Noting the
wince at the mention of the word ‘Council,’ he amended, “I assure you that I am neither
your enemy, nor a spy. For my part, I have been reporting to the Council that Miss
Summers is recovering nicely and that her duties are being performed.”
Willow perked up, scrutinizing Wesley intently. He appeared to be telling the
truth. Interesting.
“What Mr. Giles and I need to know is: if this evidence should come to fruition, it
will no doubt involve a quest of some description. We will require others to undertake
this. I myself am no warrior, a fact which seems to provide Mr. Giles with no end of
amusement.” Wesley returned the slight grin Giles was giving him.
“I’m in,” Angel replied firmly, “And where I go, Faith goes.”
Faith lay with her arms folded on the table and her forehead resting on top of
them. Speaking without looking up, she remarked dryly, “Sounds like I’ve got loads of
choice.”
“You don’t, Faith. It’s either my way, or I toss you to the wolves, a few of which
are sitting at this table.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Willow regarded Angel for a moment. She could feel a
slight grin pulling at her lips. She didn’t need a mirror to understand why everyone was
looking at her the way they were. Huh. A promotion: from sheep to wolf in one night.
Kinda nifty. Wonder what Buffy would say? Wonder what Giles will say? Bet that won’t
be fun. But I’m still not sorry.
What the hell am I still doin’ here? If I was smart I’d bail. Faith looked down at
the borrowed dress and sneered. At least to change. Wearin’ Dru’s old castoffs, so not
my thing. I look like a ren faire reject. A noise from the hedgerow drew her attention
and she moved out of position at the school’s front door to investigate. Pulling the radio
from her purse, she reported, “Think I got company. Double-O Snivel’s still not back, so
I’m just gonna go deal.”
“Check back in five, Faith,” Angel’s voice sounded over the radio.
Stalking across the quad, Faith replied, “You got it.” As she fumbled to put the
radio away, Faith was thrown across the lawn. Tumbling, she smashed into a concrete
bench. A groan crept out. After flipping onto her feet, she faced her attacker and
grumbled, “Take it easy, Chewie.” What the hell? Not like I’m an expert—I leave that
sorta thing to the pocket protector crowd—but I thought hellhound’s were supposed to
be pooches, like the four legged kind. This thing looks like a werewolf. Claws and teeth
givin’ me a wicked case of the nerves. My luck, I’ll end up with the strange urge to piss
on every fire hydrant I pass.
The hellhound didn’t seem impressed. It snarled and sprung at her again. She
sidestepped the attack, trying to swing into a kick. When she raised her leg the tight
gown bound at her ankles, causing her to falter. There was a ripping sound as the dress
split down the seam and she flopped over onto her back.
“Son of a—!” Faith spat, cutting off when the hellhound pounced on her again.
She seized the creature by its throat while it snapped at her face, trying to push it away.
Its claws swung wildly at her as she rolled to the right, shoving it away. She quickly
kicked off onto her feet once more.
When the hellhound launched at her again, she locked her arm around its throat.
As it struggled, she pushed against its forehead with her freehand and drove her thigh
up into its chest. There was a satisfying snapping noise as its neck broke. She held it for
a moment more to make sure it was dead. After releasing the corpse, she fished out the
walkie and huffed, “Two down.”
“Good work, Faith,” Angel replied encouragingly over the shortwave radio.
“Yeah…whatever,” Faith groused, absently tucking her falling hair behind her
ears as she trudged back to her post. Guess, it’s not that bad a gig.
Who am I kidding? One more dress and it’s over. I’d rather take my chances.
Faith chuckled.
Pausing to hold the door for her ‘date,’ Willow entered the gym. ’Kay, so…we’re
here. Now what? Now I smile and act like I’m having fun. A bright smile lit her face as
she looked around. Bad music: check. Cheesy decorations and terrible lighting: check.
Bet the food’s awful too. Oh…’kay…I can do this.
Buffy stopped at her friend’s side to look around for Giles and Xander. Spying
them on the far end of the room, she set off at a leisurely pace around the dance floor.
It could be worse. I’m with the prettiest girl here. Willow followed the blonde
round the edge of the gym, vaguely watching the couples dance to a slow number and
hoping she wouldn’t see Oz. Thankfully, he hadn’t come. When they arrived next to a
smiling Giles, Willow prompted, “Take a seat, Buffy. I wanna try something, ’kay?”
“Sure, Will,” Buffy replied, using her crutches to lower herself onto a chair.
Willow stooped down in front of the blonde, letting her dress fan out around
her. “Now, I’m not getting fresh,” she remarked with a slight blush, looking up to see
Buffy grinning at her.
Giles moved over to speak with the girls. “How are you ladies this evening?”
Willow shrugged, “Okay,” and glanced up at Giles as she positioned Buffy’s leg
with a slight bend at the knee.
good.”
Buffy glanced up at Giles and smiled before offering a noncommittal, “Doing
Xander joined the gathering around Buffy’s chair, looking conspicuously alone.
“Hi,” he offered sullenly, “Have either of you seen Anya?”
Giles’ brow furrowed. “Why, yes, she left several minutes ago with Wesley. I
thought you were aware.”
Xander frowned and stalked off to search for his date.
Buffy choked as she struggled to stifle a laugh. Leaning down, she remarked
quietly to Willow, “That makes two.”
Appearing confused, “Two?” Willow prompted.
“Two women Xander’s lost to that cheesy, Pierce Brosnan wanna-be,” Buffy
hissed softly through the mirth.
“Be nice, you,” Willow whispered as she grinned and shook her head.
Making eye contact with Willow, Buffy reflected, “I am nice. I’m the model of
niceness and nicety. It doesn’t get any nicer than me. I am the nicest girl you’d ever
want to meet.”
Willow murmured, “You’re the only girl I ever want to meet, but that still wasn’t
nice.” After placing her hand on Buffy’s knee, she muttered the word, “thicken,” and
focused on localizing the spell just around the joint. Standing up, she reflected, “I’m not
sure how long I’ll be able to keep that up, but it should make it lots easier on you,” and
offered a hand down to help the blonde rise.
Buffy rose from her chair and immediately felt the difference.
Smiling brightly at her friend, Willow said, “Leave the crutches. I wanna dance.”
Buffy’s brow furrowed with uncertainty as she noted, “But, Will, I kinda need
them. I sorta fall over without them. Well, I can hop, but hopping, it’s not exactly
dancing.”
Willow instructed patiently, “Set the crutches down and put your arm around
me.” When the blonde complied, Willow focused and began to guide them both toward
the dance floor. “It’s like the pencil only bigger, Buffy.”
“’Kay,” Buffy replied uneasily, “Long as I don’t end up sticking out of a wall.”
Turning to put her arms around her friend, Willow commented wryly, “If you’re a
nice girl—shouldn’t be a problem.” As the blonde embraced her, Willow began to move
them both to the music. “You can lead if you want, so long as you stay in contact.”
Willow was a bit taken aback when Buffy nestled her head in the crux of her shoulder
and began to slow-dance. The song they were dancing to had an enthusiastic techno
rhythm and they were soon attracting attention. “Umm…Buffy?” she prompted,
glancing down to make eye contact. Umm…wow. She looks content. Me and my big
mouth.
“Yeah, Will?” Buffy drawled lazily.
“Never mind,” Willow tried to cover quickly. She was content. With me even.
With everything and with me.
Buffy’s face crinkled with concern. Withdrawing, she asked, “Huh?”
Willow kicked herself, not literally because that would hurt. Couldn’t just leave
well enough alone. “It’s just that…you don’t have to slow-dance. As long as we’re
touching you can do what you want.”
“Oh,” Buffy gasped, “I guess I should—” glancing around to see the other couples
around them dancing briskly to the raucous beat.
Giving her dance partner a sheepish grin, Willow commented regretfully,
“Maybe, but I won’t complain again if you wanna—”
Buffy pulled away and began to experiment. With a little trial and error, she
found that she didn’t need to stay in direct contact all the time. She started to sway her
hips and move her arms in time to the music, touching Willow every other beat just to
keep the connection alive. When the next song started, she was laughing and having a
good time.
Willow smiled. Keeping up with her dance partner under normal circumstances
was hard. This was almost painful, but seeing Buffy actually having fun made her willing
to do just about anything. I just hope the next song is—
Buffy had discovered she could move around her friend by pushing off. By the
middle of the second song she was literally dancing circles around the witch.
Willow caught herself mid-sigh, when the next song queued was a slow ballad.
As Buffy swung around to face her, just a little too quickly to look natural, the redhead
giggled. “Can I try something—I mean it may feel funny, but I read and you know me. I
read and then with the ideas…and sometimes the badness,” Willow stammered
bashfully as her dance partner nuzzled up to her.
“Long as the badness doesn’t involve me hitting a wall at mach-two, I’m good,”
Buffy teased.
They were starting to get more looks, but Willow brushed them off and enjoyed
the dance. As they moved together, she gently started to siphon small amounts of the
slayer’s natural magical energy. Umm…wow! I could go a lot farther with this, but I don’t
wanna scare her. Just enough to keep us going until she wants a break.
After tilting her head to make eye contact, Buffy asked in a soft concerned voice,
“Whatcha doing, Will? It feels—I dunno—a little weird, maybe?”
Appearing guilty, Willow gasped “Oh,” and ceased channeling. Nervous energy
took over and she babbled to cover, “I was just—it’s just really hard to— I mean, if it
bothers you, I can stop. Well, I did stop, but I can never do it again.”
“Relax, Will, I’m not upset,” Buffy replied, punctuating with a sigh, “You’re giving
me something amazing—something I never thought I’d have again. If you need
something in return, take it, I’m yours.”
Unruffled by the last minute attempt to fluster her, Willow reestablished the
subtle power-tap before she began to gently chide, “But, Buffy, you’re gonna get better.
You gotta believe that.” I know exactly what she thinks, but I can’t tip my cards.
“But what if I don’t? Tonight may be it. It may be the last time we’ll be in this
place with these people,” Buffy whispered just above the music, gradually trailing off as
she voiced the final thought. Before her friend had a chance to comment, she added,
“Not gonna worry about it now, though. We’re here to celebrate, remember?”
Willow started to reply, “Er…umm…” and stymied. She had an actual answer
formulated and right on the tip of her tongue when it all went flooey.
As the song came to a close, Buffy lifted her head and gave her dance partner a
gentle, loving kiss. “Thank you, Will.”
I was gonna be mad about something. It was an important something. Willow
opened her mouth to speak and immediately snapped it shut. Her brow furrowed as she
tried to remember.
Buffy amusedly watched fish-face go through a couple more cycles before the
redhead gave up and simply looked aggravated. Chuckling, she remarked, “Boy! Quite
an effect. You’re the first person I’ve ever kissed who got annoyed. I must be losing my
touch.”
Rolling her eyes, Willow asked, “Something to drink?”
“Lead on,” Buffy affirmed.
Angel straightened his suit coat and opened the door for a young couple. When
they were safely out of earshot, he keyed the microphone to his shortwave radio and
asked, “How things looking over there, Faith?”
“Well jeepers, Boss, Shaggy here’s still British, so I guess we’re doin’ okay,”
Faith’s voice sounded back, “How’s tricks on your end?”
Grinning wryly, Angel replied, “Since the girls went in, I’ve been promoted to
Sunnydale High’s official doorman.”
“So, y’think two’s gonna be it?”
His brow crinkled pensively before Angel responded, “I have no idea, Faith. I say
we hold till the show’s over.”
“I got not problem with that, ’cept this stupid dress. Y’know how hard it is to kick
something in the head in one of these things?”
Angel chuckled. “Bet you looked good doing it.”
“Yeah, right, I looked like a complete idiot. But whatever.”
Still appearing completely amused, Angel teased, “Well, we knew formalwear
was the key. Way to take one for the team, Faith. I’m proud of you.”
The radio hissed in reply.
His manner turned serious as Angel instructed, “Let me know if you see
anything,” then slipped the radio into his inside pocket.
Faith’s voice sounded from his coat, “Will do, Boss,” as Angel held the door for
another couple.
Willow sat with her eyes closed, listening to the music and the people. She
focused vaguely on the conversation Buffy was having with Giles.
“Yeah…I dunno, Giles. They keep telling me it’ll get better, but it’s just hard.”
Stifling a sigh, Willow reflected, At least she’s being more honest.
“You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Some patience is indicated, though
understandably difficult. However, it’s important that you not lose sight of the facts.”
Willow waited for the snarky comeback and found herself almost proud of her
friend when she bit her tongue.
A few moments of silence passed between them and Willow could feel Giles
stiffen as he caught on to what she was doing. I wish I could reassure him, but after last
night—after that stuff last year—I just can’t. Giving Buffy’s hand a light squeeze, she let
her concentration ebb, bringing the energy transfer to a close. Looking sheepishly up at
the former Watcher, she offered a sincere, “I’m sorry.” Not for what I did, but for
disappointing you.
Giles appeared perplexed for a moment. Recovering, he remarked, “You
misunderstand. I fully support your efforts tonight, Willow. Do carry on.”
Willow nodded as she read the subtext: However, I still find you scary and a bit of
a freak who will no doubt come to a sticky end if she’s not careful. More of the
lecture…and all I wanted to do is help. Be helpful. Go figure. She glanced over to take in
the baffled expression on the blonde’s face and whispered reassuringly, “It’s nothing,
Buffy,” driving back the resentment that threatened to reveal itself.
The emotion manifested in the form of a despondent sigh. Eventually Willow
went back to focusing on gently leeching power. Well, that’s not exactly true. Giles has
lots of reason to be nervous. It’s weird that I used to respect him so much. I still do, but
it’s different. I used to think he could do no wrong. Now I know he can, so it’s just not the
same.
Willow glanced over to see Buffy still giving Giles a questioning look. I could’ve
cared less what any of them thought last night. That’s really weird, but it’s true. Though,
the truly bizarre: Faith’s alive because of Buffy. I didn’t care about Angel. Nothing he said
meant anything to me. That fact that I might… That I would make myself a monster that
Buffy couldn’t love—that’s what kept Faith alive. I’d snap her neck like a twig if it wasn’t
for— And I want to snap her neck because of— Twisted, but it makes sense.
Giles gave his charge a reassuring smile and commented, “There’s no need to
bother yourself, Buffy. It was a simple misunderstanding.”
The sense that she wanted to curl into a tight ball in a very dark corner grew
more apparent when Willow caught sight of Anya and Xander moving their way. Great!
Not like there’s not enough weirdness, Xander has to be helpful and pile more on.
Moron. She chuckled despite herself.
Sentimentality tinged Anya’s voice as she reminisced, “There was this wealthy
baroness in the late sixteenth century. Ah, good ole, Margret. Her family kept forcing
her to marry. She was one of my best customers for a while. We went through five
husbands together. The one I inverted—” cutting her speech short as she noticed the
others. She regarded Willow and Buffy with interest, immediately asking, “So, how long
have you two been lesbians?”
Angel opened the trunk of his car. Moving to Joyce’s Cherokee, he began to load
himself down with bags. “Mrs. Summers, I know you don’t like me—”
Joyce cut Angel off mid-sentence, “It’s not that I don’t like you, Angel. Don’t
misunderstand me. I don’t like you with Buffy. I don’t believe you two are good for each
other. That’s an entirely different issue.”
Angel nodded and continued the thought as he moved back to his car, “That’s all
sort of water under the bridge. We’ve both made our views plain. What I was going to
say is: I know how hard this is for you.” He placed the bags in the trunk and started back
to Joyce’s car for the remainder. “It’s like you said, letting go can be the most difficult
thing, but it can also be the best. I just want you to know how brave I think you are.”
Joyce stepped aside to give Angel room to move the largest of the bags. “I was a
little surprised, after our last conversation, to learn that you were still in town. I know
why you stayed, or at least I believe I do and I want you to know that I appreciate it.
Trying to protect her while keeping your distance must’ve been very difficult for you.”
Angel shuffled the cases and bags in the trunk around to make room for the last
bag. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t do more, Joyce. I feel like I let her down. I let you both
down.”
“You tried, Angel, and that’s what’s important.”
Wesley gave the brunette a side-long glance. Curious how things work out. Here
we stand. The most likely pair in my world but a few short months ago, now reduced to
the least likely. Though, here we stand working together for good. If I weren’t such a
natural skeptic it might actually give me hope. I suppose it’s the scholar in me refusing to
trust what I know not to be irrefutable. “So, what are your plans, Faith?” he asked
conversationally.
Faith leaned casually against the wall next to the front doors of the school and
replied brusquely, “I gave up planning a while back. Planning only gets ya disappointed.”
Making eye contact with Wesley, she took in the expectant look and asked wryly, “You
wanna know if I plan to jet, don’t ya?”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Wesley admitted.
Faith smiled wolfishly and barked an amused laugh. Quirking an eyebrow, she
glanced down at the tattered gown she wore and remarked, “Depends.”
Wesley furrowed his brow and motioned for the slayer to continue.
“Depends on you, Webster. See, the way I’ve got it figured is I’m not exactly safe
anywhere. So, it really doesn’t matter if I’m in Sunnydale or the south of France.
Though, that does sound nice,” Faith commented, looking dreamily away for a moment,
“I’m just chillin’. You give me a reason to bail and I will. No reason, no bail.”
Wesley regarded the slayer carefully, trying to discern her intentions. Finally, he
reflected, “That seems fair.”
Faith shrugged and chuckled again. “Oh, and, Wes? Playin’ Barbies with the
slayer: that’s a reason. Blondie might get off on this crap, but this is my last dress up
date.”
Wesley took in the ripped gown and couldn’t help but smile. “Duly noted,” he
supplied dryly.
Leaning against her crutches, Buffy watched the couple in front of them smile for
the photographer. One last detail: the picture. Something for Will to look back on and
remember. The dance and the kiss: all taken care of. Though, it was a bit mean using the
kiss to cover the truth—to make her all blushy and stammery.
Buffy moved up into position and offered her crutches to the photographer who
obligingly set them aside. She put her arm around her friend and smiled, leaning into
the embrace. I wish we could get Xander into this, but Anya would wanna—and not
slaying Anya…it’s a serious struggle. She giggled as the photographer snapped the
picture. At least she contributed. The smile should look less fake now.
After accepting her crutches from the photographer with a polite, “Thank you,”
Buffy moved along side her friend away from the booth. She listened with mixed
interest as the prom king and queen were crowned. There was a time in my life when I
knew that’d be me. No question. Just a fact. Now I almost don’t care who got it. Taking
place at the edge of the room between Giles and Willow, she watched the crowning
ceremony with an air of melancholy.
Buffy leaned in to speak to the redhead on her arm, “I’m thinking: we came, we
saw, we promed. Whatcha think, Will?”
Willow smiled and rubbed the blonde’s back, then chided teasingly, “I think
you’re being a party pooper. I want another dance,” putting on a pout to punctuate.
Suddenly perking up, she whispered in her friend’s ear, “And I don’t care what they
think. You’re still the prettiest girl here.”
A slight hint of color tinged her cheeks as Buffy smiled. That was really sweet.
“We have one more award to give out… Is Buffy Summers here tonight? Did she,
uh…?” Jonathan’s voice sounded out again anxiously over the P.A.
Buffy’s brow furrowed when she heard her name. “Why—?” she half gasped,
turning toward the stage.
Jonathan looked out into the crowd spotting the blonde before he continued,
“This is actually a new category, first time ever, I guess there were a lot of write in
ballots…and, uh, the prom committee has asked me to read this.”
Buffy set off through the parting crowd as she listened, aware that Willow was
close behind her.
Jonathan began to read from the note cards in his palm, “We’re not good
friends.” He paused to glance up and smile nervously, taking in the crutches. When he
resumed his voice cracked slightly, “Most of us never found the time to get to know you.
But that doesn’t mean we haven’t noticed you. We don’t talk about it much, but it’s no
secret Sunnydale High isn’t really like other schools. A lot of weird stuff happens here.”
The crowd filed in behind them, closing the gap as they passed through and
Buffy heard different voices sound out around her.
“Zombies!”
“Hyena people!”
“Snyder!”
Buffy grinned. Wonder what happened to that little troll. Oh well, as long as he’s
not here, I’m good. As last requests go, seeing Snyder was way down the list—near the
bottom, somewhere between bowling and a South Park marathon.
When she reached the stage, Buffy placed both crutches on her right side and
leaned on them casually as she listened.
After covering his mouth politely with his fist, Jonathan cleared his throat and
continued to read, “But whenever there was a problem or something creepy happened,
you seemed to show up and stop it. Most of the people here have been saved by you—”
glancing down to meet the blonde’s gaze “—or helped by you, at one time or another.”
Buffy was a bit taken aback when she noted that Jonathan’s eyes were welling
up too. Blinking, she felt a tear slip down her cheek and inattentively brushed it away.
Umm…wow…I can’t believe they noticed. Funny, it wasn’t that long ago I was wondering
if anyone here noticed anything else but their own little drama—their own pain. The
crippling—now that’s ironic. I wonder if I should tell him it’s okay?
Reading the next line silently before he repeated it, Jonathan grinned
sardonically and offered, “We’re proud to say that the class of ninety-nine has the
lowest mortality rate of any graduating class in Sunnydale history. And we know at least
part of that is because of you. So the senior class offers its thanks, and…gives you, uh,
this…” Holding up a gilded pink umbrella, he declared, “It’s from all of us, and it’s got
written here, ‘Buffy Summers. Class Protector’,” reading the plaque attached to the
handle.
Buffy accepted the award when Jonathan stooped to pass it to her, saying,
“Thank you,” as she struggled to stifle the overwhelming sentiment. She felt Willow’s
hand on her shoulder and passed the umbrella off to the redhead so she could turn.
Once she was facing the crowd, she mouthed the words again and sunk into her friend’s
embrace to conceal the tears. We made it. Though, I never expected any thanks.
When Buffy looked up, she nearly gasped. Standing directly behind Willow was
the last person she ever expected to see.
Willow smiled at the look of complete shock on her friend’s face. Asking, “You
got her, big guy?” as she moved aside.
Angel nodded gratefully to the witch. Immediately turning his attention to Buffy,
he queried, “Would you dance with me?”
“Umm…yeah,” Buffy stammered softly.
After gently taking the crutches from Buffy, Willow went back to Giles and
Xander at the far edge of the room. Once she set the items aside, she took their hands
and focused.
Buffy felt herself drift off the ground as Angel pulled her into an embrace. He
guided her onto the dance floor and a slow, gentle ballad started. “I didn’t expect to see
you,” she struggled to say through the tears, “I mean…umm…I thought you left.”
Angel began to lead them in a leisurely waltz, “Willow asked me,” answering in a
hushed voice.
Her brow furrowed while Buffy questioned, “How’d she—?”
Angel simply smiled in reply as the other couples moved aside.
After glancing up to take in the smile, Buffy prompted tersely, “Angel?”
While he moved them gracefully to the music, Angel responded honestly, “I’ve
been in contact a little. Not much. I couldn’t just disappear.” Peering down into her
tearstained face, he offered, “I’ll always be around, Buffy. I care too much to—” leaving
the rest unsaid. After a short pause, he sighed and admitted, “Not seeing you doesn’t
mean abandoning you.”
Buffy accepted the answer and laid her head against his shoulder, enjoying the
dance. As they moved, she began to get extremely weary. It was like she was being
lulled to sleep. When the song ended, she could barely hold her eyes open. She felt
Angel sweep her up, cradling her in his arms. Struggling to speak, she slurred in a small,
weak voice, “Wha—?” and drifted off into a deep slumber.
The Redeeming Things
Willow peered into the distance, her gaze fixed on the limits of the car’s
headlamps as her passenger began to drift languidly out of sleep. Uh-boy…here it comes.
Several minutes passed, allowing her to breathe and continue the ongoing process of
psyching herself up before the blonde cracked an eye. There’s nothing I can say, so how
about the obvious? I mean it is after one a.m., so… “Morning,” she offered cheerfully.
I’m right! Sighing despondently, she began to search through her purse without taking
her attention from the road. Darn tootin’ I’m right! Let her throw a hissy fit. Her
madness and meanness doesn’t change the rightness of me.
Buffy grabbed the seatback and lifted herself to a sitting position while the car
slowed. Her eyes narrowed, then she hissed dangerously, “Morning?”
Willow pulled the car over onto the shoulder and put it in park, flipping on the
hazard lights. Before speaking, she turned sideways in her seat, taking in the dark, angry
look on the blonde’s face. “Buffy, I totally get the mad, but if you think I’m gonna let
you do this—” she held up the ring box Joyce had given her “—you’ve completely lost
the little bit of ‘it’ you had.”
Buffy’s face sagged for an instant, quickly turning venomous again. “So, your
answer was to, what, run away?”
Sighing impatiently, Willow shook her head. “You must not get me at all, Buffy.
When have I ever done anything without planning? With the careful research and the
reading…and sometimes I’ve even been known to use a computer,” she explained
curtly. She ran her fingers through her hair before appending, “Besides, ‘run away’ sorta
implies people not knowing where you are. Everyone knows, so…‘run away’…not so
much.”
The angry expression was overshadowed by concerned disbelief. Taking a deep
breath, Buffy asked, “What exactly do you mean by ‘everyone’?”
“Pretty much everyone: Giles, Xander, Angel, your mom, all the people that
matter most. And I know you’re gonna think it was like this huge conspiracy—well,
maybe not, but you might—it wasn’t. It’s just…” Willow replied, sighing miserably
before she added, “We love you.”
Anger won the struggle for dominance and Buffy snapped, “So lemme get this
straight: all these people love me so much that they let you drug me and throw me in a
car?” Growling impatiently, she continued to rage in frustration, “Y’know, there’s a
word for that: ‘kidnapping’…I’m not so much kid-like though—‘abduction,’ maybe?
Where the hell are we, anyway? And whose car is this?”
Willow shut her eyes tight, listening to the tirade. When her friend fell silent, she
offered careful, patient answers. “Yes, and actually” — her eyes fluttered open —
“Angel gently placed you in the car. Your mom stayed to give you a kiss on the cheek.
You make this sound like it was something easy and mean—something we did to you.
It’s something we’re doing for you, Buffy.” Pausing to cover a yawn, she listed the last
two responses, “We’re about ten miles from the border—umm…of Arizona that is. The
car belongs to Angel,” adding for good measure, “He donated it. Lots of people donated
stuff to keep you safe. It’s my job to not let them down.”
Watching her friend stare pensively out the side window of the car into the dark
desert, Willow finally broke the silence by asking, “Would you like to be in front here
with me? I mean, if you promise not to hit me, I’ll help you move. It’s not like we’ve got
a long way to go, but—” She stifled another yawn. “I wanna stop at Quartzsite for the
night. If you’ll calm down I promise I’ll tell you everything.”
“I’d never hit you, Will. It’s just—” Buffy replied, “And yes, I’d like you to be
upfront with me,” giving the redhead a wicked smirk.
Ignoring the bitter pun, Willow got out of the car and came around to the
passenger side, opening the door. After sliding the seat forward, she joined hands with
the blonde and helped her stand using both magick and muscle.
Once stable, Buffy grabbed the open door and the seatback and used her upper
body to lift herself into the front seat.
Watching cautiously for a moment to spot the blonde if she needed help, Willow
started back around the car and climbed inside.
After lifting her lame leg into position, Buffy shut her door and reflected,
“Y’know this whole ‘saving me’ trip…it’s sorta sweet and all, but there’s a tiny
problem—just a little one. The council’s not gonna let a crippled slayer live. That’s the
biggest reason—the reason I was willing— Trust me, it’s not that I wanted to die.”
Searching through her purse, Willow pulled out two bottles of pills. “It’s a little
past time for your medicine. Let’s take care of that first. There’s a thermos at your feet
with mocha in it—should still be hot. If it isn’t, I tried.”
Buffy smiled as she leaned down to get the thermos. Finding a travel mug as
well, she poured herself a cup and took a sip.
After turning on the dome light, Willow shook a pill out of each bottle and
passed them to her friend, then put the bottles away.
When Buffy was finished taking the pills, she looked expectantly at the redhead.
see.”
Gesturing to Buffy’s mouth, Willow asked in a flat emotionless tone, “Lemme
Buffy rolled her eyes before opening her mouth.
“Under your tongue,” Willow prompted.
Letting out a sigh that more resembled a hiss, Buffy opened her mouth and lifted
her tongue.
Satisfied, Willow flipped off the light and put the car in gear, commenting as she
stared to drive, “’Kay, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t trust you with this.”
Appearing slightly hurt, Buffy remarked, “I get it, Will,” and took a sip of her
coffee. “Thanks for the mocha,” she mumbled, returning her attention to the black void
outside the car.
“You’re welcome.”
“Y’know I have to wonder if part of this isn’t ’cause you’re in love with me,” Buffy
reflected in a voice just above a whisper. When no reply was offered, she continued,
“This isn’t the sanest thing I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen it all. I’m not even sure that
means a lot coming from me, but—” cutting off to snicker, “See, thing is, the first time’s
just different, or so I hear. Not like I’ve got a bunch of experience with only the two, but
I fell hard with Angel. And we both know that love, it makes you do the wacky.” She
paused dramatically, “And this, this is definitely ‘the wacky’.”
Willow replied distantly as she focused on driving, “That’s a great theory. One
problem—” falling silent to force a prompt.
“Yeah, Will?”
Casually lowering her grip on the steering wheel, Willow reflected, “Nothing
changed. I was always ‘in love.’ I didn’t want to admit it at first, but I couldn’t say ‘no,’
the word just wasn’t there. I wanted that night. I didn’t even have to consider it. It took
me a while to realize why. The ‘why’ was love—more than ‘best friends’ love.”
Willow diverted her gaze just long enough to glance at her friend, taking in the
look of mild shock before she continued, “Of course, it’s because I’m in love with you—”
she snickered wryly “—but there’s lots more—reasons, I mean. The first thing: Giles and
Wesley have been working all week on a possible solution. I don’t wanna get your hopes
up, but they’re like seriously researchy and coming up with some interesting stuff.”
Buffy started to speak, “But the doctors say—” only to be cut off by the witch.
“That’s natural, Buffy. I mean, they did all they could with the surgery. The rest is
natural healing, what your body can do on its own. That is except the drugs you’ve been
refusing to take. There’s some stuff here to reduce the swelling you really should’ve— It
might set you back a little,” Willow offered, sounding mildly exasperated, “Have you
considered there might actually be something else? Like something supernatural?”
Buffy nodded vaguely, back peddling to catch up. “Wait! Did you say Wesley?”
Willow glanced over to take in the confused expression on her friend’s face and
giggled. “Wesley’s with us now. I didn’t believe it at first myself, but tonight sorta
convinced me. He donated five-thousand dollars to the trip and didn’t want to know
where we were going or who we’d be. Only your mom knows the ‘who’ and the
‘where’.”
“He did what?” Buffy gasped.
Willow cracked her window, welcoming the chilly breeze the whistled in the thin
slot. After metering her breathing for a few moments to stave off the sleepiness, she
calmly replied, “You heard me. He had the most available cash that wouldn’t be missed
so he put in the largest share. Wesley’s from a pretty rich family. We had to do this so
no one would notice—or, I guess I should say, the council wouldn’t notice.” She could
feel a marked difference in her friend’s demeanor. The rage was almost entirely gone. It
had been replaced by a sense of jaded curiosity. After taking another deep breath to
clear the fog, she remarked, “I found a spell.”
“What—er…huh?”
“I found a spell to share thoughts. Thing is—well, I sorta found a couple. If you
can be patient—” Willow yawned deeply “—I’ll share everything with you when we get
settled for the night. Thing is, right now, with the driving and trying to stay awake—”
“I gotcha.”
Willow offered, “Yeah, we’ll be—it’ll only be about thirty-forty minutes tops. The
only thing” — glancing over to see her friend nod — “the spell I wanna use… There are a
few warnings. It’s not bad stuff. It just says that it’s complete. Anything you think or feel
is shared, so it’s really intimate.” She fell silent to allow the blonde to comment. When
nothing was offered, Willow continued, “I just don’t want to hide from you anymore.
Lying to you—hiding the truth—it made me feel icky.”
Buffy leaned her head against the cool glass and closed her eyes before agreeing,
“Alright, Will, if that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
Grateful to be out of her prom dress, Buffy lay on one of the two double beds in
the room, staring up at the ceiling. I feel so useless. I can’t even help Will with the
luggage. It’s so weird for me. I should be the one doing that stuff. I’d never feel it.
Instead I get to watch her struggle and make three or four trips. And that’s just the small
stuff. But then isn’t it always the small stuff? It’s like it piles up.
Buffy scooted into the middle of the bed, pulling her lame appendage over
manually, as the redhead entered with the final load. At least I can sorta dress and
bathe myself. Gesturing vaguely to her injured leg, “Will, did you?” she asked when her
friend passed by to get ready for bed.
After pausing to listen, Willow shifted the duffle she was carrying, appearing
puzzled.
Trying to wipe the embarrassment off her face, Buffy stammered, “It’s just…it
was almost empty and—well…”
“Oh,” Willow gasped, then continued to explain in an unaffected tone, “Oh,
yeah…I did. I stopped at a rest area and it just—it seemed like the thing to do. I mean,
we’re sort of gonna have to get used to relying on each other for this to work. That’s
why I wanted to go to P.T. and O.T. with you. It might not have looked like I was paying
attention, but—”
Buffy wasn’t sure how to feel. She watched the redhead grin sheepishly and
disappear into the bathroom. I’m not sure how much of this I can take. Not being able to
pee like a normal person is one thing, but having your best friend play nurse, totally
different. And it’s only gonna get worse.
When Willow reentered the room, she was wearing navy and red tartan pajamas
and carrying their prom dresses. Once the dresses were hung in the closet, she went
back for the bag and returned seconds later to set it with the pile of luggage. After
moving to the end of the bed, she reflected in a soft voice, “’Kay, so… we’re gonna have
to be in contact for this. Is it okay if I—?” She gestured to the bed and mumbled, “The
only regret I have is this. It’s just so—” appearing bashful again.
Buffy replied, trying not to be insensitive, “Will, it’s not that big a thing. Just
come here if that’s what you want to do.”
Willow laid on the very edge of the bed. A tear slid down her cheek and she
started to babble, “It may not be a big thing to you, but to me it’s huge. I’m afraid, Buffy.
I’ve been afraid, that I’ll touch you the wrong way, or look at you the wrong way. I need
you to know—to understand—what you’re gonna see, you may not like it, but it’ll be
the truth.”
Turning to watch her friend peer vacantly up at the ceiling, Buffy offered
comfortingly, “Settle down, Will, seriously. Believe it or not, I get it. Or at least I get that
part of it.” While her friend wept, Buffy reached out to touch her shoulder reassuringly
as she explained, “That’s why I said it’s no big, ’cause it isn’t to me. I’m not gonna go off
on you—not for the affection stuff. I actually sorta like it. Now come here and tell me
about the spell. Is it only one way?”
Before Willow responded, she rolled onto her side and propped herself up on
one arm. “What do you mean? Like, will I know what you’re thinking?”
Buffy turned to meet the redhead’s gaze and confirmed, “Yeah.”
Willow reached into the pocket of her pajamas and pulled out the ring box she
had in the car, offering pensively, “No, it’d be really, really confusing if it went both
ways.” She brought the box up to a level where Buffy could easily see it.
Struggling with sudden overwhelming nervousness, Buffy replied, “Makes
sense,” as her gaze fixed on the box. She stuttered, “Umm…wha, why?” and accepted
the box when Willow handed it off.
“Open it.”
Buffy fingered the box anxiously for a moment, and then finally, obeyed the
request.
“We’re gonna try something a little different. Lift it just like you were going to.
You had this planned, remember?”
Biting her lip, Buffy resentfully followed the instructions. God damn it, Will! Her
face warmed with shame. There was a piece of tissue she’d used to pad the pills so they
wouldn’t rattle in the box. She glanced at the redhead and received a nod before
removing the Kleenex. Underneath was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry
she’d ever seen in her life.
“I really wanted to do something special for you. I found this and fell in love with
it,” Willow reflected as she removed the bracelet and uncoiled it. Starting to play with it,
she went on, “I know it was a little mean to do that, but I wanted you to stop and think.
That and, well, I dunno—I’ve always felt that doing something to mark the important
moments is sorta…umm, er…important and this is one—an important moment. This is
the day Buffy Summers decided to live.” She put the bracelet on her friend’s wrist.
“That’s pretty…umm…important to me.”
Buffy raised her wrist to eye level, turning the bracelet to look at the even rows
of irregular stones set in silver. “What’s the bluish stuff?”
Willow offered a warm smile before she replied, “Its moonstone. It’s supposed
to protect the traveler—seemed appropriate. And the pink and green are tourmaline.
They just polished the stones and left them the same shape they were when they came
out of ground.”
“It’s beautiful, Will,” Buffy murmured with a smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Willow took the box and rolled out of bed to search through
her duffle for the spell ingredients. After putting the box away, she lifted out a plastic
shopping bag and opened it up on the foot of the bed before commenting, “This will
probably feel really weird.” She removed a stack of candles, lighting them and placing
them around the room, “It might even make you a little sick, but it’s the best way. I can
show you in fifteen minutes what it’d take me hours to explain. Thing is, when we’re
done, it might take you several hours to go through the memories and figure them out.
Ask if something confuses you.”
Buffy replied, “’Kay,” sounding distracted. As she reclined on the bed watching
the witch prepare, she believed she could feel a palpable charge building in the room.
Trying to calm herself, she asked, “But otherwise it’s not gonna be painful, right? I’ve
had enough of that for awhile.”
Willow lit a small burner full of fragrant herbs, winking before she responded,
“Depends on how you define pain. But, no, it won’t hurt you physically.” When she
finished, Willow came over to the bedside and said, “Close your eyes and relax. Trust
me.”
After taking a deep breath, Buffy shut her eyes and exhaled. Something dusted
the surface of her forehead and she suppressed a cringe.
Willow’s voice rang out, crisp and commanding, “Harken, Mnemosyne, mother
of muse. Keeper of memory, whose waters I choose.”
When the witch’s damp fingertip touched Buffy’s forehead, tracing an unfamiliar
shape, the fine granules of powder lightly scratching the surface of her skin. A chill ran
down her spine causing her to shiver as the finger withdrew.
Wind gusted, causing the candles to flicker when Willow began to intone again,
“Grant her your vision, perfect and clear, a flawless reflection of one who lies near.”
The strange symbol on Buffy’s forehead grew warmer as the light in the room
flashed bright, causing spots to dance behind her closed eyelids. As the fluid became hot
and uncomfortable, it occurred to her that what she thought to be water definitely
wasn’t. There was a spicy fragrance associated with the heat she couldn’t quite place as
it mixed with the floral aromas of the burning herbs. Wish I knew what that symbol was.
My luck it’s an ‘L’ and I’m gonna end up wearing it all day tomorrow. She suppressed
both a snicker and the urge to touch. I’d recognize it if it was. Still funny, though.
“Candles lit to mark time we spend. When flame goes out, the moments will
end. Shrouds restored to former state, while memory remains to color our fate.”
Buffy let out a sigh of relief when the wind and radiance died away. I hate it
when she does that. It’s seriously wigsome.
After several moments of thick silence, Willow noted, “’Kay, all set,” as she
flipped off the light. Walking around the bed to lie on the blonde’s left side, she
remarked, “When I lay down you should see what I looked like when I was five. Once
you’re ready I’ll start. There’s a lot to cover, so…” Suddenly remembering, she gasped,
“Oh,” and quickly amended, “And you can open your eyes. Whatever’s better.”
Buffy smiled when her friend crawled onto the bed and an image of a cherub
faced child with carrot-red hair filled her mind’s eye. The younger Willow was sitting on
a stool in front of her dresser carefully brushing out the waist length locks. Wow! I can’t
believe how vivid this is. Looks like she’s remembering something from yesterday. “You
were so cute,” she reflected. Thinking better of the statement as she gazed into the
redhead’s eyes, she added, “Still are, but it’s a different sorta cute.” Her friend’s
expression transformed from grrr to grin and Buffy laughed.
A hint of surprise peeked through the mental discipline when the slayer held her
arm out, pulling Willow up to lay in the curve of her shoulder.
“Umm…Will, is it all like this?” Buffy asked, trying to explain what she meant by
adding, “I mean, it’s just weird. When I remember something—even something a week
ago—it’s…I dunno, sorta fuzzy.” As she glanced down to make eye contact, she felt the
redhead nod.
“Yeah,” Willow replied, “It took me a long time to realize that other people
weren’t like me. I’d expect them to remember something…and, y’know, they wouldn’t.
Xander was the one that actually made me understand I was different.” She sighed. “But
yeah, all those stories—the old ones we tell—the reason he remembers so well…I sorta
kept the good ones alive.”
Smiling warmly, Buffy absently rubbed her friend’s back. Sorta explains the
‘school’ thing.
“Ready?” Willow asked, quickly adding, “Oh, and if you see something upsetting,
please remember not to squish.”
Suddenly, the child faded, replaced by a flood of image and sensation. Buffy
tensed immediately under the strain. Struggling to concentrate through the distressing
onslaught, she snarked, “Jeez! You think like this? No wonder you can never finish a
sentence,” mocking a wince when her friend gave her a light poke in the side. The
cascade of memory slowed and she began to recognize details. Wow! This is so cool. I
gotta hand it to Will. She’s seriously been boning up on the magick.
Buffy was a bit stunned to find herself standing in the shower, seeing the world
through her friend’s eyes. Showering was a sensation she hadn’t been prepared to
handle. She was almost ashamed that she found it erotic, but the confusion and sorrow
that Willow was feeling in the memory made this easy to ignore. “Umm…Will?” she
prompted.
“All of it, Buffy,” Willow replied plainly, “I’m going to speed up a little. We’ve
only got so much time. I might skip around some ’cause I’m pretty sure you won’t care
what I thought of lunch last Thursday. There’s some stuff I’m a little ashamed of,
so…just let me concentrate, please?”
Forcing herself to relax and just let the sensations happen, Buffy replied vaguely,
“’Kay, Will.”
“If it gets uncomfortable again, just say.”
Faith stared across the table at Wesley with a vacant look on her face. It’s not so
bad. Who am I trying to kid? Yeah, it’s bad. I’ve been sitting here all morning with dweeb
boy listening to Earl G. and Soul Boy try to make each other feel better over something I
did for— How long’s it been? She looked around for a clock, finding nothing to indicate
the time. Whatever. ‘Too damned long’s the answer I’m looking for. They’ve totally
forgotten us. But y’know…you gotta respect the kinda crazy it takes to think that sending
those two off together is a good plan. It’s desperate. It’s the ‘we’ve run out of options’
plan.
Rolling her eyes as the sob-fest continued, Faith placed her arms on the table
and rested her forehead against them, turning the others out. Worst part…I’m starting
to feel bad. I don’t feel bad about this sorta shit, it’s just not— B. picked sides. She
shoved me away. I just did what I had to. Her all gimpy—not my problem. It has to suck,
but still not my thing. They should’ve let her do herself in. I would’ve, and I’d be pissed
off as hell at anyone who tried to stop me. Bet Red’s havin’ a blast.
If I’d had a clue, I would’ve helped. I get that she’d wanna go out on her own
terms. Plus, the others with their ever present help…comes a point when that’s just gotta
get old. Faith almost jumped out of her chair when a loud thump sounded across the
table from her. What the—?
Wesley shot out of his chair and began to pace as the attention of the entire
room came to rest on him. After several moments of silently ignoring the others, he
mumbled, “Anya was quite correct,” coming to a halt at the end of the table. After
turning his attention to Giles, Wesley asked, “What do you know of Widukind?”
Giles peered pensively at the younger man for several moments before he
answered, “During the Saxon Wars he was the Duke of Saxony and chief antagonist of
Charlemagne. Ironically, after standing in bloody opposition of assimilation by
Christianity for many years, he was eventually baptized in 785 and finally even sainted.”
Dipping his chin ever so slightly in agreement, Wesley reflected, “And as you
know, in order to be canonized, one must perform three miracles. If you look at
Widukind’s line, he became the progenitor of a great many saints. It’s almost absurd
how many ‘miracles’ occurred in his direct line of descendents,” starting to pace again
as he spoke, “I began to scrutinize this. It occurred to me that an unrecognized ‘miracle,’
if you will, was this man’s age at the time of his death. In an era when early deaths were
quite common, he lived to be seventy-eight years old. I know this seems a minor point,
but—”
Faith could feel her eyes glazing over as she tuned out the rest of the speech.
Y’know, I’m not sure I’ll ever figure how these two get all worked up over some old guy
who’s been dead for centuries. It makes no kinda sense to me.
“One of my contacts within the council sent me this manuscript. Do you recall
Toby, Mr. Giles?” Wesley offered conversationally, pointing at the faxed document that
he had been pouring over the entire morning.
“Yes, indeed. How is Tobias?” Giles replied cheerfully.
Wesley smiled and remarked genially, “He’s getting on quite well. Did you know
he just became a grandfather?”
Oh please! There has to be a point! Faith stifled a grimace and glanced at Angel
who was sitting patiently with his fingers laced together at his chin, waiting for the two
men to arrive at something relevant.
“Back on point, there are several references in this document to The Valley of
Shadows,” Wesley noted, pointing to a specific line in the text.
Giles came around to look at the papers. As he read, a smile formed on his face.
“Wesley, not to interfere, but this would be ‘The Shadow-less Valley’ or ‘The Valley of
Light.’ You see, it’s a double negative, which is typically counted as a positive.”
Wesley looked carefully at the bad photo copy of the ancient Gaelic document.
“Ah, yes, you are quite right. At any rate, there is reference here again to an injury, in
keeping with my research, and a subsequent journey undertaken, this time by Widukind
and a small party of his men. His first son Ayken was severely wounded in a skirmish
with one of Charlemagne’s cavalry regiments. Widukind was said to only be gone a few
days, though the men that returned with him relayed a great saga of their travels
detailing many months journey. On their return, Widukind’s son was restored to full
health, although his prognosis had been grim.”
After taking a seat, Giles began to study the document, remarking absently,
“There was reference to a place where no shadow fell in our previous research.”
Trying to suppress the impatience in his voice, Angel asked, “How long?”
Giles glanced up from the pile of notes and confirmed, “Very soon. It looks as
though Wesley may be onto something here.”
Faith returned her forehead to the ‘sleeping in class’ position she’d adopted to
avoid the drama. Thank God! Killing something—it’s becoming a thing. If they don’t get
their shit together, I may end up settling.
The midday sun beamed down harsh and unforgiving. Parched, hot wind
whipped around Buffy as she stared vacantly off into the distance, watching the barren
desert landscape pass by. Her cheeks burned as she cried. I think she thought it’d make
me feel better to have the top down. Right now I have no clue what ‘better’ even means.
What it’d take to get there? Hell if I know.
As Buffy focused her gaze on an outcropping of huge rocks in the distance,
Willow’s hand closed over hers and she yielded to the contact. I wonder what she thinks,
if she knows. She was asleep before the candles burned down. I shouldn’t have—it was
so wrong, but after all that, I lay there considering going through with it till dawn.
Buffy stared muzzily at the standing rocks as they slowly drew closer. What she
saw stunned her. The rocks looked like a sculpture of a woman with her head back
screaming in agony. Living like this—it’s impossible. I can’t be this. I have no clue what’ll
happen if I don’t get better. But I can’t do it knowing how much it’d hurt her. It’d kill her;
I got that last night. That was the big sharing.
Buffy blinked and the illusion faded. They were just rocks. She put her hand to
her cheek, carelessly smearing the tears across her slick, wind-burned skin. It stung to
the touch, but she couldn’t seem to care. All those other details…pretty much
meaningless. The one thing—the thing I got—Will was willing to kill for me. What it
takes to put someone like her there… What it’d take for her to go back… I have to live.
I’ve got no choice. I have to live to keep her alive.
Glancing over to look at her passenger, Willow asked again in a soft, thoughtful
tone, “You gonna be okay?”
Buffy turned her gaze to the space on the seat between them, staring at their
jointed hands, and replied “Yeah, Will. I just need some time, ’kay?” How much? No
clue. But this has to get better. Her eyes blurred with more fresh tears.
“’Kay. It’s just that you’ve been— Did I hurt you?”
Buffy gasped, “No, Will” — turning her head quickly to look at her friend’s profile
— “don’t think that. It’s just—I need to—a lot’s happened and I need to—” she
stammered, not even sure herself what she needed. Taking in the deep worry etched on
her friend’s face, she noted that Willow was weeping too. Shit! After giving the hand she
held a reassuring squeeze, she sniffled and offered thickly, “It’s not you. It’s just—lot’s
happened and I’ve just—”
“You’re not mad?”
“No,” Buffy responded firmly. It’s weird. Like there’s more than one Willow in
there. I think I kinda get it now. Sounding much less certain, she mumbled, “Just
lemme… I’ll be okay,” while she pulled tissue from the box between them on the seat.
After passing some off to her friend, she took a couple for herself and futilely started to
dry her face. More tears formed, reminding her just how useless the act was. I’m
leaking. I’ve been leaking since last night and I can’t seem to stop. I wonder if you can
slowly drip away. I guess parts of you can. She’s right to be worried. I’ve got no clue
what it’ll take to make it right. Wish I knew.
Buffy angrily cast the Kleenex aside, turning her attention back to the desert
scenery whipping past them. One of the memories from last night flashed crisp and
clean into view. I gotta wonder why my stupid brain hasn’t mauled these yet. Give it
time. They’ll be as fuzzy as the rest. I have faith. The gift of forget will kill them. She
watched that first afternoon—the first time they’d spoken—from Willow’s point of view
and compared it to her own memory. More weird. She must’ve given this to me in that
first—the part that went so fast.
When Buffy placed her left hand back in the seat between them, it was quickly
scooped up. She needs the contact to be okay—to know I’m okay. The contact went
away for a moment and music filled the car. She almost slid out of her seat when she
recognized the first song. ‘Ballad for Dead Friends’ by the Dashboard Prophets filled the
air and a sardonic chuckle slipped out.
Willow fumbled with the tape deck, fast forwarding to the next song as she
cursed, “Dammit, Xander,” under her breath.
“No, it’s cool—actually funny—in the really dark, twisted, ironic kinda way.”
Shrugging, Willow rewound the tape and just let it play. “Xander made us tapes
for the trip,” she grumbled, appearing completely un-amused.
Buffy glanced over and snickered again at the grumpy look on her friend’s face.
“Leave it to Xander,” she reflected distantly, returning to her musing. Willow? First time
we met: jumpy, frightened, wary, curious, and yet somehow—enamored maybe?
Though she was still silently weeping, her mood had improved. Me? I was—what I saw
was a pretty girl who’d been forced into a shell. That shell needed some serious
breakage. Mom got that much right. She chuckled softly as the memory revealed
something she’d missed at the time. She kept glancing at my cleavage. Aww…that’s
almost cute in a weird, repressed, stalkerish sorta way.
Her friend had calmed down, Buffy could tell it just from the tiny bit of contact
they had. Will was wrong. Buffy Summers did die after prom. Mom will report me
missing soon. And right after that, Angel will report his car stolen. The police will find the
car abandoned in Flagstaff. Then Anne Marie Rouche and Danielle Leigh Williams will
return to the scene of their deaths. Well, not really—Will got creative. She sorta shuffled
stuff around a little. Different socials and she switched their first names for our middle
names so we could keep a fragment of who we are. I wonder if her parents will ever get
it figured. They may eventually call the cops. Sad people.
Buffy faced forward to see distant traces of humanity just coming into view on
the horizon. Phoenix. Though she was still weeping, there was something almost
cathartic about being nearly clear of the long stretch of high desert. Whole lot smarter
than I could be. I can’t believe she started on that while I was in the hospital. Wait...yes I
can. It’s Willow we’re talking here. One thing I’ve learned about her—she plans. She
knew this was coming the night it happened. Pretty much every detail was set by the
time they released me, even the car. I almost wish she’d told me, but then again I don’t. I
was—still am—pretty confused.
A subtle half-grin tugged at Buffy’s lips. I’m gonna kill Angel. Next time I see him
he’s so dead. Strange, I sorta get it, but leaving Sunnydale to—leaving my friends and
family in the hands of that psychotic bitch—not my first choice. Hopefully, Angel can
keep her in check. He sorta seemed to be getting through to her. Least that’s what I got
before Wesley went off and acted like a moron. Maybe there is hope. Maybe there’s
hope for all of us. Maybe I’ll walk again. They say—well, they didn’t say much, but I
gotta hope. I gotta find it, I have to. No choice. I can’t not. I can’t hurt Will.
Angel passed through the glowing portal with Faith directly behind him. Trust: I
have to show a little if I hope to get any. Doesn’t make it any easier. He scanned the
large, dimly-lit cavern for signs of life, fixing briefly on the daylight seeping in through its
partially obscured mouth dead ahead. Other than the mishap with Willow, she’s been
doing okay. And even her reaction to that was perfectly reasonable, given the
circumstances.
As the portal faded, leaving them in relative darkness, movement to his right
caused Angel to refocus his attention. Not diverting his eyes from the area, he directed,
“We’ve got fifteen minutes to get it done before the Professor and Gilligan send us the
ticket home, Faith.” His smile faltered when she failed to react to the names he used.
Gruffly, he ordered, “Fan out and flank them, while I keep them busy, okay?”
When no answer came, Angel began to get annoyed. Damn it, Faith! I should
know better than to even think— His rumination was cut short when something huge
came out of the shadow. It batted him aside like a toy. He didn’t even hear it until it was
way too late. Noting an acrid odor, he skipped along the ground. Slamming into the
cavern wall a good twenty feet away from where he’d been, Angel shook himself off and
rose. Great! Can’t see them, but I can sure smell them. His eyes welled up as the stench
burned his nose.
A loud roar echoed through the air and Angel saw a flourish of movement off to
his left. Another flicker of something that sparkled like glass caught his eye in the
blackness seconds later. Then suddenly he was seized from behind. Strong jaws caused
ribs to snap as sharp teeth pierced his flesh. All the air in his lungs escaped in the form
of a gagged scream while his face shifted revealing the demon. He brought his free arm
up, punching the beast in the face with all his might. Another punch and the jaws
snapped open as bone cracked underneath his fist. He fell to the ground, clutching his
chest. Two great, yellow eyes peered at him for only an instant before he was batted
across the cavern again.
Well, that’s just about enough of that. Angel sprang painfully to his feet and
started to run. Without Faith there isn’t much I can do except run. Where is that
annoying, conniving, unreliable—? As the two creatures pursued him, he could feel the
rock floor tremble in his wake. No idea what these things are other than big and hungry.
It’s bad when Giles can’t show you a picture before you go in. I understand why now. So
far all I’ve seen is a big black blur and yellow eyes. The sharp teeth and claws was more a
feel thing. Running really isn’t my style, but I get the distinct impression that not running
would make me dinner.
As Angel sprinted in a half circle around the room, leading the demons, he spied
a small crag and ducked inside. Hoping it would be enough, he pressed as far into the
confined space as physically possible. One large, slit-pupil eye winked open at the
mouth of the crag, followed quickly by a huge, blunt snout covered in black, felt-like fur.
The beast sniffed the air causing Angel to retch. These things aren’t big on personal
hygiene. As the demon opened it’s maw to snarl, revealing rows of spiny, transparent
teeth, Angel flinched. A string of cloudy yellow drool slid from the beast’s black forked
tongue, dripping onto the floor near the vampire’s feet. The demon huffed, breathing
out a cloud of foul smelling mist when it shut its mouth. Angel blinked once to recover
and drew back, punching the beast in the nose. Scraping noises sounded from outside
his temporary sanctuary, followed by a rumbling roar. Great! All I can manage is to
make it mad. Good work.
Something whipped into the crag. It moved so quickly the he barely saw it. The
huge, hard-shelled stinger smashed into the rock wall near his head. A dusting of broken
rock showered Angel. He grabbed onto the carapace. When it withdrew, he was
whipped out of his hiding place. He looked up at the massive, curved tail as it lashed out
again, trying to shake him. This is not where I want to be. He smashed into the ground,
refusing to let go. This is the last place anyone sane wants to be. The creature started to
gallop wildly around the room. Giles said poison though. Looks like the right spot.
As the demon twitched its tail, scrubbing it over a rock outcropping, Angel
gasped in pain. This is arguably one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done, he reflected
and moved his grip to the stinger. After wrapping his legs tightly around the tail, he
began to twist and wrench. He fought to pull the stinger away while the beast continued
to thrash around in protest. Finally, the last piece of sinewy flesh ripped free and Angel
slipped, smashing to the ground.
Clear fluid had begun to leak from the stinger. Smoke poured off Angel’s skin
where the foul liquid touched. In pain, he desperately ran from the enraged demons,
dodging and ducking their attacks. The acidic poison ate his skin as he fled, but he
refused to release the prize.
Things were starting to get more desperate when the portal glimmered to life.
Running for safety, he evaded a blow, vaulting the tail of the second beast. As he closed
in on freedom, he spied Faith standing next to the portal with her arms folded across
her chest, looking smug. I’m gonna kill her!
Faith casually stepped through the portal with Angel close on her six.
She’d dead. I’m going to rip her head off, Angel seethed as he burst through the
portal to safety. Sliding to a halt, he tossed the stinger on the table and barked, “Close
it! Now!” The portal vanished with a crackle and a flash as smoke began to waft from
the wooden table where the stinger lay.
“Wesley, the poison sac is ruptured. Could I burden you—?” Giles asked, falling
silent when the younger Englishman quickly left the room.
Angel’s skin continued to smolder as he rounded on Faith, yelling, “Don’t you
ever do that to me again!”
Trying not to smirk, Faith backed away with her hands in the air. Producing a vial
of the poison from her pocket, she held it up and winked.
She could’ve been holding his humanity in her hand, Angel wouldn’t have cared
at that moment. He pressed her into a wall and continued to scream, “You do what I tell
you. You don’t, and we part company. We part company, and you become a lab rat. You
get it?”
Eyeing the raw skin on Angel’s hand as he stabbed his finger into her chest, Faith
nodded.
Angel took in the proud look on Faith’s face. Her jaw was defiantly clenched. She
crossed her arms, tucking the vial into the crook of her elbow. “If there’s something
about this arrangement that’s not clear—?” he snarled, falling silent when the slayer
shook her head. His face shifted back as he closed his eyes tight, trying to regain his
composure.
Recovering quickly, Faith offered, “Lemme get something for your hands.”
Angel allowed her to slip away. After removing his ripped jacket, he flopped
wearily into one of the chairs surrounding the large conference table. Holding his hands
out as they continued to billow smoke, he closed his eyes, focusing on suppressing the
pain. When Wesley burst back into the room, placing a glass bowl on the table, Angel
rose and moved the stinger.
Angel looked up to see Giles eyeing him pensively. “Something on your mind?”
“You know she’s not to be trusted.” Giles stated simply.
Nodding curtly, Angel replied, “She deserves another chance.” He was a bit
surprised, despite himself, when Faith burst back into the room carrying a large ceramic
pot.
Faith set the container on the table in front of the vampire and stated, “It’s the
best I could find, Boss. Put your hands in.”
Cocking an eyebrow curiously, Angel looked into the vat of what appeared to be
water as Faith placed the vial she had on the table.
“Baking soda water. Swiped it outta the fridge. Y’know you still look like a vamp,
but—” Faith smirked. “Anyway, that shit’s acidic so I’m guessing it’ll help.”
Angel dipped both of his hands into the water. They stung painfully, but he
ignored it and asked, “What’s in the vial?”
“Same thing that’s in that.” She pointed to the stinger. “Least I guess it is,” Faith
added with a shrug.
Angel started to ask, “How’d you—?” falling silent when Faith grinned and
barked a laugh.
“The cubs—cute little bastards—playful too. I thought you saw ’em. They were
right behind the portal,” Faith remarked, pausing to sigh. “While you were keeping
mama and papa bear busy, I was rolling around on the floor wrestling the kids. Couldn’t
really say nothin’. The big ones—” she giggled when Angel slumped into his chair “—
they get pretty pissy ’bout the little ones and—y’know I didn’t wanna give myself up. I
figured you’d just drag the ’em around long enough for me to—”
Angel glared at Faith as she rounded the table, taking a seat. He wasn’t sure
whether to be livid or proud. He glanced over at Giles and Wesley who were both
holding their peace, appearing quite amused. Finally, Angel’s resolve snapped and he
began to chuckle. The others quickly joined him. Falling silent, he asked, “Is that it? We
have what we need?”
“Why, yes,” Giles replied genially. After a short pause, hastily adding, “There are
a few more common items that will have to be retrieved tomorrow. They are easily
purchased. We will be fully prepared by the time you rise tomorrow evening.”
A grave air darkened his features and Angel nodded, glancing over at Faith. I’m
not sure she’s ready, but we have no choice. This has to be dealt with…and the sooner
the better.
Buffy sat on the bed blinking as her friend exited the bathroom. Quirking an
eyebrow, she tilted her head, still trying to decide whether she liked the new look or
not. Wow…umm…weird. Cute, but weird. Where’d she put my Willow? The black hair’s
gonna take some serious getting used to. It’s actually not bad. She must’ve gotten all
researchy to find the good stuff. Black’s one of those colors—most dye jobs look really
fake. This isn’t bad. Looks good on her.
Shifting anxiously on the bed when Willow tossed a swimsuit to her, Buffy
ignored the hint and continued to silently observe. It’s the suit she’s got on that really
scares me, though. First off: she doesn’t seriously think I’m gonna swim does she? She
glanced at the swimsuit next to her on the bed, quickly turning her attention back to her
friend. And second: umm…wow…there was more material in the dress Marilyn Manson’s
date wore to the Grammy’s. Will’s the traditional, one-piece sorta girl, not this. Finally,
she said in a firm voice, “I’m not going swimming.” What’d she do with my Willow?
“Yes you are,” Willow replied as she wrapped a towel around her waist. “C’mon,
Buffy, it’ll be fun.”
Imagining for only a second how she’d look in a suit, Buffy said resolutely, “Sorry.
I’ll watch you swim, but—” And that should be umm…interesting. What happened to the
girl I had to coax into a miniskirt a couple of Halloweens ago?
Appearing resolved, Willow furrowed her brow. “Nope. I think you’re gonna
come swimming with me. And you’re gonna have a good time. Remember the prom?
You were all grrr—” a mischievous grin brightened her face “—then you saw it my way.
We went and you smiled. I even saw a laugh or two. Don’t try to deny it either ’cause I
have witnesses.”
Buffy tossed the swimsuit aside. “Not gonna happen,” she remarked dryly,
“There was a dress to cover all the—at the prom. What exactly do imagine this” — she
gestured vaguely at the bikini — “will cover?”
see?”
“Umm…Buffy, it’s two o’clock in the morning. Just who do you think we’re gonna
Buffy could feel her self-control slipping. Closing her eyes tight to avoid snapping
at her well-intentioned friend, she took a deep breath and said a little too calmly,
“Whoever runs us off from the pool.”
Willow smiled sheepishly before she countered, “Not gonna happen. Just trust
me.” Her tone turned pleading as she added, “Wear your sweats if you want. Please just
come. It’ll be good for you. I promise.”
Buffy scowled. I’m caving. Why do I always cave? What is it about her? Her
friend started to pout and Buffy answered by growling as she climbed out of bed and
grabbed the swimsuit top. She seized her crutches and made her way to the bathroom,
grumbling under her breath. Willow was grinning by the time she returned. Shooting a
disgusted look at the former redhead, Buffy followed her out the door and down the
hall.
When they arrived at the hotel recreation center, Willow put her hand to the
lock and the door popped open.
Buffy snickered softly and shook her head before she moved. Cautious of water
on the floor she followed her friend to the edge of the pool.
“Lemme have your crutches.”
Buffy sighed before relinquishing them.
When Willow returned from setting their towels and the crutches aside, she
stooped at Buffy’s feet, remarking, “Not getting fresh, ’kay?” After glancing up to see
the nod, she moved the blonde’s legs together, lining them up. Her palm briefly brushed
the slayer’s feet and thighs as she mumbled something under her breath.
Buffy’s brow crinkled with curiosity and uncertainty as Willow moved behind
her. “What was that?”
“Something to help. Just trust me.”
Buffy felt herself rise off the concrete and gasped, “Umm…Will?” trying to turn
and look at her friend.
“Just relax, Buffy,” Willow offered reassuringly.
Buffy floated over the surface of the pool. There was a moment’s hesitation
where she was certain her friend planned to drop her.
“Ready?”
When Buffy nervously nodded again, the witch slowly lowered her into the water
that was just up to the tops of her shoulders.
“Try moving, but be careful, ’kay?”
The moment Buffy moved her legs, she figured out what the mumbling had been
about. Willow had magickally attached the edges of her feet and the sides of her thighs
together. When she moved one leg, the other echoed the action. It took a bit of effort,
but soon she was gracefully cutting through the water swimming laps. The sweat pants
were annoying. They felt like they weighed about ten-thousand pounds, but slayer
strength made up for any inconvenience.
Buffy rolled onto her back and looked up at her friend who was sitting on a towel
with her feet in the water at the edge of the pool reading a book. Go figure, she drags
me out here and ends up reading some musty old book. I don’t even remember seeing
her bring one. Must’ve been in the stack of towels. Sneaky. “So, Will, you planning on
just sitting there? This was your idea.”
Willow kept her nose buried in the book. “Give me a few more minutes. I’m
trying to figure something out.”
Rolling onto her front as she neared the end of the pool, Buffy turned around by
diving underwater and kicked off the wall. After resurfacing, she turned back onto her
back. “I’m giving you two more laps. Then—” she giggled “—I’ll owe you a book.”
Willow responded nervously, “Umm…well, I’d sorta prefer you didn’t.”
“’Kay, well…you’d better hop to it then, ’cause—” Buffy replied, deliberately
slowing her pace to allow her friend more time. I’m still having huge issues with
everything she’s done. I dunno if I’ll ever get over it. I suppose it depends on how it works
out. She gave up going to, not just the school of her dreams, but the schools of her
dreams for me. She could’ve picked.
Reaching the end of the pool, Buffy fluidly made her turn and set back off in the
other direction. I really wish she hadn’t shown me that. I got what it meant to her. She
worked her whole life for it. Then there was me, I meant more. And she can say what she
said to Giles all day long, I refuse to buy it. She traded Oxford for me. The fact that she’d
run off like this proves it.
When Buffy reached the end of the first full lap, she dove and didn’t resurface.
Kicking hard off the wall, she swam the length of the Olympic sized pool underwater and
turned to head back. I bet she’s researching something else to help me. Seems to be
about all she does. Surfacing halfway through her return trip, she switched to a leisurely
breast stroke as Willow got up to put her book away. Though, I think Will’s generally
pretty happy as long as she has a problem to solve.
Problem solved: I am having fun…damn it. Reaching the end of the second lap,
Buffy stood up in the shallow end as her friend climbed in.
A warm, quirky smile played at Willow’s lips as she regarded the blonde.
Buffy pulled her friend into a gentle embrace and whispered, “Will, I’m worried.”
Drawing back just enough to make eye-contact, Willow asked, “Why’s that?”
Sighing, Buffy struggled to suppress the feelings of guilt welling up inside her.
“I’m afraid you’re giving up so much for me—too much. What happens if in a year or
two you look back and regret?” She sighed before adding in a small choked voice, “And
resent?”
“I don’t see it that way. It’s not so much ‘giving up’—it’s ‘giving back’,” Willow
responded firmly, going on to explain in a more casual tone, “See, thing is…you’ve given
me a lot yourself. You may not see it, but you have. And it’s really important stuff, stuff
I’m not gonna find anywhere else…or, if I did, it’d be a minor miracle or a major fluke.”
Concern reflected on her face as Buffy remarked, “Will, it’s not like you wouldn’t
have eventually grown out of—” cutting off when her friend began to snicker.
Correcting amusedly, Willow quipped, “Not this,” and pulled back, gesturing to
her chest. She giggled when the ploy worked and the blonde glanced at her cleavage,
then she continued to explain, “No, silly, I mean purpose. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t
be learning this stuff—the magick. I love it. I’m good at it too. Using it for good—making
a difference—it’s amazing. I wouldn’t have that if it wasn’t for you. I can go to school
anytime. Right now what’s important is you. Getting you better so we can—”
Buffy nodded with understanding as her friend paused and interjected, “What if I
don’t get better?”
“I believe you will. I know it—” Willow gestured to her chest mid-thought and
smiled when the blond glanced again “—in here. If you don’t—if I’m wrong and the
others fail, then that’s what all the research is about. Lemme ask you this: did you ever
see yourself dancing or swimming again?”
Tears welled up in Buffy’s eyes and she shook her head very slightly in answer.
“Oh, don’t cry, please,” Willow whispered and cupped her friend’s cheek.
Running her fingers gently over the blonde’s temple, she asked, “How can you think it’s
impossible then? We’re just starting.”
Silently considering Willow’s words for several moments, Buffy finally wiped her
eyes and murmured, “Thanks, Will.”
“No need. You and me, we’re a team. We go together like cookies and cream,”
Willow babbled excitedly, “Or movies and popcorn.” She stalled pensively for a few
seconds to come up with another ‘or.’ “Oh! Or bad vampire clichés and New Orleans.”
She giggled, then snapped suddenly serious, amending, “Now hush, you. I’m still here
’cause I wanna be.” Without warning, she deftly squirmed out of the hug and quipped,
“Now catch me, slayer,” springing into a surprisingly efficient breast stoke.
Taking another moment to calm herself, Buffy watched the witch cover half the
pool before she smiled and tore off in pursuit.
The Chief of Police, Bob Russell, waved at the receptionist as he made his way to
grab a cup of coffee en route to his desk. Pausing to rub the sleep from his eyes before
he crossed the threshold to the break room, he froze and blinked in disbelief. His gaze
came to rest on a large, black and white rat who was leisurely snacking on the sugar
packets.
Bob mumbled to himself, “I thought for sure they were making you up,” and
took off across the room. “Silly women passing out all because of a little rat,” he
growled and swung at the fleeing rat. Gotcha! When his hand came down, it clipped the
end of the rat’s tail and everything went dark.
Faith sat watching Wesley prepare the ingredients to open the portal. Anything
that starts with the hollowed out head of a big-ass, hard-to-kill demon and gets topped
off with poison from another big-ass—’kay, so the cubs were cute, but— It might be time
to bail. I’m so not convinced this is a good plan. Hell, I’m not even convinced it’s a not-sogood plan. Sounds just plain painful. Course there is one bonus: the council isn’t gonna
follow me to Hell. At least, don’t think they’ll do that. Maybe I can take over, like the old
joke, and— Nah…it still sucks. Doesn’t matter how much psyching I do, it’s just gonna
suck. Period.
Giles’ brow furrowed with concern as he observed the slayer. After rising from
his seat, he went to a cupboard and opened it. Pulling out a small bag, he made his way
back to Faith and queried, “May I have a moment alone with you?”
“Sure. Whatcha got, G.?” Faith asked as she rose to follow the former watcher.
When Giles simply gestured for her to follow, she obeyed out of curiosity.
this.”
Stopping in the foyer, Giles remarked, “Willow requested that I see you receive
Faith eyed the bag suspiciously before finally accepting it. “Y’know what’s in it?
’Cause I’m wondering why it’s not tickin’.”
Smiling with amusement, Giles chuckled and replied, “I’m certain it’s quite safe.
She also requested that you not open it until you are through the portal.” He placed his
hand between her shoulders, graciously ushering Faith back to the others.
When Faith arrived in the room, it was happening. There was smoke billowing
out of the top of the demon’s skull and a faint glow had already appeared in the dense
haze. As she collected her gear, the radiance increased. Soon the room was filled with
thick fog. A bright light in the far corner of the room showed where the portal lay. I
could bail now and they might not even notice, she reflected before Angel’s hand
clamped over her shoulder. Well, so much for that idea.
“Ready?”
“Ready, Boss.” Faith didn’t resist when Angel began to steer her toward the light.
This is gonna suck! Mightily!
“Good fortune to you both,” Giles kindly voice sounded out of the mist.
“Indeed. Safe journey,” Wesley put in.
“We’ll be back before you miss us,” Angel replied as he pushed the slayer
through and stepped into the portal himself.
Faith heard their words and registered them all as she was shoved into the
column of bright white light. Her mind reeled when the light didn’t dim. It should’ve
dimmed. It’s just supposed to work that way. She collapsed to her knees, suddenly
colder than she’d ever been in her life. The air was thick and difficult to breathe. She
gasped and choked for air. As she slumped onto her side, her eyes reflexively clamped
shut against the light. Behind her closed lids, there was still a harsh glow broken up by
spots of gray. She lay shivering and wheezing, praying that Angel would be able to pull
her back through to the safety of their world.
From Fatal Errors
Reflexively pulling the sleeping bag snugly around him, Angel clamped his eyes
shut against the brutal glare that seeped in. His skin began to itch and sting. It took him
a couple of seconds to analyze that internally. There’s something not right here.
Sunlight: it burns—I’d actually feel my skin catching fire—this is more chemical. He
inhaled and his eyes immediately started to water from the noxious smell of the air. He
stuck his hand out into the light to test, drawing it back in after a few seconds. It’s not
the light, it’s the atmosphere. That idea took hold. Where’s Faith? She has to breathe
and if this place is—
Panic struck and Angel tossed the sleeping bag aside. Freezing! Very, very, cold.
So cold it’s hard to move. He started to feel around on the ground and quickly located
the slayer near his feet. After bundling her tightly in his sleeping bag, he searched
through the pockets of his coat for sunglasses. I brought two pairs, hope they help. I got
that this wasn’t going to be good from the description, but I was half expecting to be
reduced to a pile of ash. Didn’t matter, I had to try. Buffy’s too important not to try.
Locating his gloves, he slid them on and instantly felt a little better.
Unconcerned by how foolish he might appear, Angel bounced and fidgeted.
Moving—I gotta keep moving. I’m hoping it helps. I have no idea how this works. Finally
coming across his sunglasses, he put them on and tentatively cracked his eyes. He was
able to make out vague shapes in the harsh light. The others survived so there has to be
something—something close that you’d just stumble across. He stooped to his knees
next to the slayer and began to feel around.
Everything about this place was strange, starting with the ground they rested on.
It was white and had a texture slightly coarser than ash, almost like fine beach sand, but
with a reflective quality. Sort of explains the light. If everything around a light source
reflects it, it naturally intensifies. Angel scooped up a handful of the odd material and let
it flow through his fingers. I bet this place is a laugh a minute when the wind picks up. I
need something to cover her mouth and nose. Breathing this crap won’t be good.
His vision was acclimating to the bright illumination. As Angel blinked and
glanced around, he began to make out shapes. What he had thought to be an empty
wasteland began to take form. Instead of desolation, the landscape was lush and
teaming with life. There were massive trees all around them, but the startling difference
was the colors. We’re in some bizarre perversion of a forest. Instead of being hued in
shades of green and brown, what passed for plants here were pigmented in icy colors.
Pale blues, greens and yellows began to appear as his eyes cleared. He watched a large,
translucent millipede crawl across a ridge above them some twenty feet away.
As Angel turned, a white patch on the bottom of his coat caught his eye. He
lifted the hem of the garment and ran his gloved hand over it. It was slick and sticky. His
coat had come in contact with something and picked up the dust off the ground.
Intuitively, he began to feel around and found the source. There were clumps of plants
all around them that looked very much like a fern with yellow fronds, but what looked
like leaves weren’t exactly that. They were irregularly shaped, similar to a sea sponge,
and hung from a hard, icy-blue stem. When he touched the lightly blue-veined growths,
they dissolved, even in his gloved hand, leaving behind only the stalk.
Without thinking, Angel put his hands to his burning face. The strange, thick
liquid was instantly soothing, despite making him colder. This must be it. There had to be
something. He began to apply the liquid to his exposed skin. When nothing bad
happened as a result, he moved to Faith and repeated the process. Her skin gradually
started to lose its unhealthy blue cast and she even seemed to be breathing more
regularly.
Okay, well, that solves that. Time to get moving. Angel began to pile their gear
on, quickly finding that he couldn’t cope with all of it. The two backpacks and various
bags weren’t heavy, but they were very awkward. Struggling determinedly, he couldn’t
find a way to load himself down in a manner that allowed him to pick up the most
important package: Faith. This meant sacrificing something.
After dropping all of their gear in a pile next to the slayer, Angel began to dig at
the base of a large outcropping of clear, green, crystalline stones that protruded from
the earth close to where they had arrived. Once he was done moving enough of the
sandy soil aside, he positioned the large duffle bag that contained the items needed to
form the portal home into the hole. As he worked to cover the precious cargo, anxiety
reflected sharp on his features. Leaving this behind makes me nervous, but it’s not like I
have a choice. I need to pay serious attention to the landmarks so I can find this place
again.
After loading himself down again, Angel swept up the slayer and reluctantly
turned his back to the milky, emerald shards of rock. When he finally started to move,
progress was very slow. I hope she snaps out of it soon. But then, I don’t even know
which way to go, so I suppose it makes little difference how quickly we travel. I just need
to keep moving. If I freeze—I won’t even think about how bad it would be to be frozen.
Finding some cover before night fall—if that even exists here—is a plan. ‘Shadow-less’
would suggest that there isn’t. Best I can do is guess.
I need a scarf. Willow ran her fingers through her hair as it blew in the wind,
brushing it out of her face. She keeps giving me these weird glances when she thinks I’m
not looking. What’s worse—I totally get the ‘why.’ Diverting her attention from the road
for only a moment, she ejected the cassette and put in another. When the music
started, she began to tap her fingers against the steering wheel, keeping time with the
music. I mean, just look at the details: We’re in a convertible, in the desert, both wearing
bikini tops. I’ve dyed my hair. We’ve changed our names. If this gets any more cliché, it
might just be sad.
Willow casually took the hand her friend placed on the console, giving it a light,
reassuring squeeze. Though, I’m not robbing any banks. I mean—not like we stole the
car—why would we rob a bank? And if I see Brad Pitt I’m so totally running him over.
Food maybe? I’m starved. Squinting to see the sign in the distance, Willow read
off, ‘Deming, New Mexico – 18 miles,’ to herself. I sorta got the ‘convertibles make her
happy’ thing from Cordy. That and I kinda wanted one. I knew we’d need room for the
luggage. She doesn’t get how rare a convertible with a real trunk is. So, last detail…the
one that probably has her really wigged: I bought a muscle car. Little Willow Rosenberg,
the shy girl—or I suppose I should say Danielle Williams—owns a Mustang GT. It’s scary.
It’s even black ’cause, well, I found a great deal on a used one, but—
Willow glanced over to see her friend fidgeting and asked, “Are you hungry?”
See, thing she doesn’t get—all these details—they make sense. The identity I stole—the
girl was like totally Native American. Not that that’s a bad thing, but I sorta gotta try to
match. At least I’m getting some sun. Lots of suntan lotion so I don’t end up looking like
Sebastian.
“Starved…and if I don’t get outta this car soon it might be totally bad.”
Willow nodded. “’Kay…we’ll stop for food and gas in Deming.” I got to see that
movie once before my parents took it. I made the mistake of asking why the little lobster
had been cooked and well…no more Little Mermaid for me. But he was red and they only
turn that color when they’re cooked ’cause of the carotenoid-protein in the plankton
they eat, so… I remember crying and Xander trying to comfort me. That happened a lot.
My parents didn’t get that it was more traumatic to not let me.
Giving the hand she held a gentle squeeze, Buffy cleared her throat and tried to
make small talk, “You’ve been awfully quiet. Whatcha thinking about, Will?”
Shrugging before she spoke, Willow replied casually, “Just all those times we
said, ‘Thelma and Louise-ing it,’ to describe our movie nights. Did you ever expect this?”
She put on the best grin she could muster and faked a snicker. Buffy doesn’t get it
either. What’s worse, we’ve been playing this game. It’s like she has two modes: angry
and weepy or sorta patronizing. Angry and weepy is harder to deal with so I let her play
patronizing and just don’t question. If I question, then badness. I placate, she patronizes,
and we’re stuck in this sorta quasi-hell-like existence together. It’s a vicious cycle. But I
can’t really expect better until she actually starts to get better.
“Just do me a favor and pass up any cliffs you see.” Buffy chuckled and turned to
absently watch the desert terrain pass by.
“Total plan—right there with you,” Willow responded, trying to mute the
aridness from her voice. I don’t think she gets how bad this is for me too. That’s not fair,
maybe she does. It’s not really the school thing—I was telling the truth about that, or at
least sort of. This is terrible ’cause I told her I didn’t want to hide, now I am. Thing is,
she’s been right about everything. I’m doing this out of hope—hope that somehow we’ll
work out. I tossed Oz aside with little thought. I tossed Oxford and Harvard aside the
same way. hope
Counting on the blonde to be still engaged in her favorite pastime of scenery
watching, Willow blinked and quickly wiped away the tears that had formed. If I’m
completely honest with myself—like brutally honest—it’s all the same thing. I want to be
with her. I’d do anything. If I end up alone, will I be able to not resent? I honestly don’t
know. I hope so.
Willow opened the console and took out a napkin to wipe the traces of mascara
from her fingertips. Pandora’s Box: I should’ve never looked inside. I’d probably still be
here, but only half as conflicted and miserable. Worse, I wouldn’t trade the memory of
that glimpse for the world.
“Are you gonna be okay?”
Willow glanced over to see Buffy scrutinizing her. Fudge! So busted. The blonde’s
brow was furrowed with concern. Something quick—what can I say? “Just worried,”
she offered lamely. Yeah, that should slow her down for about a nanosecond.
“Will—”
Willow cringed. I hate that. That tone. It makes my skin crawl. Resolve. Where’s
‘resolve face’ when I so desperately need it. “Yeah, Buffy?” she replied sheepishly.
“Talk to me,” Buffy said with a demanding edge to her voice.
After flipping on the turn signal, Willow steered the car onto the exit ramp.
“Let’s get parked first. Pick a place.”
“Eh, there’s a Denny’s. At least the bad’s consistent. No startling surprises or
blown expectations.”
As she turned onto the frontage road, Willow replied, “Works for me.” The
moment she pulled into a parking slot, she looked over to see her friend staring
expectantly at her again. Outta time. What am I gonna tell her? The truth? That’d be a
laugh a minute. I have to tell her something true ’cause, lying? I suck at it. She put the
car in park and averted her gaze before she spoke, staring at her lap. “What’s not to be
worried about, Buffy?” she offered honestly, “I mean, we’re a couple of teenagers
taking off cross-country, running from an organization that’s—” sighing with disgust.
“Y’know it’s not even that though. What I’m most worried about is you.” After a brief
pause, she whispered, “Is us,” in amendment.
There was a painfully long silence where Willow didn’t dare look up. Finally she
forced herself to chance a peek in the blonde’s direction. Great! Just great! I made her
cry again. Weepy and angry mode: check! Congratulations, Willow, you’re good at
pretty much everything you do except dealing with the person you care most for. There
should be an award or something. I’m pathetic.
“I love you too, Will.”
Reeling with confusion, Willow stammered, “What? Huh? What?” That’s the
last—that’s— Back-peddling to recover from the unexpected reply, she quickly gasped,
“Wait! Why?” and turned to her friend, appearing completely puzzled. Am I the one
being placated now? That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
Buffy laughed with cheerful genuine amusement before responding, “I dunno,
Will, it just seemed like you needed to hear it—doesn’t make it any less true.”
Well at least she’s admitting it now. That was still sweet. Willow was amid
recovery when the blonde’s behavior turned even stranger. Two fingertips hooked
under her chin, directing her to look into bright blue eyes. There was a twinkle of
mischief in those eyes. The skin around them wrinkled and Willow didn’t have to break
eye contact to know her friend was smiling. When she smiles her whole face lights up.
Funny, it looks real too. The smile transformed into something else. Is that—? Her brain
froze mid-thought when the two fingers coaxed her closer and impossibly soft lips met
hers.
Shivering, Faith tried to lean casually against a rock, pulling out one of the nasty
protein bars she’d packed because they were light and they’d keep her going. Shooting
her captor a scathing glance, only to receive a smile in return, she gnawed a piece off of
the hard, frozen bar. It almost stuck to her tongue. Fuckin’ vamps. Soul or not, this one’s
evil. I’d stake him if I didn’t need his dumb ass.
May not have to, this place is just all too weird for words. Faith watched the
vampire tear open a pouch of frozen blood and begin eating it like a popsicle. Now
that’s just gross. After ripping another bite from the brick in her gloved hand, she
opened her pack, looking for something to entertain her while she ate. Oh, I’d totally
forgotten this. She fished out the small bag Willow had packed for her. Go figure. What
with the unconsciousness and the waking up to find that Hell’s actually a meat locker.
“What’s that?” Angel asked with marked curiosity.
Shrugging, Faith replied indifferently, “Something Giles gave me before we left.”
After opening the bag, she pulled out two pieces of carefully folded paper, setting them
aside. The rest of the contents were hunting arrow heads with vials of colored liquid
carefully adhered in the hollow spot where the two blades met. They were all neatly
wrapped to avoid breakage. I should read the note before I lose a hand ’cause, knowing
Red, none of this stuff— She wrapped the arrowheads up the way she found them and
returned them to the pouch, breaking off another piece of her ‘meal’ when she was
done.
One of the pieces of paper was labeled; ‘Angel,’ so Faith quickly passed it off,
offering a chilly, “Here,” then she opened the one marked for her. Something fell to the
ground when she unfolded the crisp page. Swooping down, she scooped the item up
and wrinkled her nose. She’s giving me jewelry now? I thought she was all hot for
blondie. She stuffed the locket in her coat pocket. Whatever. After ripping off another
chunk of the energy bar, she began to read.
‘Faith – I’m gonna keep this short because I know that last thing you want is
some peppy little talk from me about how you’re doing the right thing.’
Faith struggled to chew the cold, sticky food, not really caring how it tasted. You
just don’t even know how true that is, Red. If you were here, I’d be pushing you into that
big hole over there. Not that it’d do any good—what, with the flying, but…it’s the
thought that counts, right? She glanced at the edge of the canyon that opened up not
fifty feet from where she was perched. It’s kinda weird how pretty this place is. Her gaze
fixed on the pale green and blue hued crystalline ridges that jutted up from the deep
gorge. It’s the nastiest place I’ve ever been, but—
her.’
‘Besides, I just tried to kill you, so I’ll spare us both. You’d be dead if I wasn’t for
Faith read the words over again not even needing to ask who the ‘her’ was. Red’s
one tweaked bitch. Why write this right after—?
‘I know what you’re thinking. The ‘why’ is pretty simple; it’s even something
you’ll appreciate. It’s called ‘hedging my bets’.’
Faith grinned and ripped another piece from the softening brick in her hand,
chewing vigorously. Well alright, Red, I getcha. Gotta respect that some. I wouldn’t have
guessed that a mousey little thing like her could’ve turned so ballsy, but—guess there’s
not much that won’t bite if you threaten somethin’ it loves.
‘The arrowheads are pretty simple too: the green ones are poison and the red
ones go boom. They need hydrogen to work, so use them on the bad guys. They should
work pretty much anywhere. Natural laws sort of exist everywhere according to the Law
of Uniformity and hydrogen is one of the most common elements. Don’t get any on you!
It’ll be bad if you do. Simple chemistry made nastier with magic, but I won’t bore you. I’d
run after the red. I can only speculate how bad it’ll be. Educated guess: If you hit
something really hydrogen rich (like a glass of water) it’ll leave a crater.’
Wrinkling her nose, Faith read the paragraph over again. I’ll get Angel to
translate the geek code. He’ll be able to figure it—I hope.
‘Funny feeling, being a hero, huh, Faith?’
Faith chuckled wryly. I’m no hero, Red. I’m only here ’cause the Boss is a bastard.
‘Doesn’t matter why you’re there.’
Rolling her eyes, Faith read the sentence again. Get outta my head, Red!
‘Seriously, it doesn’t. Point is: you’re doing the right thing. I know I said I wouldn’t
say it, but the reasons are meaningless. You know me, I’m a bookworm. I’ve read an
awful lot of history, the good and the bad. I don’t think that anyone we call ‘hero’ now
did what they did for the reasons they give us. There was always something else. People
aren’t naturally brave. They don’t throw themselves into bad places on purpose unless
they’re suicidal and you’ll never hear about a suicidal hero. We tend to look at that sort
of thing differently.’
Faith shoved the last bite of the energy bar into her mouth and continued to
read as she chewed.
‘Here’s the thing: When you get back I’m going to have to thank you…and it’s
going to totally irk me. There’s your reason to go on: the look on my face when I have to
say ‘thanks.’ It’s going to seriously hurt.’
An amused grin warmed her features as Faith crinkled up the wrapper to her
‘dinner’ and shoved it in her pack, continuing to read.
‘The last thing is the locket. There’s this old tradition that I sorta like. It usually
only happened because of love, but I’m making an exception because I think you’ll need
it. The locket belonged to my grandmother. It’s one of the few things I have to remind
me of her. She was an amazing woman. The locket means a lot to me. I’m giving it to
you as a reminder of why we fight. We fight for the things we believe in and love. It’s
what makes us different. Right now, you’re fighting for something I love. The reasons:
they don’t matter. The only thing that really matters is that you are.’
Faith fished the tiny silver locket out of her coat and stared at it for a few
moments completely stunned, then slipped it on, tucking it under the layers of clothing
she’d put on to stave off the bitter cold. I’ll get it back to ya, Red. Thanks. Glancing one
last time at the neatly scrawled signature, she folded the page and put it carefully into
the inside pocket of her jacket, zipping the garment up against the cold when she was
done. “You about ready, big guy?” she asked nonchalantly as she picked up her back
pack and slung it over one shoulder. Moving the bow that hung from it aside when it
swung in her way, she put her arm through the second strap and cinched it down.
“Yeah,” Angel replied as he quickly read over Willow’s letter again. “She says: if
it moves, shoot it. Something about ‘translating science nerd for the layman,’ whatever
that means,” he noted with a chuckle.
Faith countered amusedly, “If I shoot it, we run. That’s what mine said.” She
snickered softly to herself as she watched Angel fidget and bounce. He can’t even begin
to imagine how dorky he looks. This might just be worth it on some level just to watch
GQ act like a total spaz.
Shortly after Faith turned and started to follow the vampire down the crude trail
into the ravine, something hard struck the back of her head. She collapsed onto her
knees as Angel sprung to action, leaping over her to kick her unseen attacker. Her vision
spotted and she slumped onto her chest. The last thing she heard was Angel grunting
painfully, then everything went black.
Smiling broadly, James walked into the security office fresh from his routine
after-lunch-flirt with Francine, the pretty receptionist. He entered the room and his face
went slack. His partner Harold was slumped over the desk. A puddle of drool had
collected under his cheek. There was a very fat, black and white rat sitting next to the
puddle. When James walked into the room, the rat put its paw in the drool, causing his
partner’s body to twitch. Instead of running, the rat stepped calmly back, watching the
unconscious man tremble.
Rubbing his eyes hoping they’d clear, James took a step into the room and shut
the door to trap the intruder.
The rat took one final bite of Harold’s hamburger and scurried down the prone
man’s form, leaping onto the floor. He slipped under the door before James had a
chance to react.
James threw the door open and sprinted to the end of the short hallway in hot
pursuit of the rat. When he reached the end of the hall, he ran squarely into Francine as
she rounded the corner, knocking them both to the ground. Coffee sprayed from the
cup she was carrying, showering them both. The scalding liquid burned his chest and he
screamed, “Damn it!” at the top of his lungs. Realizing moments too late exactly how
horrible the entire scene looked, he hastily apologized to the coffee-sodden, shrieking
receptionist.
Stretching, Buffy reclined back as far as the luggage behind her seat would allow.
Hope Will hurries up, I want a shower. All day in a convertible, in the desert—it’s a bad.
Her gaze fixed on a young Hispanic man in a black Stetson and she sighed. And I can’t
believe we’re in Texas. She smiled and winked without thinking when the guy glanced
her way. He’s sorta cute.
He turned to make his way over with a broad smile on his face.
As Buffy quickly smoothed her skirt over her legs self-consciously, her expression
filled with distress. Oh, hell no! Please no. Go away. I’m so not interested. My life is a
thousand times more complicated than—I so don’t need any help. After quickly checking
the button-down shirt she tied around her waist to make sure it was covering the
orthopedic brace, she tried to look casual.
“Hola, chica,” the Hispanic man said flirtingly, nipping his lower lip suggestively
at the end. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, replacing it before
he added, “Como estas?”
“’Kay, so…first thing: I don’t speak Spanish, so much more of that and you’re
gonna lose me. Second thing: I’m so not interested. It was a total mistake. I’m sorry you
wasted your time. Nice to meet you and all, but—” Buffy offered apologetically. Please,
oh please, take the hint.
The Hispanic man rested against the top edge of the door with his forearms,
leaning partially into the car as though he hadn’t heard her. “You sure? Pretty girl like
you here all alone?” After blatantly checking out her cleavage, he glanced at the empty
driver’s seat and turned his attention back to the blonde, leering wolfishly.
Buffy shrunk away toward the center of the car, propping herself against the
console. Appearing more than a little annoyed, she countered, “Absolutely, completely,
one-hundred percent positive. If I were more positive, there’d be a camera crew
documenting my sureness for posterity.”
The Hispanic man leaned in a little further and smiled. “I think your man’s being
pretty careless, leaving a pretty girl like you here all alone. I may just have to take you
for myself if he doesn’t get back soon,” he offered smoothly, reaching in the car to
sweep a lock of hair out of the blonde’s face when he finished.
His hand didn’t make it to Buffy’s face. Bearing down on his wrist, she wrenched
his hand away and snarled, “Y’know, it really doesn’t pay to be nice.” After taking a deep
breath, she continued to explain, “It never seems to get me anywhere but screwed with.
So here’s me—not being nice. I tried—I really did, you gotta gimme credit—but touch
me, and draw back a stump. Dent the car—and stump. We clear?”
Struggling to wrestle his arm free, he drawled in a slick tone, “Easy, chica, I just
want to take you for a test drive.”
“Oh! Eww!” Buffy sputtered and twisted the arm, forcing him out of the car. “A
world of ‘no’,” she gasped with marked distress, “A whole, great big, massive ick!”
Seconds later, her brow furrowed with confusion and she asked somewhat more calmly,
“Jeez! That line actually works?” The disgust on her face changed to amusement and
she prompted, “We clear?” clamping down even harder. We’re right on the edge of
wrist breakage. I wonder if he’ll grow some smarts.
A tear threatened to slip out and he put his free hand over the blonde’s trying to
pry her fingers away. After working futilely to release himself with both hands, the
Hispanic man replied, “Clear,” and the blonde let go of his arm.
“’Kay. Bu-bye now,” Buffy chirruped with a smile. Pausing in hopes he’d take the
hint, she shook her head and encouraged, “That would be your cue to walk away while
you still can,” as he stared dully at his wrist, clenching his fingers repeatedly. I can’t
believe I just said that. She watched him take off quickly down the walkway of the strip
mall towards a department store. Cute, but not very bright. Seems to be how it goes
with boys. Shame really.
Turning back as he moved, the Hispanic man spat, “Puta de mierda loca!”
stabbing his finger through the air.
Buffy rolled her eyes vaguely watching him turn back and keep going. Yeah…he’s
a real prize. Sorry I let that one go. Bendejo. Grow up in L.A. and you at least learn
enough Spanish to know when to run. It’s a thing.
When he finally disappeared into the department store, Buffy turned her
attention back to the UPS Store directly in front of the car. Willow was still standing
patiently in line. I don’t know why I did that. It’s not like—even if he had been a nice
guy—I could’ve done crap about it—not that I would. It was a stupid impulse, just adding
to the drama.
Frustration sullied her features and Buffy propped her elbow against the door,
taking her head into her hand. More drama: I kissed Will earlier and it was nice, but I so
don’t want anything else. I couldn’t—it’d just be pointless right now. Funny thing is, I
kissed her and I meant it, but then not— I mean, she so obviously needed
something…something nice…I don’t know what I mean. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m
gay. I might just be leading her on.
Buffy raked her fingers through her matted hair in disgust, sweeping it out of her
face. She’s cute and all, but I’m clueless. Actually Mom was right, she’s pretty much
everything—all the stuff I could wish for, except— But right now it’s just stupid to even
consider—utterly pointless. Trouble is, I know she needs it. She needs those little bits of
reassurance to string her along. Worse, I don’t know what the reassuring’s about. That
things will work out fine? That we’ll have some fairy tale romance? I don’t even know
that. How am I supposed to reassure her when I don’t even buy it myself? But I love her,
so I try.
A bitter smile formed on her face as Buffy watched her friend move to the
counter inside the store. It’s funny, there’s this stupid expression, ‘Y’know it went okay—
insert whatever ‘it’ fits—if you’re still able to wiggle your toes when it’s over.’ So my
question is, what happens when you can’t? What do you do? How do you get over that?
’Cause I’m still clueless. Do you live your life and fall in love like a normal person? Give
the person you love half ’cause that’s all you got? Then slowly fade away ’cause half just
isn’t enough? I really don’t understand and I wish someone would explain it to me ’cause
it seriously wigs me out.
The clerk passed a large, elongated box over the counter to her friend and Buffy
slumped back into her seat, trying desperately to recover. It scares the hell out me that
someone like her would want to waste her time on a freak like me. A tear slid down her
cheek and she disgustedly smeared it away.
Willow lifted the box, tucking it under her arm, and started for the door.
Buffy returned the smile her friend offered her, struggling to make it look
genuine. I feel like I’m stuck in a loop. Every time I think about this stuff, I come back to
the same couple points. It’s always the same. Yet somehow in all the sameness—the
complete shit heap that is my life—she makes me feel special. Like someone actually
cares. Someone takes the time to really see me—to try and understand.
Pushing the door open with her back, Willow swung around with a cheerful
expression on her face and made her way to the car.
Buffy groaned with disgust, trying desperately to force herself back into
character. Then, if we follow the same spiral, I start to feel bad ’cause she could be so
much more without a boat anchor like me. That’s actually a perfect way to look at it too.
I weigh her down—hold her back. She’d be out there swimming with the dolphins
without ‘Boat Anchor Buffy.’
After stowing the package on top of their luggage in the back seat, Willow slid
into the driver’s seat and remarked, “There’s a hotel just down the street. I know how
much you want to get cleaned up, so—”
Still working a hammer herself into cheerful-mode, Buffy nodded absently.
face.
Willow glanced over as she started the car. The internal debate showed on her
Please drop it, Will. No good can come of this and you know it. Buffy gave her
friend a mock reassuring smile.
Willow sighed and put the car into reverse, commenting as she backed out of the
parking slot, “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day. I wanna try and hit San Antonio. It’s
about 550 miles. Not so much. Anyway, we need to get some rest. I get how crazy this is
making you.”
Breathing out a deep sigh to let the remainder of the unrest go, Buffy replied
nonchalantly, “’Kay, Will, you’re the one driving.” She pushed her sunglasses back up
her nose and offered apologetically, “Sorry. There was this guy and he was—well, he
was just crass in new and imaginative ways. It was a thing. I didn’t slay him.” She
chuckled amusedly before adding, “I might’ve been doing the female population of El
Paso, Texas a huge disservice, but he lived to annoy again another day.”
After looking over to survey her friend, Willow put the car in drive and pulled
into the exit lane of the strip mall parking lot before she replied, “I’m glad you allowed
him to continue annoying. Okay, so, maybe not so much with the annoying. What is it
with some guys?”
Buffy rolled her eyes. Score one for the blonde. Diversion successful, now I just
have to keep her talking and it’ll all be good. “Dunno, Will. I have this theory that
testosterone causes brain damage, but proving it—it’d be messy. What with the
dissection and the—”
Joyce sat at her desk, mindlessly looking through paperwork. She didn’t actually
read the words, but it kept her hands moving while her mind circled, My little girl’s
gone.
Absently reaching for another stack, merely because she’d unseeingly reached
the bottom of the current one, her hand brushed against a small statuette of a figure
skater, a treasured gift from an eight-year-old Buffy. She didn’t notice it teeter on the
edge of the desk, or it falling off. With the sound of her heart breaking, it shattered on
the floor.
She stared at the broken shards of thin porcelain for a few seconds, before
breaking down into anguished sobs.
A soft knock sounded, not disturbing the weeping mother.
The door slowly opened a few inches. “Mrs. Summers? Are you all right?” came
Giles’ voice from the other side.
“You!” Joyce screamed. She stood and rounded her desk. Throwing the door fully
open, she ranted, “You drove my little girl away! You and your stupid—” self-consciously
falling short because of the others in the gallery.
A gasp made Giles look over to see the clerk and a customer standing at the
front counter, looking at him in shock.
“It’s all your fault!” she accused. She stood there with tear-stained cheeks and
the fierce mien of a mother’s righteous indignation.
Giles gently steered Joyce back into her office. “Joyce!” he said sharply, once the
door was shut.
Joyce answered tightly, “Giles,” shaking his hands off her.
Giles tried to counter, “You know that isn’t—” falling silent when Joyce cut him
off. He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“If it wasn’t for you and your damn council, Buffy’d be home, where she belongs,
instead of out there, running across the country.” Her voice was strident, but reserved
enough not to carry.
“You know that— I wish it wasn’t necessary just as much as you,” he patiently
consoled her.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “She doesn’t deserve this. Why did this have
to happen to her?” Joyce whispered sadly.
“Oh, Joyce.” He reassured her, “She will recover. You have to believe that.”
“No thanks to your damned council,” Joyce growled.
“Wesley and I are doing everything in our power to assure that she does. The
quest that Angel and Faith have undertaken should guarantee her recovery. You will
have your daughter back, hale and whole.”
Joyce restrained a wince at the mention of the second slayer’s name, asking
sadly instead, “But why did she have to leave?” Plaintively, she whispered, “Why does
she always leave?” I just got her back. We were just starting to talk again.
“She’ll be back soon,” Giles promised. “Please believe that. We did everything in
our power to guarantee their safely. Unfortunately, sometimes that means allowing
them license to leave.”
Joyce sank back into her chair, looking poignantly at the fragments of the
figurine.
“You must believe in your daughter now. She’s a remarkable young woman.
Willow as well. The two of them are fiercely protective of one another. I’m certain that
both of them shall return in good health, inordinately pleased with themselves over
their grand adventure.”
Joyce nodded with half-hearted agreement. Damn him! He’s right about how
pleased she’ll be. She could almost picture the self-satisfied expression on her
daughter’s face. It’s not his fault that she’s growing up—that we’ve grown apart.
“The quest the others are on was completed over a thousand years ago by
primitive humans; it shouldn’t be too much of a challenge for the combined forces of a
vampire and a slayer. They’ll return with the means to restore Buffy to full health quite
shortly.”
With slightly more conviction, Joyce nodded again. A sigh crept out as she glared
at the shards. I refuse to trust Angel and Faith. I know Angel means well, but Faith? How
can Rupert expect me to trust the one that caused this to begin with? Place my
daughter’s fate in the hands of her enemy? Stifling any outward signs of her inner
monologue, she remarked, “I better clean this up before someone gets hurt.” After
wiping her eyes with a tissue, she got out a whiskbroom and dustpan.
“Right,” Giles agreed. He stood and went to the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then.
And be confident; there’s little to worry about.”
Offhandedly dismissing a portion of what Giles said, Joyce glanced up from
where she'd stooped to sweep up the debris. I have to say something. I was just awful.
Her voice was laced with sincerity as she offered, “I’m sorry, Rupert. It was just—
Honestly, your timing was terrible.”
“Think nothing of it,” Giles returned graciously and made his way out the door.
Joyce watched the door close out of the corner of her eye while she cleaned up
the mess. Setting the dustpan on top of the stack of paper on her desk, she stared
bleary-eyed down at the tiny shards of porcelain. Giles is welcome to his opinions. The
fact is: if something isn’t done I may never see my little girl again. A tear dripped down
into the dustpan, mingling with the shattered figurine.
Angel fixed his gaze on a distant, stark-white mountain shrouded in a layer of
mist. It was somehow strangely beautiful set against the hazy, orange and yellow hues
of the sky. He watched as it gradually slipped from view around a bend in the trail. Then
he turned his attention to the top of Faith’s head.
Faith hadn’t moved since the attack and Angel was starting to worry not that
there was a lot he could do about it. The demon that had jumped them had lashed them
each between two poles. When he woke up, Faith had been tied on top of him so that
her head was roughly at his chest level. He hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of the
creature and all he could see of Faith was the crown of her head. The rest of her body,
like his, appeared to be cocooned between the two poles. The one positive thing about
their predicament was that at least he was warmer.
As the make-shift travois swayed with the movement of their captor, Angel grew
gradually more angry and desperate. He struggled uselessly against the mesh of tightlywoven, fine fibers that held him in place. Moving anything besides his head was
completely impossible. He growled in frustration and the demon surfaced.
Eventually Angel forced himself to calm and his face shifted back to human. He
went back to lazily observing the landscape. At least I can keep track of where we are so
we can get back if and when we find our way out of this mess.
Time drifted languidly by. The only thing that changed was the view, albeit
slowly. The light level had remained unchanged as they traveled. He glanced up to look
at the huge, glowing orb directly overhead, unable to view it for more than a second. It
was far too large and bright to be similar to the sun he once knew.
They had made it to the bottom of the gorge, traveled half its width, and were
crossing a river on a ferry manned by a decrepit old creature similar to their captor. As
the two demons interacted, Angel became gradually more uneasy. There was an
extremely high-pitched buzzing sound that accompanied their cooperation, sounding in
pulses. Angel imagined that this was some sort of communication, but it only served to
make him more aware of exactly how alien this place was. The sounds were right on the
edge of his ability to hear and were actually giving him a headache.
The river passage gave Angel a better idea how they had been so easily taken.
The creature that held them was roughly eight feet tall when fully erect but, despite his
great height, he was proportionally very slender. He moved about on four of his six
limbs normally, but was able to stand on his back-most legs and use the other four to
manipulate things. His entire body was covered with fine, white hair that blended neatly
into the landscape. We must’ve walked right past him. The thing that was most striking
about their captor was his head. The vaguely insect-like appearance of the rest of his
body led to expectation that his head would be insect-like as well, but instead it
appeared more mammalian. His large eyes were forward-facing and solid green, with no
clear pupils or irises. While a sectioned carapace structure was perceptible, the white,
downy layer of fur made him appear dog-like.
Angel grumbled while he watched the two demons work in tandem to move the
ferry. These things look weak. They’ve got that mousey sort of appearance that makes
you think ‘low end of the food chain.’ If I wasn’t stacked here like cord wood with my
wacky slayer pal I could probably kill them both myself.
As the demon stretched to reach the other dock and tow the ferry inland, Angel
spied something unusual. Between the two main sections of the creature’s body was a
clear chunk of something foreign embedded in the soft tissue. Angel peered at the
oddity, watching the insect-demon’s internal organs work through the strange view
port. When the creature resumed his normal stance, the crystalline growth was once
again hidden by his carapace. Okay that was weird.
Their captor raised them up to continue on his way and Faith started to come
around. The only remark Angel made was, “Don’t bother. Save your strength.”
Faith groaned weakly in reply.
Angel watched the slayer’s head move, surveying their current predicament as
they set off again being towed. Soon they were ascending the other side of the ravine
and Faith was significantly more alert, though uncharacteristically silent. Angel felt her
thrash, despite the advice not to, and could hardly blame her. He could feel the anger
welling up inside her. Maybe she’ll have more luck than I did. I can hope. If she does, I
have little doubt she’ll kick bug-boy’s ass. And, with any luck, when she’s done making a
meal of him, she won’t do the same to me.
Gradually the buzzing noises returned as they rose. Instead of just two separate
voices, there were many. They grew louder the farther up the trail they climbed. “Do
you hear that, Faith?” Angel asked in a soft careful voice.
Faith stopped struggling just long enough to say, “Hear what?” and went back to
trying to break free.
“Nothing,” Angel replied sullenly. Hope she manages to do whatever she plans to
do soon. We’re about to have a lot of company. Time slipped away again. Faith’s efforts
and the growing din encouraged him to begin again with his own attempt at escape. At
least time passes by faster if you’re doing something. He was no closer to breaking free
when the cottony treetops came into view on the other side of the canyon. He made a
vague mental note as he thrashed. That’s where we arrived.
The slight buzz had turned into a veritable symphony of annoying noises that
made Angel feel like his head might explode at any second. He was desperate to put his
hands to his ears, but no closer to being able to move. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of
these demons lay dead ahead on their current path, though all he could see was the
misty layer of haze that hung above the canyon and crept into the forest beyond. When
they crested the top of the plateau, the distant, majestic-looking mountain he’d seen
earlier peeked up from behind a column of craggy, green rock that rose up from the
canyon floor. Again I’m thinking beautiful, but this is the nastiest place I’ve ever been in
my life.
Movement ahead made him tense. Then suddenly he and Faith were falling. As
they crashed to the ground, Angel reeled and tried to make sense of what was
happening. Glancing left and right, his gaze fixed on the head of their captor lying
detached from his body in a thick puddle of milky-blue liquid. In no way is that a good
sign.
Angel observed their new captor lean over and rip the eyes out of their previous
captor’s head. The two demons were similar in many ways, but there was a sinister,
capable appearance to the new threat that made Angel extremely apprehensive. Loud
cracking noises issued from above his head and he reflexively winced.
A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach accompanied their being lifted from the
ground. Angel watched the body of their previous captor disappear from view as they
moved down the trail. There was a gaping hole in his side about where the crystalline
growth had been located. The same milky-blue fluid seeped from the hole, pooling on
the white ground under his body.
All too soon they were passing through a pair of heavy gates. The symphony
became a piercing wail once they passed inside the walls. Angel briefly clamped his eyes
shut desperate to cover his ears. Similar demons of all shapes, sizes and colors swirled
around them. Some stopped to peer at them with puzzlement, or with marked greed.
I just hope we’re not a delicacy or this could be a really short trip. They changed
directions, passing between slabs of rock that were being used as tables to display a
variety of colorful odd looking wares. Demons were gesturing animatedly at one
another, obviously haggling over prices. Yeah, maybe we’ll get lucky and be sold to the
one stupid bug-dog-demon thing in all of Hell, so we can escape and… Dream on. We’re
screwed.
Quickly enough, they were on a table being bartered for. Angel couldn’t see the
potential buyer. He prayed that it wouldn’t be as nasty as their current captor. The build
of this creature screamed ‘fighter.’ The demon looked as though he were made to
remove heads. There was one truly strange thing about his appearance that jumped out
at the vampire. On his right, top-most arm was a very human-looking hand where there
should’ve been a sharp, three-fingered claw. The demon used this appendage with
marked dexterity to manipulate small items, while the claws on the other three arms
appeared to be built-in weapons.
Angel watched the demon, who had been their temporary captor, draw still.
They appeared to have settled on a price. A pile of strangely shaped rocks slid across the
table toward their captor. He picked them up in the human-looking hand and walked
away.
Faith’s voice was thick with anxiety as she asked in a hushed tone, “Did I just see
what I think I saw?”
Angel clamped his eye shut again to concentrate through the din. “If you think
you saw us being sold for a handful of rocks, then yes,” he replied, carefully muting any
edginess from his voice.
“We’re screwed,” Faith commented aridly.
Yup.
A strange sensation caused Buffy to stir. She groaned and cracked her eyes. After
glancing around the dimly lit hotel room for only an instant before she prompted, “Will,
wake up.” It felt like ants were crawling all over the arch of her right foot. She was too
groggy to immediately put the pieces together, instead it annoyed her. When she
started to speak again, “Please, Wiill…” the details connected and she sprang to sitting
position, tossing Willow carelessly aside.
Willow came to rest near the edge of the bed. After rolling grumpily onto her
side, she croaked, “Wha—?”
Buffy was torn between annoyance, amazement, and sheepishness for having
thrown Willow. Finally, she managed to offer feebly, “My foot,” glancing over at her
friend.
Willow appeared completely puzzled, even in the low light. “Huh? What foot?”
It took her a few moments to process what was happening. She studied the expression
on the blonde’s face carefully before she sat up and drew the covers back. After moving
down to the bottom of the bed, she took Buffy’s right foot in her hand and began to rub
it, questioning with marked curiosity, “Where?”
Buffy was near tears when she responded, “Mostly along the arch, but I can
sorta feel my toes too.” The sensations were strange and distant, but there.
Ceasing the gentle massage, Willow asked, “Can you move your toes?”
“I dunno.” Buffy closed her eyes and focused on what she could feel of her foot,
wrestling internally with forcing movement from the injured limb. After several
moments of strained effort, she released the breath she’d unconsciously been holding
as if admitting defeat.
“It won’t all come back at once, Buffy, but this is good. This is really, really good.”
Buffy didn’t need to open her eyes to understand what Willow was feeling—the
emotion ran thick in her voice—she was happy, a little too happy. She listened to the
stifled sounds of her friend’s weeping. Moments later, when the gentle caress resumed,
the slayer surrendered to her tears.
Faith was alone in the dark box, still strapped to the poles she’d been bound to
when she regained consciousness. It seemed like hours had passed since Angel had
been removed and taken away. An old familiar feeling was consuming her: fear. In the
past, fear had been like a friend to her. It had brought feelings of desperation, then
finally anger. Anger was something she could’ve worked with. Somehow the wires in her
brain had crossed this time and she wasn’t angry. Instead, feelings of weakness and
terror threatened to consume her. She could barely form coherent thoughts and the
ones that did form were the stuff of twisted nightmares.
Finally, the box slid open again and she was ripped from isolation. She caught a
glimpse of a black head crowned with spines and oversized, reflective black eyes as she
slid into the light. Then the demon turned away, sweeping up one of the poles to drag
her along behind him. The crippling terror leapt up, causing her to hyperventilate. She
struggled to regain control.
When they came to a halt, the demon came briefly into view again when Faith
was lifted onto a clear slab that reminded her of an ice cube. She was centered on the
slab and the demon moved out of view. All she could recall of what she’d seen were
large black eyes that looked like chunks of obsidian; the rest had been a blur of darkly
hued movement. Looking up, her vision spotted against the blinding white light
overhead. When she tried to turn and glance around the room, something seized the
top of her head, clamping it into place. Defensively, she closed her eyes against the light.
A pointed object pressed against her chest and ran with mechanical precision
down to her groin, laying open all the layers of restraint and clothing down to bare skin.
A rush of bitter cold caused her body to thrash, exposing her even more. Agonizing pain
coursed through her each time she touched the table with her arms or legs. As she
flailed her limbs, searching for something to grab onto, they were seized one at a time
and clamped down, until she could no longer move. The remains of clothing were ripped
from underneath her and the frigid slab contacted her bare skin. The pain went away
when she came to rest.
Her teeth chattered as something was forced into her mouth. She gagged as the
invading object snaked down her throat. Breathing came with mechanical ease after the
object was inserted and she no longer felt like she was suffocating.
Tentatively, Faith tried desperately to open her eyes again. She caught a glimpse
of a mechanical arm reaching down before she was forced to close them again by the
overwhelming light. A scream caught in her throat as a sharp object pressed against her
breast bone. The excruciating pain blurred as the blade cut into her, finally turning
muddy when she succumbed to unconsciousness.
Seemingly unfazed by the absence of clothing, Angel rolled painfully onto his
back. He was cold, but not terribly so. His chest ached. Opening his eyes, he peered
muzzily down at the new, white skin that was growing in place of the section the demon
had removed. It was a perfect oval, right in the center of his chest. He removed my
sternum and cracked my chest. I passed out when he spread my ribs. Wonder why he
stopped? Must’ve been the chunk of dead meat that passes for my heart.
Oh God! I hope he’s not doing that to Faith! Desperation set in and Angel started
to move with difficulty. After propping himself up on his elbows, his attention turned to
looking around the featureless, square cell. His gaze fixed on the rough, clear bars that
enclosed the front and one side of his prison. A coarse-rock walled hallway and two
additional cells were all that was visible beyond the perimeter.
I’m not alone. Two cells down, another man lay curled in a ball, sleeping on the
glossy, white stone floor. Before Angel could react, a loud clank echoed from the other
side of the wall, causing the strange man to jump to his feet. Angel remained silent
when he got a good look at the man’s chest; in the center was a clear port like he’d seen
on their first captor. His eyes fixed on the perfect oval window. His expression sagged
with disbelief as he watched the man’s heart beat and lungs move. The tissue around
the port had long ago healed, fusing to the implant.
They studied each other for what seemed like an eternity before Angel came
back to his senses and asked, “How long have you been here?”
Movement on the other side of the solid wall caused the strange man to shrink
into the back corner of his cell.
Angel rose to his feet, standing ready for attack as the demon moved into view,
dragging Faith along behind him by her ankle. Unlike the previous two, this demon
moved on his hind legs, standing erect like a man. He wasn’t much taller than Angel
himself, but there was an air of sophistication about him that was lacking in the earlier
examples.
Angel’s attention quickly turned to Faith when it occurred to him that sizing up
their captor was the last thing he should be worried about. The demon waved his hand
and the bars on the empty cell slid into the floor and ceiling. Once they were clear, he
slung her limp body into the empty cell and walked away. Angel moved to the edge of
his cell to get a better look.
Faith’s skin tone hand an unhealthy blue cast to it. Angel quickly became aware
that he couldn’t see her heart beating through the view port between her breasts but,
with the bars separating them, there was nothing he could do. She’s dead. Shock and
desperate powerlessness consumed him as he stared at the lifeless organs.
Clicking noises issued from beyond the wall and the hair on Angel’s body stood
on end. As the air around them charged, the port in the center of Faith’s chest began to
emit a low luminescence. He stared helplessly at the slayer, relieved to see her heart stir
slowly to life. When she gasped and choked, clutching her arms to her chest, Angel was
struck with sudden awareness that something else was very wrong. Both of her hands
were missing.
Angel’s mouth fell open in alarm. He peered up at the strange man in the next
cell. His eyes fixed on the boney looking, partially re-grown hands graphed to the
stumps at the end of the man’s arms. The growths were unlike anything he’d ever seen,
the tendons were corded blue fiber and the bones looked clear and cloudy. A milkywhite layer of outer skin had just begun to form on the man’s right hand. The tendons
underneath were clearly visible through the thin epidermis.
After several moments of dumbfounded study, Angel’s attention returned to the
slayer. Something strange was happening to her. The clear port began to blur with a
strange, black, misty substance. He glanced up to look at the clear port in the center of
the other man’s chest, quickly turning back to Faith. The port continued to cloud over
until it was completely black and opaque. Fine tendrils of black fiber began to grow out
of the oval implant, cording and weaving randomly together as they snaked across her
breasts.
Angel leaned forward against the bars while he watched the thin fibers cover
their host, yelping when a jolt hit him, knocking him to his knees. He slumped,
reflexively gasping at the severe pain the unconscious action had caused. Once he
managed to climb to his feet again, Faith’s chest was entirely encased in a corded,
translucent, matte-black cocoon. The hair-fine fibers continued to trail outward. He
observed with interest as they coiled into her navel, emerging on the other side, leaving
behind a thin black coating that clung tightly to her skin.
Shame reflected on his features while he studied the metamorphosis. It was like
watching a train wreck. No matter how much he wanted to, Angel couldn’t seem to tear
his gaze away.
Damning himself to avert his eyes, Angel turned his attention to the bloody
stumps where her hands had once been. As the black fibers crept down her arm, he
found himself once again praying that her hands would return. I should know better.
Praying and vampires—it’s a bad combination. When the fibers reached the ends of her
arms, they wove around the stumps and stopped. Damn it! No good ever comes of my
praying.
The Lame and the Blind
Still wet from the shower, Buffy tugged modestly at her robe and lay down on
the bed. After glancing over at the medical text her friend was reading, she struggled to
control the anxiety she was feeling by closing her eyes and metering her breathing.
Finally, she asked in an arid tone, “Are you sure about this?”
Willow glanced up from her book just long enough to reply, “Positive.”
Buffy started to counter, “But, Will—” then broke off, hearing the argument
again in her head. She’s right, it needs to happen. It’s not like I want to wear this thing
for one minute more than I have to. Now that I can sorta feel the bag and—it’s a major
bad. I came within inches of removing it in the shower. But again, she’s right: careful is a
good.
Willow took one look at the blonde and blushed deep red, then began to babble
nervously, “I’m really sorry, Buffy. I just can’t think of any other way to— Well, you
could do it yourself. I could tell you how. It’s not hard, but then they say there might be
pain and well…I’m not sure you want to—what, with the painful—I’m not sure I want to,
with the—”
“It’s okay, Wi—” Buffy tried to interject but quickly fell silent when the former
redhead cut her off. Oh boy. My life just wasn’t quite interesting enough. I can just
imagine how much fun the ’spainy would be. Might be amusing, but I think I’ll take a
pass. Over with—like right now—it’s a total plan.
“I mean, it’s not like I can’t do it—I can—you could,” Willow stammered
nervously. Taking a deep calming breath, she added, “This should be our last night on
the road. When we get to New Orleans, I’ll sit down and setup medical records for you,
but right now there’d just be too many questions. I didn’t expect this so soon,
so…umm…yeah.” She shrugged. “You could wait.”
After glaring at her friend for only an instant to express her distaste, Buffy broke
into a smile meant to reassure. When it had exactly the opposite effect, she couldn’t
help but tease, “Gee, Will, I think Xander was right.”
what?”
Willow couldn’t have looked more nervous as she stammered, “Ah—about
“It’s just—the whole ‘playing doctor’ thing—” her friend’s pout made Buffy
giggle “—you totally missed the point…or at least you missed the ‘bedside manner’ part
of the game,” she commented, becoming gradually more amused as she spoke. At least
she’ll be in the right area this time. Baby-steps for our Willow. We get her in the right
neighborhood, and then—
Pouting, Willow poked the blonde in the side and replied defensively, “Be nice to
me,” returning to her book.
When her friend eventually placed a towel between them, gesturing for her to
move, Buffy parted her robe and complied. After letting go the breath she was holding,
she ignored the thick swallowing noise Willow made and shut her eyes.
Trying to get her mind off what was happening; Buffy reflected in a distant tone,
“I’m still not sure I get this. Why so sudden? And why’s it all broken up? I mean I can feel
most of my thigh, calf and foot—” she stifled the urge to gasp when her friend touched
her “—but not my knee. And the feeling—it’s all patchy and weird—pins and needles
sorta stuff in places. It makes all kind of the sense that’s not. I sorta thought it’d be a
‘top down’ kinda thing when I got it back.” ’Kay, so…why am I praying for the painful to
start? It’d be so much easier—’cause my brain…it’s turning to mush. And well…is she
answering because, well—? Would I know if she was? The contact went away and she
breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god that’s over! Awkward much?
“’Kay, all done,” Willow said as she rose from the bed and moved away toward
the bathroom still speaking, “So, yeah…it’s gonna be random and weird.”
If she ever touches me there again it’ll be ’cause I’m showing her the right way to
‘play doctor.’ Buffy lifted herself up with her one good leg and pulled the towel away,
tossing it on the floor. Not that I’m overly cluesome, but— As she lowered her pelvis
back to the bed, she drew her robe closed and smoothed it down. At least that stupid
thing’s gone. I’m almost human again.
Willow returned to the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “It’s only
been ten days, Buffy. I didn’t expect you to—but then that was the point—why no one
would say. I read a case file online about a guy who took ten years to heal from a similar
injury. It’s just different for everyone. Some people take six months, others years. Then
there’s the whole ‘slayer’ thing. I only found one case.” Continuing without pause, her
voice fell off to barely a whisper, “It was buried and the language was very cryptic. I got
the idea” — turning choked — “sh-she died shortly after. It was bad.”
Buffy glanced up to see her friend wiping away a tear and offered reassuringly,
“S’okay, Will. That’s not me.” She sighed before adding, “Only because of you, though.”
When what she said was met with only brooding silence, Buffy rose from the bed and
grabbed her crutches. “I’m gonna go get ready for bed. Thanks for—”
Willow nodded vaguely.
After quickly getting into a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized tee-shirt, Buffy
returned to the room to find Willow already curled up in bed with the lights out. She
leaned her crutches against the wall and slipped into bed, pulling her friend up close. I
dunno exactly why or how, but ‘not sleeping alone’ has been a major good. It’s only been
a few days, but it feels like weeks since I was near anything that felt like home except
her. I need—I miss it. Homesick for a place that lies over the mouth of hell. Go figure.
“So, would you explain that again? I sorta lost you somewhere between the—and the—
”
Nuzzling into the slope of the blonde’s shoulder, Willow gasped, “Oh,” and
breathed a deep sigh.
Buffy could feel the smile form on her friend’s face and giggled in response.
“Umm…yeah…now that you’re not—would you mind repeating the answer for those of
us who weren’t in the room?”
“Weren’t in the room? I’m not sure whether to be flattered or upset.”
“It was distracting, ’kay?” Buffy replied dryly as she absently ran her nails over
Willow’s back. Hope she’s not getting the wrong idea. She fell still at the thought.
Willow snickered and said, “’Kay,” growing obviously more pensive before she
responded, “All that stuff—the sexual stuff and, well—it’s controlled from the sacral
region of the spine. In other words the very, very bottom—the part that attaches to
your hips. Swelling pinched it off. No more swelling and—”
“A much happier Buffy,” the blonde filled in with a chuckle.
“Yup,” Willow confirmed as she rolled onto her back. “The rest of it is that the
actual injury was to the region of the spine that controls the knee. I’m not sure how it’ll
go from here. I know that some of the fadey weirdness you’ve been complaining of is
probably from residual swelling” — she turned onto her other side, facing away from
her friend — “but—well, we’re back to not really being able to speculate.” She yawned
deeply as the blonde tucked in behind her. “The thing that was seriously weird was the
‘just one side.’ I mean, I’ve read lots of other cases now, but ‘one side’ is just strange.”
Buffy wrapped her arm around her friend’s slender waist and took her hand,
setting in for sleep. “How many of those were people that got shot with an arrow?
Seems like it’d be a pretty rare thing.”
“None,” Willow answered simply, then quickly continued to fill in, “Lots of
broken backs. Lots of gunshot wounds. Sorta similar, but lots faster and a much smaller
projectile. Because of the faster, I’m guessing there’d be a lot more trauma.”
“Doesn’t seem like it’d be even close to the same,” Buffy whispered. Sighing
softly before she admitted, “I have flashes of numbness in the left leg too, when I move
sometimes. I didn’t want to worry, so—and what with the—it just didn’t seem
important.” She released Willow’s hand just long enough to sweep the hair away from
the nape of her friend’s neck. “It worries me, but because it’s so random I sorta guessed
it was pinching. The brace—the one around my middle—helps a bunch. It’s pretty rare.”
Willow exhaled sharply as though she were holding her breath. When she finally
replied her tone was so even it sounded forced, “You should keep wearing that for a bit.
Even if—I know it can’t be comfortable.”
After letting go of her friend’s hand again, Buffy knocked on the hard plastic
brace and whispered, “Not taking it off,” reclaiming the hand, “Well, just to dry it. The
numbness—it’s a bad sign.” What’s worse, I totally get the wig. I wasn’t worried about it
then, but now—it’d be good if it never happened again.
Willow gently pulled on the arm around her waist, forcing the blonde closer as
she whispered, “’Kay. Be careful. I want you all better.”
Yielding to the demand for more contact, Buffy tucked her good knee in behind
her friend’s. Awareness that her hand was between Willow’s breasts made her slightly
uneasy. Well, so much for the right messages. So much for—I can’t exactly pull away.
Well, I could, but she probably doesn’t realize and it’d wig her out worse. Struggling to
keep her tone neutral, she answered, “I’ll be careful. Promise,” and forced a sleepy
yawn. Sleep’s a good. I’ll be able to get my hand back.
“You better,” Willow mumbled drowsily.
Faith dimly focused on her surroundings, barely aware of her own shrill,
agonized shrieking. Not opening her eyes, she curled into a tight ball. The entire surface
of her skin felt like it was being grated away as she moved. Pain shot from her hands
and she raised them to eyelevel. Her eyes snapped open. Another terrified scream
poured out as she recognized they were gone.
Praying that the nightmare would end, Faith blinked. When she opened her eyes
again nothing had changed. After several moments of grappling with what she saw, her
gaze traveled up the surface of her arms. The weave of black wires that covered the
stumps of her wrists coated her entire form. She forced herself to a sitting position,
feeling the anguish intensify. It was like she was wearing a body suit that was three sizes
too small. Every time she shifted around, thousands of fine wires ground into her skin.
As she moved, a matted clump of blood-soaked hair stuck to her face, partially
covering one eye. Without thinking, Faith tried to sweep it away. The stump at the end
of her arm contacted the mesh covering her face and she screamed again.
“Faith! Stop moving!”
The words repeated over and over. Faith couldn’t make sense of them. Peering
down at herself in a state of panic, she finally understood why Angel was screaming at
her. She was sitting in a puddle of blood. With every movement the puddle grew.
Raising her arm, she watched blood drip from her elbow.
Her senses dimmed. She was barely aware she was falling until she struck the
floor. Then everything went mercifully black.
Willow lingered behind the young porter who was carrying their luggage to their
rooms to wait for her friend. Stairs and Buffy—they just don’t mix well yet. She
understood that part of the slowness was simply the blonde’s nature. She was dawdling
to take in the almost two-hundred-year-old manor. At least we’re finally here. Getting
lost didn’t help. I’m beat. I could sleep for a week.
“Are you sure this isn’t a bit much?” Buffy whispered into her friend’s ear.
Willow shrugged before replying in a muted tone, “I booked in advance and it’s
an off-season. It wasn’t that bad. Really, it was only a little more than a hotel.”
Buffy smiled cheerfully and continued to look around as they made their way up
the stairs.
The porter passed them on the winding staircase as he went to get the rest of
their luggage, tipping his hat politely.
When they eventually made it past all of the crystal chandeliers and beautiful
antiques to their rooms, Willow remarked, “Pick which room you want. I really don’t
care,” struggling to suppress a smile when the blonde’s face sagged with confusion.
“I thought—I mean, on the road we sorta—I thought it’d be the—”
Smiling on the inside, Willow said, “I thought you’d want your own room, Buffy. I
guess we could change it if you wanted. I dunno with the advanced booking. Want me
to go ask?” I stopped getting rooms with two beds ’cause she kept just crawling in bed
with me. It seemed like a waste. She stood in the hallway patiently waiting for the
blonde to decide which room she liked better. She’s either really, really clingy ’cause of
the homesickness, or really, really confused. Probably a little of both, and not feeling
good because of her leg. What I read about that said one thing to me: unpleasant.
Letting her decide what she wants is best.
Buffy poked her head out of the room on the right long enough to say, “I like this
one,” and disappeared back inside.
Following dutifully, Willow looked around at the large four-poster bed and the
sitting area with two Victorian style chairs. “So are we keeping both?” she asked
patiently.
After taking a seat in a chair next to the marble fireplace, Buffy replied, “I dunno,
Will. I sort of got used to you, but if you want your own room I totally understand.”
Moving the crutch aside, Willow sat in the chair next to the blonde and offered
honestly, “It wasn’t for me. I just didn’t want to be pushy…what with the weirdness.”
Buffy’s gaze fixed on the painting above the mantel as she said sullenly, “I get it.”
Willow got up, speaking as she moved to the door, “I’ll go talk with the nice man
at the front desk. You have the porter move all the bags in here.” Turning to smile and
wink before she left the room, she added, “It’s no big.”
“’Kay,” Buffy replied with a distant expression on her face.
Angel pulled his knees up to his chest, dropping his head in his hands. He could
still smell the blood. Though her skin had slowly grown back over the mesh of wire, Faith
still reeked of it. It was in her hair, caked on her lips, even the soft tissues of her groin
smelled rich with the life giving stuff. He listened to the sounds of her whimpering from
the next cell.
Angel glanced up just long enough to make eye contact with the strange man,
taking in the fresh bruises forming on his chest and jaw. I wonder if she realizes how
many days she was actually in his cell before he touched her. He’s barely spoken a word,
but the few he’s said sounded like Scandinavian. Once we figured out that
communication wasn’t going to be possible, he clammed up. It’s like he’s watching and
listening—waiting for something.
Suddenly, as if in answer to a prayer, water began to rain from the ceiling,
purging the smells. Angel looked up into the fine, chilly mist and began to tremble.
Turning his attention to the slayer, Angel watched her shiver and weep. She
probably doesn’t remember much. How do I even begin to tell her about that thing
replacing her implant? Once was bad enough. Would it be better if all that just stayed in
the realm of nightmare? Probably. If she asks, I’ll tell her; if she doesn’t, I won’t.
am I?”
When the water stopped falling, Faith sprang to her feet and screamed, “What
The sudden movement caused Angel to flinch. Then he looked up in disbelief as
the slayer struck the rough bars between their cells. The skin on her forearms ripped
away. A charge coursed through the remaining water. He jumped to his feet, but it did
little good. He was knocked to his knees again before she struck the bars a second time.
“Faith! Sto—” he tried to say before she hit the bars again.
I?”
Faith grabbed the bars with her boney, black hands and asked again, “What am
Doubling over in agony, Angel couldn’t answer. When the slayer finally backed
away from the bars, he scrambled to the other side of his cell and looked up. She was
staring at him expectantly. The smell of fresh blood made him cringe. He cupped the
cracking skin of his hand over his mouth before he answered, “Faith: the vampire
slayer.” It was the only thing he knew to say. He blinked as the torn, charred skin on her
arms sealed over the gore-drenched black mesh right before his eyes.
“No,” Faith screamed, “What am I?” tearing the skin from her upper arm with a
boney finger as she raged.
Angel peered up into her frightened face and replied, “I don’t know, Faith.” As he
studied the slayer, she fell to the ground again, starting to sob and sway back and forth.
Frightening—frightening is what you are.
Giles took in the crestfallen appearance of the younger Englishman as he exited
the office. This promises to be terrible news. He needn’t say a word.
“Toby extends his condolences,” Wesley muttered en route to the counter
where Giles was cataloging the final few returned texts before replacing them on their
shelves.
Dropping the book he had in hand, Giles choked “He what—?”
Wesley leaned against the counter, meeting the gaze of his senior before he
explained, “Apparently a new slayer was called several days ago and the council, in its
infinite wisdom, did not see fit to inform us.”
Without further comment, Giles took off in a mad dash towards the door.
Leaning forward in the chair, Buffy dropped her face in her hands and peered
gloomily at the oriental area rug. I dunno what I was thinking. Night before last, I’m
freaking—’kay, so…that’s a bit overstated—I’m uncomfortable because my hand ended
up somewhere—umm…uncomfortable. I wish I could ask Mom if this brain damage runs
in the family, ’cause it’s seriously unflattering. It’d be nice to have someone to blame.
Buffy groaned and swept her hand through her hair, appearing completely
annoyed. We get here and I start feeling abandoned. Abandoned? And just ’cause she
got two rooms? I need to get this figured ’cause I’m seriously making it worse.
Slouching forward again with her forearms on her thighs, Buffy peered down at
the bracelet Willow had given her. Funny thing, I’ve been a complete nightmare and I
know it. Through the whole thing, she’s been nothing but sweet. It’s not like I didn’t see
it or— No huge revelations—just people telling me the obvious—even Mom, which was
totally wiggy. She’s in love. Completely one-hundred percent hooked… A wistful sigh
slipped out. On me. Buffy bit her lower lip. The watching makes it different. She’s even—
she showed me—she keeps showing me. It’s really subtle, too—gentle.
Not really focusing on anything, Buffy began to play with the bracelet, watching
the light reflect off the silver and tiny gem stones. It had everything to do with that
night…and yet nothing at all. The hard part—the confusing and painful part—I love her
too. I always have. But I’m not sure what that means. I need to figure it out…and fast.
Hurting her—it’s so not in the plan.
The bathroom door cracked open and Buffy stirred from her reverie. When she
caught sight of her friend, shock caused her face to sag with uncertainty. What’d—?
Willow entered the room smiling deviously.
The grin did nothing to calm Buffy as she looked over the black, strapped corset
with a deep-crimson, plaid appliqué on the front and leather belts at the waist. Her gaze
traveled down to the black, lacy, ruffled mini skirt and ripped fishnet stockings, resting
on the black, high-heeled platform boots laced through a series of silver o-rings. Finally
she looked up at the heavy, black eye makeup and deep-red lipstick her friend wore.
The red streaks in her shaggy, rumpled, black hair were the final touch.
Where’d she put my Willow? I know I keep asking that, but— What the hell? I get
the goth, but…umm…wow! Hearing and seeing— Again with the totally different. I guess
there sorta was that once, but that wasn’t my Willow. You don’t suppose she got turned
in the bathroom? She was gone a long time. Nah…probably took her at least half an
hour to stuff herself into that corset. Wardrobe should seriously start sending out memos
’cause the freaking…it’s not flattering. Recovering enough to speak, Buffy snarked, “So,
the blue tinge—is that makeup or are you having trouble breathing?” and started to
giggle.
Willow rolled her eyes and commented dryly, “Your clothes are in the
bathroom.”
Uh-boy…this should be funny. Buffy rose to her feet and limped gingerly across
the room, winking before she disappeared through the doorway. Whoa! That was
different. Let’s see what sort of punishment I earned. More of the funny, Will actually
looks good in whatever she wears. Me? A blonde goth chick? This should be… Her gaze
came to rest on a very plain pair of black leather pants that looked like they’d fit her
tight at the hips but flared just enough at the leg to allow her to wear the brace
underneath. Hanging on top of them was a corset, in a similar crimson plaid to the one
Willow wore, that looked very much like a men’s suit vest. She examined it and decided
that the brace from the hospital could go provided she was careful. Rounding out the
ensemble was a pair of practical looking, black Doc Martens boots and black nylons to
keep the brace away from her skin.
Buffy removed her robe and began to dress while she listened to Willow speak
from the bedroom.
“You should get the ‘why,’ Buffy.”
Buffy called out as she sat and slipped on the nylons, “I do. Doesn’t make it— It’s
just different, Will. You look—well…umm…you look amazing—” she sighed and lowered
her voice “—but it’s just weird.” When no comment was returned, she asked, “When
did you go shopping?” She put the leg brace on next, then struggled a little to get the
leather pants on over it while her friend responded.
“Back in Sunnydale. I actually stumbled across this, surfing months ago. I thought
I gave you the details?”
“You did.” Buffy winced as she recalled the one memory that would probably
never fade: a police evidence photograph of a mangled, half-eaten female torso, partly
buried in silt and tangled with debris, that had washed up in the Mississippi bayou. They
were vacationing in New Orleans for Mardi Gras two years ago. Janet Williams was
identified by a birthmark and distinctive tattoo. The case was never solved. Her partner,
Alison Rouche, went missing at the same time. When Janet’s body was identified, Alison
was presumed dead too. They were the one mistake—the two people that were actually
missed.
“What, with all that happened, it just seemed like the thing to do—a way to do
some good. I don’t think this is mystical. I think it’s a human predator. I could be wrong,
but it just doesn’t seem right. Vamps sort of feed on whatever; this thing’s smart. It
preys on a group of people that won’t be missed. In fact, kids like this are sort of
expected to come up missing.”
“Yeah…I get it.” After putting the corset over her head, Buffy removed the
hospital brace and cinched the corset down as best she could without twisting.
“Thing is, ’cause the disappearances are happening in a few different towns—
Mobile, Houston, and here—the cops haven’t clued to them being linked. But they’re all
the same. All these women had three distinguishing features: young, lesbian, and riot
grrl or goth—the sorta people that most of Middle America doesn’t care much about.
Most of them are just labeled ‘missing’ because of the not caring.” After a short pause,
Willow added, “Well, that and the whole lack of physical evidence.”
“Will, would you come help me out for a sec?” Buffy asked as she stood and
zipped up the leather pants.
corset.
Willow entered the bathroom and, without prompting, began to tighten the
When her friend was done, she winked and walked out of the room, leaving
Buffy to finish. After taking a seat on the bench again to try and put on her shoes, Buffy
found that she couldn’t reach her feet. Oops! I should’ve put the shoes on before the
corset, ’cause touching my toes—it’s not gonna happen. Oh well, I’ll get Will to help once
I’m done. A snicker slipped out and she stood to do her hair and makeup.
Several minutes of silence passed, trying to make conversation, Buffy called out,
“So, do you just spend your time looking for stuff like this? Is there some sorta twisted
hobby I should clue into?”
A bit perplexed by the lack of response, Buffy poked her head out the door to
see Willow on the emergency cell phone. Oh shit! Her mind raced. That was supposed to
be—are we being called home? She gave her friend a questioning glare and received the
phone for her effort. “Mom?” This so can’t be good. She’s wouldn’t call just to check in,
would she? Buffy tensed at the thought. Doesn’t she trust us? I mean she knows this is—
we’ve only got so many minutes before we have to give Topp Telecom a credit card
number. Then these things are totally useless—we may as well hang a neon sign.
worry.
“Buffy? Oh god, it’s good to hear your voice,” Joyce replied, her tone thick with
“Is everything alright? Do we need to come back?” Buffy asked anxiously.
“No, dear,” Joyce replied simply. A nervous intake of air caused the phone to hiss
and she continued, “I’m not sure how to tell you this, but Mr. Giles is here and he says
that Wesley discovered through a council contact that a new…” Unable to complete the
statement, she trailed off.
Buffy puzzled for only a moment and prompted, “A new slayer?”
“Yes.”
Struggling to catch up, Buffy fell silent for a short time, finally remarking, “You
know that doesn’t—” she sighed “—it doesn’t mean she’s dead. I mean she could’ve—”
Her voice failed mid-thought.
“I know, dear,” Joyce responded, “It’s good to hear your voice, but we should—”
“It’s good to hear yours too. Mom, I miss you,” Buffy offered, making eye contact
with an expectant-looking Willow. “We miss you,” she amended, “And Giles…and
Xander. I’m not quite to the point of missing Wesley or Cordelia yet, but give it
time…and give the first two our love.”
“I will. I love you.” Joyce’s voice sounded choked with emotion.
“I love you too, Mom,” Buffy replied, struggling to keep her tone more reserved.
The desire for contact won out and she offered, “We’re fine—actually, a little better
than. I’m walking again. Well, limping, but— Not perfect, but good—better than I
expected,” trying to reassure her mother.
“That’s wonderful news, honey.”
Buffy glanced up to see her friend looking at her watch. “Mom, y’know I don’t
want to, but—” Saying goodbye—? I can’t—I can’t let myself think this is the end, but
we’ve only got so much and this is gone. I don’t want to be pushy. Mom’s got the facts,
same as me.
“You take care of Willow. Her parents are beside themselves with worry.”
“I will.” Buffy didn’t want to press the disconnect button, but she finally forced
herself to. It took them long enough to notice. Stupid people.
“Faith died?”
Buffy didn’t take her eyes off the cell phone for several moments. She wasn’t
sure what to make of the news, or even the tone of her friend’s voice. There was
something strange about it she couldn’t place. More confusion—like I needed more.
When she finally tore her gaze from the phone, Willow was observing her keenly again.
She handed the phone back and replied, “Yeah,” in a monotone voice, turning back to
finish her makeup. She was standing in front of the mirror minutes later putting on a
thick layer of eyeliner, when she sensed her friend approaching. “I can’t tell you why,
but I don’t think she’s dead,” Buffy offered reassuringly.
Willow confirmed, “I know,” with a light, habitual tap on the door. After stepping
inside, she remarked offhandedly, “Probably bad timing—in fact, definitely bad timing
and I’m gonna have to stop doing this ’cause you’re gonna get more impossible than you
already are, but here—” she handed Buffy an elegant, slender, hawthorn cane with a
turned knob handle and a silver tip and collar “—I thought it might be useful.”
“Thank you, Will. It’s beautiful.” Buffy accepted the cane and examined it before
leaning it against the wall. Smiling, she pulled her friend into an embrace. Leaning back
to make eye contact, she prompted, “Okay, so…you plan to explain?”
to—”
again.’
Willow asked, “The gift?” looking puzzled, “You needed one…or you were going
Buffy rolled her eyes and made a hand gesture to indicate her friend should ‘try
Withdrawing from the hug, Willow shrugged and replied in an almost
disinterested fashion, “Oh, Faith? I tagged her. Well, sorta. I put a protection spell on
her. If she died for more than a few minutes I’d feel it.” She paused to tease her hair in
the mirror and added, “Anyway, I half expected the call,” then turned to leave the room.
Snickering, Buffy went back to applying makeup. That’s my Will.
Angel glared at their demon captor as he entered the hallway, towing the slayer
along by her wrist. I thought I knew evil. This thing makes me look like an amateur. I was
just playing the role. This creature actually is evil. No hope of redemption—it is what it is.
As the demon reached out to open the Scandinavian man’s cell, the man pressed
himself tight into the back corner.
Angel watched with dismayed interest as Faith was thrown once more into the
other man’s cell. The slayer sprawled unmoving onto her back. What’s it been doing to
Faith? I wish I knew, but she’s still gone more than she’s here and, when she’s here, I’d
prefer she was gone. That’s terrible to even think, but she’s starting to scare the hell out
of me.
The demon lingered at the mouth of the cell, clutching something similar to a
polished glass rod in one of its four, very human-looking hands.
Angel observed this new behavior with concern. I wonder what this thing’s got in
mind. The sound of Scandinavian man’s tortured screams didn’t surprise him in the
least, but he still winced.
There was no change in the appearance of the glass rod as the demon used it to
herd the stranger over to Faith. Then the demon simply pointed. His meaning couldn’t
have been plainer.
Dread filled Angel and he wanted to avert his gaze, but found he couldn’t. He’s
been studying her. He’s figured it out. He’s trying to breed them. More humans to
torture—a never-ending supply.
Suddenly the demon turned, fixing its empty, black eyes on Angel. It moved with
startling grace and speed, closing the Scandinavian man’s cell and making its way over
to Angel.
Angel peered up into the black, wolfish face of the demon. The matte, felt-like
surface of the demon’s form seemed to absorb the light around it. In a world where
brightness was the standard, the effect—which, anywhere else, would’ve hidden him—
screamed for attention. When the pain came, Angel doubled over, fighting not to cry
out. I will not give this piece of shit the satisfaction of hearing me scream!
After removing the paper umbrella, Willow took a sip of the fruity concoction the
bartender’d handed her and mocked a cheerful smile. We’re having fun, remember?
Yup, darn tootin’! Fun I say.
Doesn’t matter that Buffy’s been in a funk since her mom called. I can’t really
blame her. I miss them too, Xander especially. We haven’t been apart this much,
well…ever. Swiveling on the bar stool, Willow glanced around the large dance floor,
taking in the movement and the flashing colored lights. The enthusiastic rhythm of the
overly-loud music was almost annoying. Fun! Yay!
Leaning in to speak over the racket, “Not really sure this is—” Buffy grumbled,
“Would you mind if we moved on?”
Willow rose from her seat, abandoning the overly sweet cocktail without regret,
and replied, “Lead the way.” She followed the blonde as she pushed through the crowd,
emerging onto the sidewalk in front of the club. The night air was so warm and humid it
felt like it clung to her skin. She looked down the narrow street at all the brightly lit signs
and colorful awnings.
Buffy stepped around to her friend’s right, leaning her weight against the cane as
she moved. “So where to?”
Willow smiled when the blonde took her hand and reflected, “I’m willing to
follow your instincts. You lead.” She never fails to surprise me. I should just clue up and
quit. It’s just—she adapts so quickly. Yesterday she was using crutches; today I can
barely tell she’d been hurt.
As they set off at a relaxed pace together, taking in the neon lights and rush of
music that poured out onto the busy street, Buffy’s gaze fixed on something down a
narrow side-street. After crossing onto the sidewalk on the other side of the
intersection, she commented wryly, “You sure that’s what you want?”
Willow shrugged. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” She glanced at the
blonde and peered down the side-street to see what had caught her eye. Her gaze fixed
on a sign with a skull and skeletal torso draped in cloth announcing the club name ‘Ye
Olde Original Dungeon.’
“Goth connection, meet goth bar,” Buffy muttered under her breath and started
down the cross-street toward the sign with Willow at her side. “As much of this stuff as
we’ve seen that’s real, the fake—it gets all the more funny.” They were soon crossing
the bridge that led to the heavy, wrought-iron-banded, wooden door of the club.
Willow glanced over to see an amused grin warming the blonde’s features when
the entry opened up into a mock torture chamber. At least she seems happier. This
place is pretty funny. Sorta like a really campy horror film set. As they passed under a
stone arch into a large, black-walled room lit in red light, the beat of the music sent
vibrations through her body.
It was Friday night and the club was packed as they moved past the throng of
patrons to explore. The remainder of the place was a veritable cornucopia of haunted
house clichés. They wound their way through wrought-iron gates; up narrow, creaky
staircases; past creepy-looking, fake monsters; and through mazes made from
bookshelves. Beyond each obstacle they passed, they discovered more large rooms full
of party goers, each one with a similar theme: black walls with red accent bricks painted
in, red strobe lights, and fog machines.
Buffy let out an amused giggle that was nearly lost in the flood of sound from the
P.A. when her gaze fixed on the ceiling.
As they passed into what appeared to be the third and final main room of their
journey, Willow glanced back to see what had been so amusing. An ornate sarcophagus
hung, suspended by chains, near the ceiling of the previous room. Yuppers, serious
camp. She shrugged, quickly turning her attention forward to take in the next room. It
was a little smaller than The Bronze back home and much more comfortable, except
that is was lined floor-to-ceiling with fake human skulls. They made their way to the bar
in the middle of the room and each took a seat. Despite the décor, it was quieter and
Buffy began to visibly relax.
“Anything prickly?” Willow leaned in and asked, already knowing the answer.
“Nada. No self-respecting vamp would be caught dead—” Buffy snickered at the
poor choice of words “—in a cliché like this. But vamps’re not what we’re after, so…”
When the bartender came around to offer them the club standards—dragon’s
blood or witch’s brew—Buffy ordered an orange and grapefruit juice and Willow
ordered a diet cola.
Yup, fun! Willow mused as she glanced over at her friend. I’m not sure how to
drag us outta the dumps. Regardless what Faith did, the news was still upsetting.
Suppose I should’ve warned Buffy, but it honestly didn’t cross my mind. It’s not like the
spell sets off flashing lights and sirens in your head. It’s way more subtle—more
instinctual.
Willow suppressed the urge to sweep a clump of hair from the blonde’s face,
considering the action too forward in the moment. Instead she searched through her
purse, locating money to pay the bartender. Then you’ve got the extra goodness of
Buffy’s mom calling to make sure we weren’t… That had to be painful for her. I should’ve
probably suggested we stay in and watch a movie. But with the dressing up—I don’t
think she would’ve. She’d’ve wanted to make me happy.
Accepting her cola, Willow passed the bartender a bill and took a sip. This place
really isn’t— I’d try to get her to dance to cheer up, but I know walking—it has to be
hard. Doesn’t matter how well she’s doing—I can still feel the stress. That, and the kind
of dancing—I mean, that transy, weird dancing they do in these places—it doesn’t even
look fun. Dancing should be fun, or snuggly…one of the two. This doesn’t look like either,
which—it’s pretty pointless.
After taking a drink of her juice, Buffy casually put her arm around her friend’s
waist and asked, “What’s wrong, Will?”
“Honestly?” Willow chuckled “I’m worried about you.” She shut out all the
movement and noise around them and focused her attention on her friend. When the
admission was answered with a giggle, Willow began to unwind.
“Y’know, I probably shouldn’t like this place, but I do,” Buffy reflected, “It’s
almost like a bad parody” — absently stirring her juice with a swizzle stick — “might be
wrong—I dunno.”
Willow took a sip of her soda before she responded, “Could be just ’cause of
what you said before: any self-respecting vampire wouldn’t be caught dead here. Sorta
takes the pressure off.” She giggled, glancing over her shoulder before she added, “Plus
the people watching potential—it’s just like the place, every bad parody known to
monster-kind. There’s enough black velvet and white pancake makeup in here to supply
the set of the next Anne Rice film.”
“Yup, pretty much,” Buffy agreed and took a drink of her juice.
Willow found herself getting caught up in simply enjoying the company. It was
nice. “So what do you wanna do tomorrow? There’s lots of stuff to see if you wanna get
all touristy.”
“Has potential. Do you have something in mind?”
“Well, there’s Jackson Square. I sorta wanna go there. It looks really pretty from
the pictures and there’s lots of local artisans that come to—” Willow offered, breaking
off when a hand closed over her shoulder.
A soft, breathy, female voice whispered in her ear, “You should ditch the
pathetic Barbie doll and come home with me.”
Willow was just about to remark about how rude it was to interrupt a private
conversation when Buffy leapt to her feet. By the time she got turned around, Buffy was
in the other woman’s face. She watched, slack-jawed, as the slayer stared malevolently
at the much larger woman.
“’Kay, so…I’m gonna keep this really simple ’cause you don’t look all that bright,”
Buffy snarked.
Wow! Buffy’s been really short-fused since she got hurt. Willow looked the other
woman over. Like the other club-goers, she was dressed in black with a pallid
complexion made more striking with makeup. She was actually very pretty and Willow
found this somehow even more flattering. There was an air about the woman that said,
‘capable,’ but Willow knew that made little difference, given her friend’s abilities. She
also got the distinct impression that this woman dabbled in magick.
Leveling on Buffy, the woman snarled, “Not bright? Somehow that just doesn’t
mean much coming from you.”
Ignoring the retort, Buffy continued, “Three things.” She raised a finger on her
right hand, “First: private conversation—get a clue.” Another finger rose, “Second: I’ve
only been pathetic a couple times in my life. Last time” — she gestured to Willow —
“she was the one that clued me up.”
“The message, it must not have stuck,” the woman growled.
Completely unaffected—raising the third finger—Buffy resumed, “Last thing—
and you might wanna listen ’cause this is the most important of the bunch—” her tone
turned low and dangerous “—she’s mine.”
Willow’s mouth fell open. ’Kay, so…this—this is completely unflattering.
Clamping her mouth shut, she watched helplessly as the slayer used her cane to
effortlessly sweep the larger woman off her feet. No, Buffy! We’re here to find— The
woman hit the ground and sprang deftly back to her feet. The first nibble and you go all
defendy. The next thing she knew, they were being escorted from the club by security.
As they passed into the humid night air, the woman turned to Willow and said,
“Offer still stands.”
Willow couldn’t keep from smiling when she felt the slayer tense. “I’ll pass
tonight.” Wow! Buffy’s always been protective, but—
The woman winked at Willow and turned, pushing Buffy aside to make her way
down the sidewalk.
Faith’s eyes fluttered open. This is getting a little old. Ignoring the men, she
touched her chest, starting just under her collarbones and ran her partially formed
hands roughly over her skin. She couldn’t tell very well but her skin felt wrong, like it
was too rigid. The inspection halted when she reached her hips. Why can’t I feel? It’s
freaking me out. She brought her hands to her face to examine them. They’re a lot
closer to mine, but not. I can see the bones through the skin. Turning her hands over to
examine the back, she cupped one over the other, hoping again she might feel
something. No fingernails…and no sense of touch. Nothing! They aren’t really mine—just
cheap imitations.
As Faith rolled onto her side to face Angel’s cage, a strange sensation caused her
to flinch. I can feel. She put her hand between her legs shamelessly, ignoring Angel. He
looks like shit. She looked over the cracked skin on the vampire’s face and met the
bleary unfocused gaze. Drawing back her hand, she was stunned not to see blood.
What? Not that I’m not thrilled—hungry vamp and that would suck, but if it’s not—then
what the hell?
Hoping he would hear her, Faith prompted, “Angel,” and continued to repeat the
name until he snapped out of the daze. When the vampire appeared to be listening, she
crawled over to the very edge of her cell and tore away the skin of her wrist, then
carefully threaded her arm through the bars. I gotta feed him. He’s useless like this.
Besides what’s the worst that can happen? I die? I’m already pretty much dead.
Angel shied away, cowering in the corner of his cell.
“Angel, look, you gotta eat.”
“I can’t,” Angel replied weakly.
Faith rolled her eyes and remarked, “You’re totally useless like this.” Snapping
cold and commanding, she ordered, “Eat.” When Angel finally emerged from his corner
the wound had healed. “I’ll just let you handle it, Boss. Just don’t leave any scars.” She
snickered. Scaring’s one of the things I lost. I can peel half the skin off my arm and—
nothin’. Not a mark. That’d be too human…and I’m not. Glancing over, she watched the
vampire feed. I didn’t even feel him bite down. “Take what you need. It’s not like I can
bleed to death. I’ve tried,” she commented distantly.
When Angel withdrew, he slid way, turning his back to the slayer.
Faith went back to lying on her side, facing the vampire’s cell. “What happened
to me, Angel?”
“The demon put something in you,” Angel croaked.
As if brought by Angel’s words, a flash of memory returned. The anguish Faith
could no longer feel came back in a vision as hooks ripped into her, flaying her skin.
Knives cut into her chest, coring her like an apple. There was a sharp cracking sound and
the hallucination faded into murky blackness. She clamped her eyes shut, struggling to
steady herself. Eventually she focused enough to rasp, “Not that. I got that much
figured. The other—what happened to me last time he took me?” A thick frustrated sigh
poured out and she prompted, “Lemme guess, you were too out of it to notice?”
“No,” Angel whispered as he slid further away from the bars.
Growing markedly less patient, Faith asked, “What then?” He knows. And if he
doesn’t tell me this is gonna end badly.
“H-he,” Angel began, but his voice cracked. Swallowing hard, he tried again, “The
demon put you in the cell with” — pointing over his shoulder to indicated the other
prisoner — “and tortured him until—”
“Until what, Angel?” Faith growled. I wanna hear it. I wanna know. If it’s what I
think I’m gonna kill ‘em all. I’ll get outta here and they’ll die, startin’ with the fucker who
raped me.
Angel winced at the slayer’s tone. Moving to the other side of his cell before he
answered, “The demon made him.”
Faith shot to her feet and snarled, “Made him what?” smashing her body against
the bars. She continued to bludgeon them until the vampire spoke again. When she
failed to hear, she snapped, “What?”
“Until he had sex with you.”
Faith looked down at the blood on her arms and shoulder before she answered
in a low dangerous voice, “They call that rape, Angel.” Something I swore— Her
thoughts surfaced in a violent outburst, “I’m in control,” she stabbed at her chest, “Me!
I decide who touches me!” Self-control returned and she fell silent. I use them!
“There was nothing he could do. If anyone raped you it was the demon.”
“Bullshit!” Faith screamed, “No excuses, no lies. It is what it is.” Whirling around,
she threw herself against the bars between her cell and the rapist’s. “When I get
through these you’re gonna die! You get me? I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out!” She
pounded on the bars with all her strength, hammering over and over.
Accepting Willow’s help, Buffy climbed carefully into the white, mule-drawn
carriage. A bright smile lit her face as her friend climbed in beside her. She’s been acting
really weird since last night. Wish I knew what was up. It’s like she’s forgotten that she’s
Willow. She usually makes a dozen cute observations before breakfast. Today: nada.
She’s acting like she’s mad, all except for the stomping around and the mean looks.
Maybe she is mad and she’s just forgetting to stomp around?
Glancing over to take in the very neutral expression on her friend’s face, Buffy
furrowed her brow. Totally par for the course: we’re in paradise and she’s miserable.
Briefly shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath and sighed. The air was thick with the
scent of jasmine and freshly cut grass. Looking around at the green lawns and perfectly
manicured shrubs of Jackson Square Park, her gaze fixed on the tall spires of the
cathedral. That church is just amazing. At least I can look away without more of the
awkward.
The driver said something, but Buffy filtered it out, allowing her friend to answer.
She’s fine with talking to other people—just not me. They started to move and she
leaned back in her seat, enjoying the sunlight and scenery. Finally, she managed to
strengthen her resolve enough to ask again, “What’s wrong, Will?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Buffy,” Willow returned without pause.
Buffy examined the expression on her friend’s face. Nothing’s right. Her
expression: nothing—not happy or sad, just there. She could feel disbelief and concern
tugging at her features. Unable to mute the shortness from her tone, she demanded,
“It’s not selling. There’s something. Now spill.”
Willow rolled her eyes and replied in a painfully unaffected manner, “Nothing’s
wrong, I swear. I’m just thinking.”
Buffy lost control and snarked, “’Kay, well…maybe if I had a clue what you’re
thinking about, I’d be less worried that aliens broke in last night and sucked out your
brain.”
A sigh slipped out and Willow responded patiently, “No aliens, I swear—just me
in here working some stuff out.”
The cranky won out and Buffy grumbled, “And if I got what this top secret stuff
was” — going back to observing the scenery — “I probably wouldn’t be worried, but…”
Her voice trailed off.
“You really wanna know?”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “No, Will, I want you to continue being mystery-girl. I like
not knowing why you’re acting weird.”
it.”
“It’s pretty simple: you’ve changed and I’m trying to figure out how I feel about
Buffy swung around to look at her friend so quickly it made her jump. “Huh?”
After dropping the hand in her lap that had reflexively leapt to her chest, Willow
exhaled a deep calming sigh and replied, “This isn’t just about you, Buffy. I have stuff,
big stuff that I’m dealing with. And last night—it made some of that stuff more real.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Buffy gestured for her friend to continue.
“I’m used to you protecting me,” Willow offered patiently, “That’s expected, but
last night you were possessive. It was like you owned me.”
The shock didn’t wear off with more details and Buffy responded defensively, “I
didn’t mean—I-I just wanted her to leave.” I so wasn’t.
Willow turned away to look at the scenery on her side of the road. “That’s not
gonna work, Buffy. I know you too well.”
Several moments of thick silence passed between them and Buffy started to feel
guilty and confused. I was just protecting her. Possessive means jealous. Am I jealous?
That chick was pretty, but did I really feel threatened? Mad? Yes—she was a total bitch.
But threatened? Not so much. I’d have to be worried that Will might leave me and I
know she won’t. Stifling the guilt, she commented aridly as a means to test the theory,
“Look, Will, I don’t want to make things any harder for you than I already have. Maybe I
should just do this on my own.” The rage that reflected on Willow’s features when she
suddenly turned to make eye contact almost caused Buffy to wince.
heart.”
“Don’t you dare talk about running away. You’ve done it once and it broke my
Searching her friend’s face for answers, Buffy took a couple of deep breaths to
calm her nerves and asked, “Then what, Will? What do you want?”
The anger faded and Willow replied honestly, “Time—same as you—and some
slack to figure stuff out.”
“Okay, but I want a couple things too,” Buffy countered fairly; “We need to talk.
It freaks me out when you get all broody, so you gotta talk at least some.” More silence
hung between them, but this time Buffy used it to examine Willow’s expression. She’s
back to nothing—thinking.
Willow finally broke the stalemate by prompting, “That was one thing.”
“Yeah…I never was good with numbers,” Buffy quipped amusedly and leaned in
to give her friend a gentle kiss. When Willow’s tongue grazed the surface of her lips,
insisting the kiss deepen, Buffy yielded to the demand without a moment’s hesitation or
thought. All of the confusion slipped away in that instant. It was just them and it was
good. She pulled her friend into a tender embrace, sensing nothing but the softness of
her form and the warmth of the sunlight that shone down on them.
Angel peered blearily up from where he lay on the floor. His body trembled and
he uselessly willed it to stop. The pain still coursed through him. He looked around to
find the slayer still lying in an unconscious lump on the floor of his cell. Guess it was my
turn. That thing probably figured, since he could make me, if he left her, I’d either do
what he wanted, or— A thick sense of dread came over him. Or she’d wake up.
Allowing his head to flop to the side, Angel fixed his gaze on the bars of her cell.
It’s not like she was all that sane when we got here, but I’m pretty sure the capacity to
beat herself unconscious is a new thing. The cracks in the bars were gone and so was the
Scandinavian man. His hands were fully developed. He’ll no doubt return without them.
Angel shut his eyes, blocking out the harsh light. So now I wait.
The babbling sound of the fountain was soothing, but it also had an annoying
side effect. Crossing her legs, Willow looked around the tiny, private garden behind the
boarding house, taking in all the tropical plants. I’ll go inside in a few minutes. It’s so nice
out here.
Willow turned her attention back to the paper. Huh, systems analyst position,
twenty-five bucks an hour. I could totally do that. Grabbed a pen from the table beside
her, she circled the ad in the paper. It might not be the life I envisioned, but it can still be
a good one. At least, it will be if she ever comes back.
Willow lowered the paper enough to glance over the top. Buffy was still sitting in
the lawn chair, staring at her lap. I don’t think she’s moved since we got back. Guess it’s
her turn. I suppose I should’ve been nicer—just let her give me another one of those
friendly little pecks she keeps giving me, but—darn it—I’m tired of beating around the
bush. She treated me one way last night. If it wigs her out when I behave that way—it’s
totally not my fault.
’Kay, so…three job leads. Now: apartments. Willow turned the pages of the
newspaper until she found the ‘for rent’ section. I can look online too after we get back
from the club tonight. That is, if she snaps out of it before then. I’m not gonna push. I
totally get the confusion. It’s like I told her: I’ve got my own. I think she thinks that I’ve
already got it all figured—that I know exactly what I want. That’s sorta true, but then
there’s another part of me that’s worried. What I know is that I love her. The other
stuff—all the complicated stuff—I have no idea what to expect.
Willow circled an ad for a two bedroom apartment in the French Quarter and
peered over the paper again. “Would you like something to eat?” she asked in a soft,
careful voice, “I’ll go get something if you’ll eat.”
Not looking up, Buffy replied aridly, “I dunno, Will, I guess.”
After folding the paper setting it aside, Willow queried, “What would you eat?”
“Doesn’t matter. Anything, really.”
Ice cream…there’s a store just down the street. It’s a physical impossibility to sulk
with an ice cream cone in your hand. “’Kay. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Willow
remarked as she rose to her feet.
Looked up to meet her friend’s gaze, Buffy responded, “Okay, I’ll be here.”
Willow wanted to hug the blonde, but thought better of it. Instead she offered a
small, sad smile as she took in her friend’s tear-stained face. I’m an evil, terrible, awful
person. I didn’t mean— She turned her back and started to slowly walk away. I’m the
bad. I promised her I’d give her time to figure it out. But she pushed and I—I pushed
back.
Buffy’s voice carried from behind the thicket of taro plants, “Will, don’t wig out.
I’ll be okay. I promise.”
The light shone in her eyes again, but Faith fought anyway, even knowing how
hopeless it was. Soon she found herself clamped to the table anyway. I wonder what the
fucker’s gonna do to me this time? I don’t think I have anymore orifices to probe. Maybe
he’s found a new game.
The pressure on Faith’s wrists increased and with it an overwhelming sense of
fear came too. I was kidding! As pain shot from her wrists, her body began to spasm and
beat wildly against the slab she was bound to. Her mind reeled with the certainty that
she was about to lose her hands.
Then suddenly a cracking noise issued from the table. She was certain her hands
were gone. Instead her left arm pulled free.
Reflexively, Faith brought her limp, injured hand to her face, guarding her eyes
against the light. Despite the minor amount of control, her body continued to flail
against the table. Soon another cracking noise issued signaling the freeing of her other
hand. Both hands were ruined. She tried to make a fist and found the fingers wouldn’t
move.
The demon was on her before Faith could sit up. Intense agony ripped through
her. It felt like every remaining nerve ending had been commanded to cause pain. Her
brain was still telling her to curl into a ball and make it stop when her body
demonstrated that it had other plans. The table cracked as she swung an elbow into the
demon’s chest. Before she knew exactly what was happening, she was on her feet facing
the staggering demon.
Somehow, through all the strain, Faith understood that she wasn’t in control.
She relaxed and just let it happen. Her foot crashed through the demon’s chest and he
slumped to the floor. As he fell, she lashed out again, connecting under his chin and
sending him over backwards. When he came to a rest, she jumped, landing on the
center of his head. The sound of splintering shell echoed through the huge room.
Something Subtle, Intangible and
Inexplicable
Reflexively, Faith leapt away from the carcass of the demon. When her slimy,
bare foot touched the polished floor, she slid, reeling to regain her balance. She toppled
over backwards, trying to break her fall. A cracking noise sounded from her right wrist as
she landed. “Shit!” Sharp pain from the ruined joint caused her stomach to lurch.
Faith sat up and placed her hands in her lap, staring at the deep cuts across her
wrists. Her right hand was halfway severed from the arm, while the left wasn’t quite as
bad. Blood welled up, obscuring the injuries. She redirected her attention to the chalkyblue slime on her feet and glanced over her shoulder at the demon. Well, at least the
bastard’s not moving. That’s a start.
What now? With both hands injured, there wasn’t a great deal she could really
do and she knew it. She stared at the knotted muscle of her forearm. The realization
that the tendons had been pulled away from the joint came to her. So, it looks like I hit
Fang up for help. Should be a barrel of chuckles. Glad I didn’t off him when I had the
chance. Sorta decided I needed him to get home, but whatever. He’s still kickin’.
She rose carefully to her feet. Her hands swung freely on their ruined joints as
she moved. The resulting pain was disquieting, yet at the same time strangely
comforting. Next question is: how do I get to him? She turned to face the demon’s
corpse and stood silently considering it. As much as this slimebag brought me here, I
took in a couple details. He used his hand to open the cells. I wonder if I can just—
Cautiously standing on one of the demon’s outstretched hands; she drove her other
foot into the elbow, hearing a cracking noise. Another hard kick broke the forearm free.
When I woke up, this is exactly how I wanted my day to go; she mused as she
punted the arm along in front of her. Sad part: actually it is. I woke up wanting to be
free. After exiting the lab, she set off down a long corridor, still moving her trophy along
with her feet. Didn’t much care what it cost either. She glanced back at the heavy blood
trail she was leaving. As she approached the entry way to their cage, a feeling of
faintness threatened to make her collapse. She fought the blood loss and continued on.
Kicking the door aside, she launched the arm through the entrance and pressed
inside. When she recovered the arm and made her way to Angel’s cell, he gaped at her.
After pushing the arm between the bars of his cell with her feet, she slumped onto her
knees. “Remember what I said about bleedin’ to death?” she mumbled, “I may’ve made
a mistake.”
The next thing she knew, Angel was scooping her up. Her vision dulled, finally
going dim as they set off out of the room.
Reclining back in the seat of the Mustang, Buffy absently watched the scenery
pass by. A banner caught her eye and she puzzled over it for only a second before
asking, “Hey Will, what kinda tigers are Geaux Tigers?”
After obviously struggling to stifle a snicker, Willow prodded gently, “Go Tigers.”
Buffy turned away and put her hand to her face to conceal the embarrassment.
Dunno why I bother with school. A year of French and…I swear my mind eats anything
useful. It’s like a gaping black hole. Anything worthwhile gets sucked in and crushed
faster than an empty beer can on a frat boy’s forehead.
The car slowed and Willow pulled into a driveway.
Buffy opened her door and picked up her right leg, lifting it over the doorjamb.
She rose to her feet, using the door and the side of the car for leverage. One thing, I
guess I’m lucky ‘one thing’ is all. Reaching behind the seat, she pulled out her cane and
shut the car door. All the really yucky pricklies are gone—well, most of them. Will says
that L3 controls the ability to raise your lower leg when sitting. So, this might be it—the
wall we figured would come. I can fake my way through almost everything. I can walk
and even look pretty much normal. That is—post brace mod—Will got creative. I
suppose I’m lucky, but I still don’t feel very lucky.
The realtor held the door for Buffy while she slowly made her way there.
When Buffy passed into the foyer, she offered an aloof, “Thanks,” and started to
slowly climb the stairs, allowing Willow to speak with the realtor. Once they made it to
the third floor, it took about fifteen minutes for the spiel to wind down. In that time she
wandered through the apartment, intentionally lagging behind to avoid the others.
Twelve-foot ceilings, hardwood floors, and plaster walls were the theme. In the
bathroom she found an ancient, claw-foot tub that was practically large enough for two
people. The rest of the place was clean and airy feeling. The kitchen was pretty modest
but, with all the amazing food New Orleans had to offer, all she really wanted was a cold
place to store some yogurt.
Buffy went to the balcony to wait for Willow and the realtor to finish up once she
had made a full lap. ’Kay, so…the rest of the place is okay, but I want this balcony. It’s
beautiful. After setting her cane aside where it wouldn’t fall, she leaned against the
wrought iron railing and looked out over the park across the street.
When Willow passed through the double French doors, making her way onto the
patio moments later, she asked, “Whatcha think?”
Without looking back, Buffy replied in a playfully flippant tone, “When do we
move in?”
Willow tensed slightly as she played the party pooper, “We don’t, Buffy—least
not yet. You know this is just research.”
Buffy’s mood soured. “I know, Will.”
“If nothing happens, it’s yours,” Willow remarked frankly, then sighed. When she
continued, her voice was laden with regret, “I’m sorry. We just…I can’t begin to think
that seriously yet. I have to give them a chance, even if it’s looking bad. They should’ve
been back—what, with the ‘time distortion’ thing. I just…I guess I needed to start
looking, so we’re not just sitting around waiting—we’re actually doing something.”
Turning to face her friend, Buffy offered patiently, “S’okay, I get it, Will.” The ‘not
knowing’ part’s starting to make me a little crazy. Guess it’s the same for her. Is this
some sorta vacation? If it is, we should be enjoying it. But the ‘not knowing’ makes it
impossible to just kick back.
Willow wrapped her arms around the blonde and replied apologetically, “I know
you do.”
Buffy nodded, understanding that Willow had simply over-reacted. It’s weird
how strained things are. We need to find some way to talk it out. Course, if the talking’s
left up to me—total badness. My foot lives in my mouth so much there’s a permanent
forwarding address. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Buffy leaned back meeting her
friend’s gaze and asked, “So, when you gonna go back to being a redhead? I miss it.”
Willow’s brow furrowed at the sudden subject change. Sounding puzzled, she
reflected, “Umm…I dunno. I hadn’t really thought about it. I’ll go to a salon and see if it’s
even possible after we finish up with the club, ’kay?”
Leaning back, Buffy started to play with Willow’s hair, remarking pensively, “You
might wanna look for a magickal fix. I’m not sure you’ll—” she sighed “—I’m pretty sure
the chemical way—it’ll go badly.”
“’Kay, I’ll look, but I’m pretty sure there’s not much except glamours,” Willow
replied. “Let’s get outta here. Breakfast sound good?”
Buffy picked up her cane and started to follow. “Well, you know me—food
always sounds good.”
Angel stirred the pasty, clear goop in the jar and shrugged. No idea why this is
working, but it is. It was pretty obvious when that thing took their hands that there was
some catalyst involved in sealing the wound and promoting growth. Something tells me I
should take this stuff with us.
Peering down at the flesh and fiber he’d peeled away from Faith’s right arm, he
located the end of a tendon and clamped down on it with something similar to a pair of
forceps. He wiped his brow with his forearm and pulled the tendon out straight, then
applied a dollop of the goop to the end. There should be lots of bleeding, but there isn’t.
Since I held the wrist joints so they could fuse back together, she’s barely bled at all.
As he stretched the tendon, matching it to the corresponding mate, Faith
winced. The ends of the black, fibrous tendon fused together while Angel held them in
place. I’m not even sure what to make of this. She was right to ask what she is. The
answer: I have no clue—‘something new’ is the best I have. She should be in excruciating
pain. Instead, she occasionally flinches like I pulled her hair.
When the final tendon was repaired, Angel carefully moved the black mesh back
over the muscle and onyx bone of Faith’s arm. As he brought the two halves together,
they knit back in place. He repeated the process with her skin and it sealed up leaving
no trace of the invasive surgery he’d just performed.
Angel prompted, “Try moving your fingers,” and watched amusedly as she
twiddled them.
“Good as new. Thanks, doc,” Faith chirruped and rose from the table.
Angel stood silently, watching the slayer cross the large, dish-shaped room. The
light from the open ceiling bathed her form, making her appear otherworldly when she
paused in the center to stare down at the broken surgical table. I wonder what’s going
through her head.
Inserting two quarters into the slot, Giles opened the door of the newspaper
box. He extracted the Tuesday edition of the Sunnydale Press to read over lunch, then
continued into the café. After taking a seat and ordering a cup of coffee and a ham
sandwich, he began to casually leaf through the paper, initially just skimming the front
page. When his sandwich arrived, he folded the paper neatly and began to read the
cover story.
The headline read, ‘Police Chief Robert Russell In Custody Following Shooting.’
Giles scanned down, ‘Lifetime Sunnydale resident and Chief of Police, Robert
Russell was taken into protective custody early Monday evening following the shooting
of fellow officer Samuel McCoy. Sergeant McCoy,37, received two gunshot wounds,
neither immediately life-threatening. Sergeant McCoy was transported to Sunnydale
Memorial Hospital where he is listed in ‘stable’ condition at this time.’
Shrugging slightly at the news, Giles took a bite of his sandwich and began to
leisurely chew. Yes, yes, so the poor chap came unhinged. It’s no small wonder given the
state of this town.
He skimmed a little further and one word caught his eye: ‘rat.’ Oh dear. Picking
the story up a line above the offensive word, Giles read, ‘The investigation into the
mysterious cause of the shooting continues. Chief Russell claims a rat instigated his
action. He was quoted as saying, “Evil little bastard was just sitting there staring at me,
so I shot him.” Sergeant McCoy was seated at his desk in the adjacent office when the
shots were fired at around five p.m.’
Oh! My! Lord! Giles sprang from his chair and pulled out his wallet. After tossing
a bill on the table, he ran out the door of the café, nearly colliding with an elderly
woman who was entering. He tried to pardon himself with the long forgotten bite of
sandwich in his mouth, “Thuth me!” and swallowed thickly, setting off quickly down the
sidewalk.
Once he was finished dressing, Angel threw his pack over his shoulder and picked
up Faith’s. The small room just off the lab was full of supplies, including the gear they’d
brought with them. He was relieved to be dressed. When he reentered the lab, Faith
clenched her right hand into a fist and didn’t look up. He walked over to her and
wordlessly placed her pack next to her on the floor.
After glancing down to look at the demon’s body she seemed to be studying,
Angel set off out of the room to free the other prisoner. This should be a laugh-aminute. I know she’s going to want to hurt him, but he’s a human being who deserves a
chance, same as her. I just hope I can get that through her thick skull.
When Angel reached the cells, he opened the door and began to lay out clothing.
The man stared up at Angel, obviously bewildered by what he saw.
Angel sighed and crouched down, moving the stack of clothing closer. He
gestured to his own clothes and then to the stack. Once the man had the idea, he filled
in, “Middangeard” — using his hands to make a ‘walking’ gesture — “We are going to
Middangeard.”
The man glanced up, appearing stunned, and rasped, “Midgard?”
“Aye,” Angel replied with a nod, “Midgard.” I knew it’d be close. Been a long time
since I read Beowulf, but I figured it’d translate.
The Scandinavian man stood up and rushed to dress, immediately having trouble
with the strange fasteners.
Cautious not to alarm the edgy man, Angel offered some assistance. The clothing
was obviously foreign to him and his hands were only partly formed.
Once they were finished, Angel gestured for the other man to stay back. “Faith,”
he said, pointing to her cell. When the man nodded and croaked the name, the vampire
continued, “She’s not going to be happy to see you.” He tried to fill in his meaning by
making a face, unsure whether he’d gotten through. Well, here goes nothing.
As they set off out of the detention area, the caves shuddered ominously. Rock
rained down on them from the ceiling. Angel dove to the floor, covering his head
reflexively. He climbed to his feet once the rumbling stopped and said more simply,
“Faith not happy.”
The Scandinavian man reached up to take the vampire’s hand. Clambering to his
feet, he repeated, “Faith not happy.”
Angel couldn’t suppress an amused smile. “Now you’re firming up.”
Willow took a seat on the steps of St. Mary’s Church, staring across Chartres
Street at the Old Ursuline Convent. She glanced over when Buffy took a seat on her
right. The blonde had appeared distant and contemplative since their stroll through the
church. Dunno if I should talk or not. This place sorta speaks for itself. ‘Incredibly old and
beautiful’ is all you really need to hear. There’s nothing like it in California. There are
things as old, but they’re all yucky and…umm…old. Anyway, it was worth the walk just to
show her something totally different.
After leaning her cane against her jean-clad thigh, Buffy broke the silence by
prompting, “There’s a story. You wouldn’t just bring me here without one.”
An amused grin warmed Willow’s features as she started to fill in, “The Old
Ursuline Convent” — gesturing at the gate house across the street and the white
building that rose up behind it — “is believed to be the oldest building in the Mississippi
River Valley. The attic of the nunnery is supposed to be haunted and was sealed in the
1960’s. ‘Sealed’ is sort of a poor term. Actually every entrance was closed and screwed
shut using thousands of gold screws blessed by the pope, including the shutters.”
“So, the church even thinks it’s haunted?”
Willow glanced over to take in the pensive expression on her friend’s face.
“Yeah,” she confirmed. After combing her fingers through her hair, she continued, “In
1978, two young women setup video equipment right here.” She gestured to the stairs
of the church where they sat. “The next morning their exsanguinated bodies were
found. All of their equipment was destroyed. No one really knows what happened. I
mean, we can assume vamps, but then there’s the attic. Maybe they saw something
they shouldn’t have.” She shrugged and rose to her feet, turning to offer a hand down
to the blonde.
Taking the hand, Buffy pulled herself up to standing. Pausing to peer thoughtfully
down at the stairs, she asked, “Wanna go buy a cordless drill? There’s a little hardware
store not far from here, Mary’s Hardware or something. Sorta strange for a hardware
store to have—”
“I’m told a gay couple owns it,” Willow remarked, “Makes the name all the more
funny.” Sighing before she answered firmly, “No, no way are we breaking into the attic
of the Ursuline Nunnery. Forget it. One of the stories says that the attic was packed full
of plague victims—French refuges that succumbed to yellow fever. The last thing I want
is to come down with a case of mystical yellow fever on my vacation.” After waiting for a
car to go by, she crossed the street and entered the gatehouse with the blonde in tow.
Once they passed through into the courtyard of the nunnery, Willow stopped to
look around. The red brick sidewalk was bordered by short hedges in a geometric
pattern, six triangles that formed a rectangle. I wonder if there’s some significance. I’ll
have to look it up.
“Oh, c’mon, Will, it’ll be fun,” Buffy prodded pluckily.
part?”
Willow glanced over at her friend and grinned before asking wryly, “Which
“Whatcha mean?”
Starting for the door, Willow looked over her shoulder and clarified in a dry
voice, “The bleeding from the mouth and eyes or the jaundice?” laughing when the
blonde’s face sagged. She turned forward and quipped, “Oh! Maybe you mean the
vomiting, high fever and the inability to pee. Sounds like fun to me.”
After propping herself against one of the columns in front of the convent, Buffy
asked, “Is that really what this is?”
Willow casually leaned into the adjacent column, facing her friend, and
shrugged. “I really dunno, Buffy. I wish I did. Whatever it is, though, there’s no reason
not to enjoy it a little.”
Faith removed a thick nylon strap from her pack and looped it around the base
of a tree. After clipping six arrows into the quiver on the side of her bow, she hung it
from her shoulder with an improvised carry-strap.
As she started to slowly ascend the tree next to the wall of the demon bazaar,
Angel pleaded, “Faith, look, this is stupid. You can’t take them all on alone.”
Coming to a halt, the slayer glared down at the vampire and snarled, “That’s why
I hoped you’d help—you and your pet.”
Angel appeared completely aghast.
Faith rasped, “Here’s the deal: You got to keep your pet,” glaring at the other
man with distaste. Directing her attention to Angel again, she continued, “Now for the
big trade: you let me have my revenge. One more word—anything but a nod—and I
come down. My feet hit the ground and his neck’ll be snapped before you can move.
You get me?”
Angel’s grip tightened on the ancient sword he carried for the other man. Pulling
his own axe from his back with the other hand, he nodded and turned to lead the
stranger away to dig in and wait.
She continued up the tree. When she was far enough up, she let go, pushing off.
Guiding her fall, she dropped down onto the wall. The top of the inward angling wall
was like the edge of a jagged knife. Silently cursing, she struggled to maintain balance as
she quickly scanned for a better place to stand. A short inspection revealed a spot
where the tips of the clear shards of rock were broken. She moved deftly to take station
in the area with better footing. Her job was going to be hard enough without the
constant danger of falling.
Once in place, Faith crouched down. She was relieved to have not been spotted
by the mob of demons moving around below her. So, my bet is they won’t be able to
climb. The wall leans in. Odds are they’ll all bunch up at the entrance. The choke point
makes things good for me—bad for them.
Scanning the crowd, Faith spied what she wanted and continued to take
inventory. Once she had her targets marked, she notched the first arrow and sent it
flying. Before it hit, she had the second arrow ready to fire. As acrid smoke began to roll
from the first demon’s body, she launched the next arrow. It struck a bulky demon close
to the first. There was a short delay before the explosion. Her first target looked up,
noticing her, and slumped to the ground. She smiled. Piece of shit. Trade me for a
handful of rocks and see what it gets ya. When the second arrow detonated, it leveled
everything around it. The wall she was on quaked while gore rained down.
There was a surge of movement toward the gate and the third arrow flew. It hit
a large demon that was struggling to heave open the narrow gate. Others crushed
against him making the task impossible. The result was extremely effective. When the
arrow blew up, it reduced his body to shrapnel. The mangled pieces tore through the
crowd, tearing dozens off their feet.
One of the gate doors wobbled dangerously. It fell as Faith let loose the fourth
arrow. The heavy gate crashed to the ground, crushing more of the fleeing demons. The
fourth arrow hit a large, dark demon, much like her torturer. His body began to smolder.
She loaded the fifth and fired it into the crowd bottlenecked at the gate. The explosion
brought the other door smashing down on the crowd.
Faith notched the final arrow. Before firing, she scanned the carnage, reassessing
the best target. The market was almost empty. The few remaining demons were
clambering over the ruins to escape the scene. Randomly picking a target, she let the
arrow go and flipped backwards off the wall.
After sweeping her gear up, Faith called out, “Time to bail, guys!” and set off at a
brisk pace. Man that was fun! A bright smile lit her face as she tightened her pack down
and broke into a run.
Racket across the room startled Giles, causing him look up from his book. Clifford
was running frantically on his little wheel. Sighing dismissively, he tried to return his
attention to study, but was interrupted by the sound of Wesley’s voice.
“How exactly did you say you came to be the keeper of not one, but two rats?”
Giles caught himself starting to roll his eyes and quelled the urge. I’ve been
spending entirely too much of my time with youth of Southern California. “The first rat
belonged to Willow. She left Amy in my care,” he replied aloofly and glanced at the
female rat who had wisely chosen to hide in the corner of her cage. He debated telling
Wesley the entire story, but decided that the truth about Amy might be entirely too
much for the lad. “Clifford is another matter which I would rather not discuss.”
“I see,” Wesley remarked in a dry voice.
After taking a careful sip of his tea, Giles removed his glasses to clean them.
Something will have to be done about Clifford and soon. The constant chatter is quite
disruptive and I can only imagine how it would be if the crafty little chap got free. Should
she ever be restored, Amy Madison will be sufficiently bewildered without feeling
maternal instincts towards a random litter of rats. He drew out a handkerchief and ran it
nervously over the lenses of his spectacles, replacing them when he was done. Tuning
out the ruckus, he asked pensively, “Have you made any progress?” and met the
younger man’s gaze.
Sighing, Wesley answered truthfully, “Not as such.”
Giles smiled encouragingly and remarked, “Well, we haven’t lost hope that the
others will find success. It is, however, good to have another strategy on hand should
the first one fail.”
Wesley’s chin dipped in a very subtle nod.
Taking in the discouraged look on the younger man’s face, Giles continued,
“Wesley, it was a brilliant plan, one worthy of much praise.” When Wesley smiled
proudly, Giles paused to return the gesture. “We were privileged with the opportunity
to send two extraordinary champions to accomplish the task. Regardless of my personal
opinion of Faith and Angel, they are both very capable. Do not despair yet.”
“Thank you,” Wesley responded graciously and went back to his book.
“Your thanks are appreciated, but misplaced. We all owe you some debt of
gratitude,” Giles reflected warmly, sighing at the clatter coming from the breakfast bar.
“I will find something to do with Clifford tomorrow. This really is unacceptable.” It would
be quite horrible were Amy to suffer a heart attack over the sly little devil. Willow would
be devastated and I doubt I would ever forgive myself.
Stretching, Willow settled back onto the bed and fluffed the pillow, tucking it
behind her head. As she lay waiting for her blonde bedfellow, her mind wandered. This
is the strangest, non-relationship relationship I’ve ever been in. Not that there’ve been a
bunch. In fact, I think this is a first—the grand total of Willow’s non-relationship
relationship experience is pretty much zero, zilch-o, nada…
Willow groaned, resisting the urge to grab the other pillow and bury her face. It’s
pretty much a ‘we are,’ but ‘we aren’t.’ All of the commitment…none of the smoochies.
It’s starting to make me a little crazy. At this point, I’m not even sure I…well, that’s not
true, but how do I know if she does, that she doesn’t—that she isn’t just settling?
As Buffy climbed into bed, Willow flipped off the light and automatically slid over
into position. How do I know I’m not just some consolation prize? I don’t want to be a
consolation prize—the person she ends up with ’cause she thinks no one else wants her.
After snuggling into the crux of her friend’s shoulder, she chided herself, I suppose that’s
not really fair; it’s obvious she loves me. I mean, me, here, now—should be a clue.
Willow suppressed a shudder when the blonde started to absently caress her
back. If anything about this was normal, it’d be easy. I’d just back off and see if she
followed. Nothing normal here—she’d follow…even if we were back in Sunnydale, she’d
follow. We have the extra complication of the ‘friends’ thing to make this a truly
confusing nightmare.
Stifling any sign of her discontent, Willow shut her eyes and began to force
herself to relax for sleep. I wish I had a clue what to do. All I can do is be patient.
Patience sucks! I could push. I could wait for the right time and just jump her bones.
Yeah…that’d go well. She’d totally wig. Good idea, Willow, she wigged over a kiss, she
might explode over sex. I vote 'not.’ What we want is an accepting Buffy and I have no
idea how to get her there. Yeah, ‘patience’ bites big fat patootie.
Falling still, Buffy asked with concern, “You doing okay, Will?”
Willow snapped instantly nervous and guilty. After drawing in a deep breath, she
hoped would promote calm, she stammered, “Yeah, I’m fine, Buff. Absolutely,
positively, fine…the picture of fineness. In fact, I’m finally fine.” Boy, I suck!
An exasperated sigh rolled out of Buffy’s mouth in response, sounding more like
a growl.
Willow moved away. After propping herself on her pillow, she waited patiently
for the pending storm.
Buffy strained to mute her aggravation, but failed miserably. “Will.”
At least she sorta tried. It’s kinda funny how she can take a minute to say my
name, or at least it seems like a minute. So, here’s the question of that minute: do I
really want to try and have a relationship with someone who can tell by my posture that
I’m upset? Turning onto her side, Willow propped herself up on her elbow, cupping her
head in her hand. The nervousness passed and she answered demurely, “Yes, Buffy?”
Yes, yes, I do…more than anything. Jeez, Willow, masochist much?
Will.”
Buffy took a deep breath and with marked restraint, demanded, “Talk to me,
Without pause, Willow replied plainly, “You so don’t want that.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t wanna know. Just tell me. I’ll try not to get upset. I
swear.”
Willow considered this for a moment. It sounded absolutely genuine. Deciding
that she really didn’t need to look at her friend’s face to say what was on her mind, she
slumped back onto her pillow. Her tone was heavy and almost annoyed when she finally
spoke. “How do I know?”
Buffy sounded bewildered as she asked, “Know what?”
“Know that you’re not settling. Know that you haven’t given up. Know that you—
because you’ve got this thing—this blindness thing—you don’t notice all the people who
notice you. Know that you’re not—not settling for me ’cause you don’t think you can do
any better.” Ignoring the multiple gasps that her friend made as she spoke, Willow
switched attacks with barely a moment’s pause, “You’re all worried about this other
stuff—meaningless stuff. Don’t you get it? Relationships: they’re about who you love—
not gender. They aren’t about sex. They aren’t about what other people think. They’re
about who you’re willing to give your heart to. Nothing else matters, Buffy.”
Turning away from the blonde, Willow fell silent. Shame welled up inside her as
she listened to the stifled sobs.
Eventually calming enough to speak, Buffy softly rasped, “I’m just afraid—afraid
that I’ll screw this up the same way I screw everything up.” After taking a deep shaky
breath, she continued, “The last two people I had a thing for: one went to Hell after—”
her voice failed and she swallowed thickly. “I know that story’s gotta be getting old. But
think about it, couldn’t you say the same about Ford? I dunno. All I do know is I didn’t
save him.” She slid in behind Willow, tentatively touching. “What does that say about
me, Will? I kill the people I love.”
“I’m so sorry,” Willow murmured, not shying away from the embrace. Instead
she guiltily listened to the muted hiccoughing noises her friend was making.
Buffy brushed the hair from the nape of Willow’s neck, giving it a gentle kiss
before she whispered, “I’m a nightmare, Will…and it scares me.”
Gently moving the arm aside, Willow flipped herself over to face her friend and
began to whisper, “I don’t believe that had anything to do with you—other than the bad
choices. But even that’s not really fair—it’s not like you consciously chose. I will tell you
this: I’m not a vampire, nor do I have some secret, hidden desire to be one.”
She tilted her head; gently resting her forehead against Buffy’s and closed her
eyes before continuing in a soft, soothing voice, “My soul is my own. I’ve never lost it.
And frankly, I don’t want to—I’m pretty fond—sort of attached. You’ll never hear me
call vampires, ‘The Lonely Ones.’ I’m totally onboard with Xander in thinking they’re the
‘Nasty Pointy Bitey Ones’.”
Leaning back to study the blonde’s face, Willow took in the sad, sentimental
smile and concluded, “What I am is a pretty normal girl—” she sighed “—well, a pretty
normal girl with an I.Q. of one-ninety-five. Sorta puts me outta the ‘normal’ camp, but
not really—not emotionally. And emotionally what I am is completely in love with you.”
When Buffy’s eyes fluttered open, she added sheepishly, “Now if the ‘girl’ part of that,
or…umm…the ‘genius’ part doesn’t scare you then—”
After rubbing her eyes to clear the tears, Buffy replied honestly, “I was bothered
at first—by the ‘girl’ part—but I think it was an excuse—a reason to hide. The ‘genius’
part just makes me wonder what the hell you see in me.” An amused smile played at
Buffy’s lips then faded as she concluded, “This isn’t easy for me, Will, but I do love you.”
When her friend drew her into a gentle embrace, Willow surrendered with
pleasure. The kiss that followed made her weak.
Angel fixed his gaze on the back of the slayer’s head as they moved along, single
file through the forest. From the increasing light levels up ahead, it appeared they would
soon be leaving its cover. It was still there. I’ll take the small miracles. At least I assume
it was still there. The ground was like I left it. It’s not like I could stop and check. It’s no
mystery to me that the reason we’re still moving is that Faith has no idea how to get
home.
Glancing down, Angel took in the sword he held. Almost four-feet-long, pattern
weld blade, deep fuller to reduce weight, heavy pommel to give it balance. It’s a fine
weapon. It’s also a very specific type of weapon—a misnomer—which in this case
happens to be true—a Viking sword. This one is so well preserved you couldn’t imagine
how old it is.
The forest thinned as they traveled, finally giving way to a vast sheet of white
covered in a thick layer of fog. Something tugged hard on Angel’s coat and he stopped. I
kind of knew, but wouldn’t let myself believe. The look on his face when I found this told
me all I needed to know. He was one of Tyrik Turgeis’ men. I’ve spent centuries in Hell
fighting to survive, but I was free. I can’t begin to imagine millennia in captivity.
The Norseman bravely ran forward to catch the slayer before she took another
step. “Nei,” he stammered, “No! Vent!”
Angel cried out as he watched with dismay, “Faith, stop! Don’t hurt him. I think
he’s trying to tell us something.” I tried to tell Faith, but she wouldn’t hear. She couldn’t
relate so she brushed it aside.
“Nei vent!” the Norseman croaked, “No!”
Faith pivoted on the ball of her foot, facing the frantic stranger. “What about
‘vent’?”
“He’s saying ‘wait,’ Faith. At least I think,” Angel explained, “Just relax and hold.
Let me figure out what’s wrong. Okay?”
Faith appeared extremely impatient. “Alright. Whatever.”
Angel followed as the Norseman walked back into the forest. They were soon
shrouded under a canopy of white.
The Norseman pointed to a straight white branch that hung low on one of the
smaller trees. He made a sweeping motion with his arm to indicate he wanted the
branch.
Angel drew out his axe and chopped the limb free. After he cleaned all the leaves
and small branches away, he handed the Norseman his new staff. “That what you
wanted?”
The Norseman clumsily took the branch in his ill-formed hands and nodded
thanks, then turned to leave. When he arrived at the slayer’s position, he began to tamp
the ground.
Angel watched for only an instant before he got it. “He’s afraid of thin ice and
hidden fissures, Faith. Actually, it’s really smart. Out on the ice your eyes can play
tricks.”
Faith nodded when the Norseman handed the staff off. “Makes sense.”
Continuing on, she tapped the ground the way the Norseman showed her. When he
nodded, she picked up the pace.
Rushing to catch up, Angel said as he fell in line, “Thanks.”
Glancing back, Faith prompted, “For what?”
Angel fixed his gaze on the distant mountain that loomed on the horizon,
reflecting honestly as they moved, “For the patience. I know it’s hard. I got exactly how
hard back at the market. I know you want to kill and move on. Trust me I get that. I lived
it.”
“Yeah, whatever…I’m pretty sure you don’t get it at all,” Faith stated
dismissively.
Angel took a breath for patience and the cold burned his lungs. After a short
pause to gather his thoughts, he offered coolly, “Then explain it to me, Faith. We’ve got
nothing but time.” The Norseman was right, visibility’s terrible. There could be a gorge in
front of us and I’d never know.
Faith’s tone was flat as she explained, “You looked at me like I’d lost my mind
when I blew up the lab. I had to. I needed to know if Red’s arrows were gonna work on
these demons. Only way to know’s to test.”
“Fair enough,” Angel replied, “It makes sense you’d want to know.”
“I wasn’t worried I’d get hurt, ’cause—well, look at me. Thanks to Doctor
Zoidberg back there, I kinda can’t…hurt, that is.” Sighing at the tedium, she commented
offhandedly, “Could this get any more boring?”
He chuckled. “I doubt it.”
“Anyway, I hit the market. I know you didn’t like it, but I knew if I played it smart,
I could do it and they’d never have a clue what hit ’em.” Taking a quick break to shift the
pole to her other hand, she resumed, “It felt damned good. I’m not gonna lie to you
there. It wasn’t the killin’ that was good though. It was the satisfaction—the revenge,
like I said. I killed that bastard that sold us first. He saw me and knew he was dyin’.”
A long silence hung between them as they slowly crept across the ice. The fog
thickened as they moved. Angel finally called halt and dug into his pack for rope.
Handing the end off to Faith, he remarked, “Tie this around your waist,” and began to
fashion a loop for himself. He stepped back and nodded to the Norseman. When the
man raised his arms, Angel tied him in the chain. After coiling the rest of the rope, he
hung it from the other man’s waist and asked, “Okay?”
The Norseman nodded.
white.
“So, why are we headed this way?” she asked, striking off again into the murky
Angel snagged his pack, securing it as he spoke. “Because of something our
friend kept repeating: Niflheim.” When Faith paused to give him an expectant glance, he
continued, “Niflheim is a misty realm from Norse mythology that borders Hel. That’s
with one ‘l’ and it’s not quite the same. I mentioned Midgard to him. Midgard means
‘Earth’: where we’re from. If this is Niflheim, then Hel should be on the other side of the
fog. Really it was a guess, but his people did it before us. For my part, I just picked where
the fog was the thickest.”
She quirked an eyebrow and looked back at the vampire, “So, you guessed.”
“Kind of, but mythology is usually based on something. Is it impossible to
imagine that the person that described the Norse Hel was once right where we are?”
Continuing to plod along, she mused, “Nope, but it’s still just a guess.”
“Fair enough.”
Buffy smiled at the attractive, auburn-haired woman behind the counter and
said, “A dozen long-stemmed, red roses with some baby’s breath and a vase, please.”
Returning the smile, the florist asked, “Anniversary?” When her customer’s brow
knit, she apologized, “Sorry, that was too forward wasn’t it? I do that. Just ignore me.”
“Oh, no, it’s cool,” Buffy replied in a light cheery voice, “Nah, ‘in the doghouse’.”
“Gotcha. How about I fix you up with something special? Guaranteed to get you
off the couch,” the florist prompted.
Leaning casually against the counter, Buffy replied, “I really shouldn’t.”
“Trust me; I can do better for less,” the florist said with a wink.
“Alright, you sold me.” Buffy turned to have a look around the small shop as the
florist began to work. I have a feeling—if we stick around—this florist and I are gonna
develop a relationship. She’ll see me coming and start working on apology bouquet
number three or some shit. ’Cause if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to screw up.
The florist called Buffy over and she moved back to the counter.
“Tahiti Sunrise Butterfly,” the florist remarked, displaying a marbled flower hued
in salmon, coral, orange, and yellow, “It’s an orchid. You think—?”
At the prompt, Buffy answered, “She’ll love them.”
work.
The florist smiled warmly, giving the blonde a polite nod as she went back to
Buffy leaned against the counter again to watch as she waited.
The florist glanced over her shoulder from the work bench behind the counter to
ask, “So, how long you two been together?”
“We’ve known each other a few years, but the ‘together’ part—it’s still sorta
happening,” Buffy answered honestly, quickly clarifying, “At least it is if I can stop being
a moron.”
“Ah, that explains a few things.”
Buffy gasped, “Huh?” appearing confused.
Stalling, the florist wiped her brow with her sleeve.
“C’mon, spill,” Buffy prompted curiously.
The florist went back to placing sprigs of greenery and other smaller violet
flowers around the orchids. “It’s just, you didn’t set off my gaydar. I know that sounds
lame, but there’s a sense you get…and you—”
“Fair enough,” Buffy replied, “Will’s my first and I’m completely clueless. Any
advice? I could use it.”
“Lots of chocolate and ice cream when they’re grumpy, Ben and Jerry will
become your saviors,” the florist said with a good-natured chuckle, “Flowers are good—
less fattening too.”
“Gotcha,” Buffy said, falling silent and pensive.
Allowing the blonde a break, the florist finally asked, “So, you’ve dated guys,
right? This isn’t like you’re first big relationship, is it?”
I wonder what she’d say if I told her the truth. “Yeah, not many—I’m pretty
picky,” Buffy admitted. My last boyfriend was a 243 year-old vampire that I’ve sent to
Hell twice now. Typical teen stuff. She filled in silently and smirked as she imagined the
face the florist would make.
“The first really serious one’s always hard. It doesn’t really matter what gender
they are. I can’t say for sure, but I think it’s a little worse for same-sex couples. All that
extra social crap gets tossed in the mix,” the florist muttered as she turned to place the
bouquet on the counter.
“I wouldn’t know about the latter, but ‘oh, yeah’ to the former,” Buffy quipped
as she examined the bouquet. “This is gorgeous. What do I owe ya?”
“Make it twenty-bucks…and a tip,” the florist replied. When Buffy tried to hand
her thirty, she passed the ten back and remarked, “I don’t want your money. Just
promise you’ll try to do right by her and we’re square.”
Cocking an eyebrow in disbelief, Buffy commented, “Fair enough—actually more
than fair.”
“Oh! I almost forgot,” the florist said with a blush, “Pick out a card,” and pointed
to the display rack by the counter.
Buffy began to look through the selection of cards, admitting as much to herself
as the florist, “I have no clue what to even say.”
The florist shrugged. “You can make a huge production out of it. Go searching
for the perfect thing. What’s usually best is to just be honest.”
Buffy’s expression washed with confusion. “What? Tell her I’m an idiot?”
“How about, ‘I love you. Please forgive me’?” the florist filled in with a giggle,
“Not that the ‘idiot’ thing isn’t good. God knows, Trish makes me feel like one half the
time.”
Accepting the pen the florist handed her, Buffy quickly wrote on the card.
“Thanks. It was really nice to meet you…?” she said graciously and tucked the card into
the bouquet.
Offering her hand, the florist supplied, “Julie.”
A bright smile lit the blonde’s face as she offered, “Buffy.”
As they pulled up in front of the house, Joyce placed her hand over her date’s
and said, “I had a lovely time, Edward. Thank you for dinner.” That sounded convincing
enough, but if I never hear another word about his ex-wife it’ll be too soon. She glanced
toward the house and her brow knit with concern. What’s Xander doing here? She
opened the car door and stepped out. Leaning back inside she pardoned herself by
saying, “If you’ll excuse me, that’s one of my daughter’s friends. I need to go see if
everything’s okay.”
“Yes, no trouble, Joyce. I had a wonderful time too,” Edward replied. Offering a
charming smile, he quickly added, “Perhaps we could do it again sometime?”
Joyce returned the smile and replied, “Perhaps.” In my worst nightmare. After
quickly shut the door, she set off up the sidewalk. He looked nice enough. Maybe I
should just give up?
Xander rose from where he was seated on the steps and asked anxiously, “I’m
not interrupting something, am I?”
“Not at all, Xander, it’s good to see you. Is everything alright?” Joyce responded
amiably as she approached.
“Everything’s fine, Mrs. Summers, I just stopped by—” Xander replied, falling
short. He appeared extremely self-conscious as he added, “I should go. I didn’t mean to
bother you.”
Joyce skirted around the young man and moved to the door. Placing her key in
the lock, she looked back and said, “It’s okay, truly it is. If anyone understands missing—
” Her voice failed and she turned the key, opening the door. She offered a warm,
sympathetic smile before adding, “Could I invite you in for some hot cocoa, maybe? I
could use the company myself.”
Putting his hands in his pockets, Xander took a sudden interest in his shoes.
Shifting his legs nervously before he said, “You sure, Mrs. Summers? I don’t wanna
intrude.”
“You’re not intruding,” Joyce stated firmly, “It’s barely eight o’clock. I was just
going to sit down in front of the television again. The company will be nice.”
Xander looked up and gave Joyce a charming, boyish smile and replied, “Thanks.”
Leaving the door ajar, Joyce made her way directly to the kitchen, setting her
purse aside en route. In an effort to make conversation as she busied herself with cocoa
preparation, she asked, “So, how is school?”
Xander leaned against the archway between the dining room and kitchen. “It’s
okay. Graduation’s a week from Saturday. I can’t believe it’s almost over.”
Turning to glance at the young man, Joyce queried, “Do you have any plans for
after graduation?” I will not think about them missing graduation. Dwelling on that
would do neither of us any good at all. I need to steer this toward something positive for
both of us.
“I was thinking about going on a road trip. I’ve lived here my whole life and—I
dunno, I’d just like to be able to say I’ve been somewhere else.”
After taking the powdered cocoa down from the cupboard next the sink, Joyce
fished through a drawer until she found measuring spoons. Spoons in hand, she paused
and turned to look pensively at Xander. A warm smile lit her face before she offered,
“You know, I did something very similar just out of high school. Some girlfriends and I
went off on what we thought would be a grand adventure. It was fun.” She glanced up
at the ceiling in amusement and ran her tongue over the inside of her cheek. A lighthearted giggle slipped out and she continued the thought, “Until the car broke down
fifty miles from Reno. Patty’s father drove all night to pick us up. He wasn’t very
impressed.”
Moving over to take a seat at the breakfast counter, Xander chuckled and
reflected, “Yeah, it’ll probably go that way for me too, but I gotta try, y’know?”
A sentimental smile played at her lips and Joyce muttered her agreement, “That
you do, Xander. That you do.”
Angel stooped to one knee and requested pensively, “Come here, Faith, take a
look and tell me what you think.”
Moving forward to join the vampire, Faith looked down and snarked, “Gee,
Angel, that’s a great big hole. You seriously need my help with that? We’ve only seen a
dozen or so now.”
“Look at the shape,” Angel prompted hopefully.
Clearly unenthusiastic, Faith replied, “It’s a great big, round-ish hole. And…?”
Angel sighed heavily before he spoke again. “See the other side?”
Quirking an eyebrow, Faith answered, “Yeah, the ground slops up,” failing to see
the point.
Glancing over to give the slayer a significant look, Angel filled in, “We’ve reached
the mountain.”
“Just spill, Angel. The guessing game’s getting old.”
“The Norseman said something else that stuck out. He said it several times like it
was important, ‘Ligtnemenscer’,” Angel reflected pensively. When she simply shrugged
in reply, he continued, “I think he was talking about the demon that hurt you.”
Faith folded her arms and responded crossly, “Great, so the thing had a name.
You really think I care?”
“Just listen, Faith, it’s all I’m asking,” Angel remarked tolerantly, “Look at the
details: everything here’s light, so the demons that live here are light. If you think about
it, did the one that held us really seem to fit here? The only one that’s shown any
technical proficiency was him. At market did you see a single lightly colored one running
a table?”
Anxiously biting her parched lower lip, she admitted, “Nope.”
“What if there’s a caste system working here? The light ones are the bottom
rung on the ladder. The dark ones are on the top rung. All the others fall somewhere in
between. Ligtnemenscer is probably like doctor or scientist. Some higher social title,
maybe?”
“So you think the dark ones are from another place?”
“Yeah. We’re looking for something pretty specific: the ability to regenerate.
That’s what we’re talking about basically. Only something that’s technically proficient on
some level will have that. I think the one that worked on you was on the low end of the
top tier of the ladder. His big brothers are going to have what we need. He was probably
young or weak and out here working his way up—feeding on the lower end to reach the
top.”
She was silent for several moments, piecing together the puzzle Angel had given
her. Finally, she replied, “So lemme get this straight…you wanna descend into Hel to
find something worse than—?” When Angel responded with a nod, she groaned, “Have
you lost your mind?”
“It’s what we came here for, Faith,” he stated simply, “And I’m not leaving
without it.”
Faith glared at the vampire and growled, “Alright, but when we get home, what’s
left of you won’t fill a Ziploc.”
Angel was completely unaffected by the threat. “That’s fine. Just do this. I’ll bare
my chest and let you stake me. I’m not what’s important.”
After rolling her eyes at the martyr act, she asked, “So how you planning on
getting to the bottom of this hole? I don’t see anything to tie off to.”
Rising to his feet, Angel made his way to the Norseman, gesturing and speaking
in hushed tones.
Faith didn’t like being cut out of the loop. Guess he’s trying to con the Swede into
doin’ something stupid too. Typical. He’d sell his mother for Blondie—that is, if he hadn’t
killed her a couple hundred years ago. Whatever…not my problem. If the Swede’s dumb
enough to help, that’s on him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the other man
gesturing wildly. Looks like the Swede’s smarter than I thought. Give him credit there.
When Angel finally approached her, she rose to her feet and asked, “So what’s the
scoop, Boss?”
“You and the Norseman are going to lower me,” Angel explained, “Then he’ll
lower you. We’re leaving our gear all except our weapons, so he can make camp and
wait.”
She began to loosen the rope around her waist and take off her extra gear. “So
what was the deal with all the hand waving? Looks like the Swede wasn’t so happy to
help.”
As he freed himself from the rope, Angel responded, “He’s not Swedish, Faith.
He’s Norwegian…and he was trying to talk me out of it.”
“Least one of you’s showin’ some sense,” Faith grumbled, “But why should I
trust him?” while she removed a sword from her pack frame.
After taking off his pack, he reached into and outer pocket and located a bundle
of glow sticks before answering, “Because he wants the same thing as you.”
Lashing the sword to her back, she replied aridly, “Away from you?”
After giving the slayer a mock wounded look, Angel bent a glow stick and
dropped it into the hole.
Faith glanced up to ask, “How deep?” and grabbed up a quiver, clinching it down
across the sword.
“About thirty feet,” Angel responded as he shoved the rest of the glow sticks into
his pocket. Waiting for the others to prepare, he coiled the rope around his gloved
hands. When they were ready, he stepped off backward into the hole, using his legs to
steady his descent.
When the rope pulled free, she groaned. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Guy rapes
me and now I have to trust him not to drop me? Even better, I gotta trust him to be here
when I get back? Angel’s lost his mind. After slinging her bow over her shoulder, she
grabbed onto the rope and started to slide down.
When Faith reached the bottom, her senses reeled. It took her a moment to
catch up. She let go of the rope and looked at the glow stick that appeared to be
hanging in space. Then she crouched down, staring slack-jawed at what she thought was
the ceiling. Angel’s shoes appeared upside-down in her field of view and she gasped,
“What the hell?
“Exactly,” Angel responded helpfully, “Just roll out. Gravity’s reversed.”
After crawling out onto the altered ground, she watched the rope retract into
the hole and commented, “You don’t see that everyday.” She rose to her feet,
continuing to peer into the hole. The rope dangled and weaved as the other man pulled
it up. I feel like I should be lying on my back watching this, but—
Turning her attention to more pressing matters, she gazed muzzily out into the
darkness. The only source of illumination was the hole that shone light in from the other
world. She peered up into a great black void. There were no stars, moon or sun—just
emptiness. “What now?”
“Now we figure out where in Hel we are.”
The pact must be satisfied. I'm the only one that can save her. Michael peered
from the darkness of the back corner booth at the blonde woman who sat at the bar.
Without me she'd be lost—no, damned—damned to wallow in the filth—damned to an
eternal hell. I bring clarity. I am justice.
I am bored. Sighing morosely, he propped his elbow on the table and took his
cheek in his hand. Would you please move already? This is always the worst part.
As he sat, dully awaiting his moment, Michael studied the blonde. She’s always
the same. She looks like she’s trying to fit in. Like a lost lamb. ‘Beware of false prophets,
which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.’ She is
beautiful, but she uses her beauty to corrupt and, for it, will be condemned. Her heart—
her heart is stained by lust—by unnatural urges she is too weak or too self-righteous to
resist.
The thudding music and chattering of the crowd had begun to give him a
headache and Michael rubbed his temples. Though, the real filth of this place hasn't yet
crossed her lips. Her body hasn't been marred by the chemical waste the others seem to
thrive on. All the better. She'd be useless if it had.
The blonde leaned in to give her raven-haired companion a kiss, then stood up
from the barstool.
Michael averted his gaze, taking in the skulls that lined the wall of his booth.
Disgusting, sinful creatures. When the couple turned to take their leave, Michael rose
swiftly from the booth and set off after them. It's always the same and I always bring
peace. I restore the natural order. He carefully avoided contact with the wretched scum
that frequented this place as he went.
Winding through the maze of bookshelves, he continued into the second large
chamber. Red lights, fog, and the drone of the music made him uneasy as he carefully
scanned the crowd for the blonde. When it became apparent that she wasn't there, he
moved on toward the entrance, systematically hunting as he went.
Moments later, he emerged outside and made his way to the street. He peered
in first one direction then the other, searching the crowd of barflies making their way
between nightclubs for his prey.
When the marshmallow she was carefully toasting burst into flames, Willow
exclaimed, “Fudge!”
Buffy commented amusedly, “I think you’ve had enough, Will.”
Willow pouted and blew the marshmallow out before peering up at the blonde
and answering in a snit, “It wasn’t for me.” Her attention shifted to the poor, burnt
marshmallow as she continued her rant without pause, “I wanted it to be perfect…and
now look at it—it’s all black and yucky. It was pretty and brown…”
Buffy’s elevated voice broke through, “Will. Umm…Will! I like them burnt.”
Willow glanced up, completely mortified. “Nu-uh,” she replied dismissively as
studied the pajama clad blonde reclining in the Victorian wingback chair in their room.
It’s weird—like I’m just really seeing her for the first time.
Reaching down from her perch, Buffy gestured for the stick and prompted, “I do.
Lemme have it. It’s getting cold.” She carefully pulled the blackened shell off the gooey
marshmallow and popped it in her mouth with a smile.
Willow’s eyebrow quirked in disbelief and she grabbed the other stick off the
hearth, beginning to toast another. Ignoring the marshmallow, she glanced over her
shoulder to watch her girlfriend. Girlfriend. She giggled softly. She is though—like
really—no joking—all mine. She even said so. Course, she still thinks we should take it
slow, but the moratorium on smoochies is lifted. She did an inner happy dance. And
that’s good enough for me—least for now.
Buffy broke off a graham cracker and a piece of chocolate, assembling a smore
with the melted center of the marshmallow. When she was done, she passed the treat
down to where Willow sat on the floor and took a sip of hot chocolate. “Y’know, Will,
I’m pretty much sold. Camping is just better with room service.”
Willow took a bite of the smore and carefully rotated the marshmallow over the
coals in the fireplace. When she swallowed the bite of smore, she set the rest on her
pajama knee and picked up her cocoa. Taking a drink before she asked, “I thought you
were cutting me off?”
Buffy replied amusedly, “What can I say, ‘no’s not really a word that’s in my
vocabulary when it comes to Willow.”
“Really?” Willow chirruped, “That sounds useful,” and abandoned the cocoa in
favor of the smore.
Appearing to think better of what she’d said, Buffy amended, “Don’t push it.”
Before turning her attention back to the poor marshmallow, Willow flashed her
best playful pout at the blonde.
Buffy groaned and mumbled, “I’m doomed.”
Put Out the Light in My Eyes
After sweeping up the glow-stick, Faith turned her back on the vampire and
began to move toward the sound of lapping water. Cautiously traversing the rough
terrain, it took several minutes for her to reach the shoreline.
She looked down at the water that swelled up onto the beach. The sand was
deep, clear green and shimmered like crushed beer bottle. Chunks of jagged, polished
rock poked arbitrarily out of the glimmering sand. The effect was surreal as the glowstick cast an eerie, blue light on the glittering beach. She resisted the urge to reach
down and scoop up a handful of sand. Turning her attention past the limits of the small
circle of illumination, she noticed the light that radiated from the passage reflected off
the tips of waves as they surged toward the shore.
Angel’s voice sounded out, tearing her from the daze, “I’m tempted to say,
‘beautiful,’ but every time I find myself thinking that, this place hands us our asses. Let’s
get moving.”
Tearing her attention from the water, she nodded, peering vaguely at the
vampire. The beam of light behind him silhouetted his form, making him hard to look at.
She turned away and began to pick her way along the shore.
As they traveled together, her eyes began to adjust to the muted light levels and
more detail came into view. Just inland from the coast, the terrain turned craggy and
mountainous. Despite the elevation changes, the light of the passage was never out of
view. Least we’ll be able to find it…if we survive.
They’d been skirting the shoreline for only a short time when another sound
caught her attention. Instinctively, she turned from the coast to move toward the sound
of rushing water. The path they followed was treacherous. Sharp rocks jutted up from
the dark ground as they ascended from the beach. She carefully picked a path, climbing
steadily up. When they reached the top of the rise, a valley spread out below them,
teaming with lightly colored vegetation. On the far end, a waterfall poured into a large
lagoon that stretched out into the center of the basin.
Without thought, she began to work her way toward the waterfall. As they drew
closer, the already foul air filled with another, more noxious odor. Her sinuses began to
burn and her eyes welled up. “What is that smell?”
Angel replied, “Alcohol,” over the thundering din of the falls.
Another crashing realization overcame Faith, making her uncomfortably aware
how alien this place really was. Any similarities with the world she was from washed
away in that instant. The waterfall wasn’t water at all.
As they moved closer to the fall, Angel commented in a distant manner, “Think
about it, Faith, water would freeze, as cold as it is. All of the ‘water’ we’ve seen has been
the same—not water at all. I’m surprised you didn’t smell it sooner. The air smells pretty
bad to begin with, though, so another disgusting stench just sort of blends in. Atomized
like this, it gets pretty obvious.”
At the base of the fall, the spray made her intensely cold. Her eyes burned and
streamed with tears, but there was something that compelled her closer as much as she
wanted to turn way. Finally it occurred to her what it was, the waterfall radiated with
mild glow as though it was subtly backlit. She moved to the side to try and peek behind
the cascade of noxious chemical. Her vision blurred as she struggled to look. She could
just barely make out that there was a fissure in the rock behind the fall. Her body
trembled from the wet and the cold as she moved toward it. Seeking desperately to
avoid the flow of the falls, she slipped into the cavern entrance, quickly moving inside.
Once out of the range of the mist, she stooped over. Putting her hands on her
thighs, she struggled to resist the light-headedness that threatened to claim her. Her
stomach knotted and she choked back the sickness rising in her throat. She wanted
desperately to rub her eyes, but knew it would only make them worse. Fumbling around
through her jacket pockets, she located a bandanna and began to wipe way the dew
that clung to her skin.
When she was finished, she started to look around. Several small, radiant
clusters of clear rock protruded randomly from the dark interior of the cave, providing a
delicate, natural light source. The narrow passage appeared to continue inward, but the
view was obstructed by outcroppings of jagged rock.
Once she was able, Faith pressed forward, remarking in a low whisper, “Dunno
why, but I got a feeling this is it.”
“Lead on,” Angel replied reassuringly.
Completely flummoxed by the sudden change of course, Willow gasped, “Wha—
?” as she followed her girlfriend through the doors of the Hustler Hollywood store. She
instantly felt the heat rising in her face. This is just mean.
“C’mon, Will, it’ll be fun,” Buffy prodded in a light cheerful tone.
Willow rolled her eyes at the sideways glance and the giggle she received.
Though she wanted to, she didn’t resist as she was towed past all the various brightly
colored displays. “For you maybe,” she grumbled. When she began to focus on the
stock, the awkwardness faded. This is actually pretty tame stuff. The movies are all R–
rated, there’s some lingerie. She shrugged. But it’s brightly lit—nothing seedy about it.
Oh! And there are books! I can relate to books.
Her attention fixed on an end cap as they passed by it and she gently pulled,
hoping the blonde would stop. ‘Lesbian Sex 101: 101 Lesbian Lovemaking Positions’
Umm…’kay, so…not stopping. But! But! But! Books! She sighed. Oh well. I’ll come back.
They were headed for the stairs and Willow took a wild guess that the stock upstairs
would be less tame and prepared herself. She’s trying to embarrass me. Not gonna
budge. She took a deep breath to set her resolve.
When they arrived upstairs, Willow looked around at the displays of porn and
sex toys. Yeah, okay…been online before. No big. She continued to follow but put on her
best ‘bored’ face; it wasn’t that hard because she wanted to go back downstairs and
look at the books. She was a bit surprised when Buffy pulled them both up to a
salesperson dressed in a black Hustler tee-shirt.
“Excuse me,” Buffy said to get the clerk’s attention and continued in a mock
curious tone, “I’m looking for a copy of ‘The People vs. Larry Flint’.”
Willow turned her gaze from the young man, who decidedly reminded her of a
young Jon Cryer, to the racks of porn DVD’s. The bottom row of each display was filled
to capacity with the requested title. This should be mildly entertaining, she mused,
directing her interest back to the clerk. Despite wearing a variety of facial piercings, the
salesclerk had a boyish charm that was instantly endearing. Again…not exactly what I’d
expect, but—
The salesman responded first with a chuckle, then began to explain, “Oh, that?
Yeah, if over fifty percent of our stock is R-rated and below, we aren’t a porn shop. It
makes things lots easier to deal with from a legal standpoint. So, we pad the stock
with—” he gestured to the display of adult DVD titles. “I mean, it’s his store, right? Why
not?” After offering a warm smile, he added, “So, is there something I can help you
ladies find?”
“Oh, no, just browsing,” Buffy replied in a casual tone, “Thank you. Knew there
had to be a story.”
“There always is,” he noted with a chuckle. As the salesclerk went back to
straightening displays, he added, “If you need any help don’t hesitate to ask.”
Something caught Willow’s attention and she moved off from the pair toward a
row of glass cases at the back of the store. She stood staring at the largest piece of Pyrex
she’d ever personally seen. When she felt Buffy approach, she began to comment
sarcastically, “So, the only thing that comes to mind is, ‘this and a steel fifty-five gallon
drum and you could attempt to break the record for world’s largest Bundt cake.’
Otherwise, I’m drawing a total blank.” Willow smirked as her girlfriend chuckled and
spun her around.
Appearing slightly disappointed, Buffy asked, “Not enjoying this, are you?”
Willow shrugged and glanced over her shoulder at the glass case full of sex toys
before she answered, “It’s not that I’m not enjoying. It’s that I don’t see the point.”
Meeting her girlfriend’s gaze, she pulled her close and whispered, “Thing is, when you
decide you want me to touch you again” — she cupped Buffy’s cheek and slowly traced
a path with her fingertips from temple to chin as she murmured — “I want it to be me. I
want to feel you under my fingertips, to taste the salt on your skin, to smell—” A little
shaken, she took a deep breath to clear her head and whispered in the blonde’s ear,
“You smell amazing.”
Obviously uncomfortable, Buffy looked down.
Willow guided them around, pressing her girlfriend gently against the counter
and persisted, “Remember how it felt?” She grinned wolfishly, taking in the effect she
was having.
Buffy was trembling, her pulse had jumped slightly and she was taking deep,
determined breaths.
Willow gently forced eye contact by hooking her fingertips under the blonde’s
chin. Her voice turned silky as she continued, “Knowing exactly what I was thinking.
Feeling what I felt when I touched your skin. So close, we were almost one person. I
want that and I don’t think I need any of this to have it. All I need is you.” She leaned in,
giving her girlfriend a tender kiss and released her.
Turning for the stairs, Willow glanced back to say, “Now what I do want is a
book. I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re done and we can head for the club.” She
winked at the slack-jawed blonde and walked off. Two can play that game, Missy.
I’m not sure why I come here. Micha’s gaze traveled around the room, drifting
over the skulls that covered the walls and the mass of drunken people. I don’t like this
place. It’s unseemly. Look at how they paw at one another—feeding on each other’s
flesh. Filling themselves with that foul, red swill. Becoming evil by playing at the role.
Only a fool would welcome evil.
After sliding over against the wall of the booth, her attention fixed on a pair of
women that had just seated themselves at the bar. You embraced evil once—wrapped it
around you like a warm soft blanket. The dark haired woman threaded her arm around
the blonde and bent in to whisper in her ear. As the blonde leaned into the embrace,
giving the dark haired girl a lingering kiss, Micha’s stomach turned to ice.
She studied the blonde, suddenly struck by feelings of familiarity. Her fine cheek
bones and brow framed blue eyes that spoke of experience earned too early in life. Her
complexion was far to rich to fit in with the pasty faces around her. While Micha
watched, the blonde’s full lips curved into a smile that lit the room.
Micha could feel the heat of her shame pouring from her face. Her gaze traveled
down fixing on a plain silver cross that rested just above the blonde’s full bosom. Vivian?
Vivian, do you not see? ‘Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of
God?’
Confusion tearing at her, Micha peered down at her hands. Blood poured from
open wounds and she struggled to blink it away. Instead, the thick crimson flow crept
out onto the table, trailing down her wrists. She fought to choke off the scream that
threatened to flood the room, drawing attention to the solace of her corner. Faintness
overcame her and she was defenseless to stop it. She dropped her head into her bloody
hands, feeling the sticky moisture bathe her skin. The world around her turned murky,
dimming as it was washed clean in the blood.
Michael wiped his hands across his moist brow and cheeks. Raising his head, his
gaze set on his bloody palms. Silly sow, she always brings me here to search for her
precious Vivian. The fetid crimson swill faded as he stared, giving way to a wash of pure,
cleansing light that bathed his form. Vivian is dead! She paid the ultimate price for her
repulsive behavior—for corrupting a blithering idiot, too weak with lust to see how she
made Father weep.
After caressing one of the skulls, he slid out of the corner to get a better view. He
looked expectantly around the room for the blonde woman he knew he’d find. Where’d
she go? Michael stood quickly, then paced a lap around the room, slipping past the
unclean vermin that stood in his way. When it became clear that his prize had stolen
away, he set off, frantically searching the rest of the nightclub.
Moments later, Michael pushed back the heavy wooden door and stepped
outside. He ran to the street, swinging around to scan both directions. A flash of blonde
hair in the crowd caught his eye near the end of the block and he set off in pursuit. It’s
always the same. Time to bring peace.
Angel pushed past the slayer, taking point. Okay. She’s starting to make me
crazy. I get that she doesn’t care, I even sort of get the ‘why,’ but she’s trying to get us
killed. This place has enough dark recesses and blind corners to drive me nuts without
dealing with the slayer who acts like she’s taking a walk in the park. He glanced back to
wink and Faith glared.
After careful study, he slipped around the corner into a large, open chamber.
Shadows hung thick around the edges of the cavern. The only light sources were a few
clusters of crystal that emitted an eerie, green glow. The surface of the walls and ceiling
made him feel as if he were inside a huge geode. Jagged spikes of clear rock projected
out from almost every surface. The ground was uneven and covered in crushed,
colorless rock. It was as though, over years of use, the crystals had broken down
underfoot. He clung to the darkness as he skirted the edges of the large pond that
occupied the middle of the room.
Faith tapped Angel’s shoulder, startling him. He swung around and she pointed.
His eyes grew wide as the shock hit him. He stood, mouth agape, for several seconds,
peering through a piece of clear stone set into the rough wall. Outside the natural
viewport, fan-shaped, white plants grew out of clusters of polished, clear stone. Seeing
the plants billow in the flow of the current, he realized that they were beneath the
ocean.
The awe and wonder of the moment was cut short when a large black face rose
up to peer through the portal. Angel reflexively drew his weapons as he locked eyes
with the demon.
This demon looked like another step up the evolutionary scale from the previous
ones they’d seen. His eyes were like faceted obsidian. The surface of his face wasn’t
smooth; instead, ribbed, convex channels ran in geometric patterns over the surface of
his carapace. The finish of the conduits was glossy, set off by the matte surface of his
under-shell. A jagged row of spines crested the top of his head.
The slayer skirted back round the pond, picking a projection of rock to stand
behind for cover. She notched an arrow and drew back, aiming at the pool.
As Angel watched this peripherally, keeping eye contact with the demon, he
prayed that the slayer had not loaded an explosive arrow. When the creature swam
away, Angel saw rows of jagged points cresting his back and the outsides of his arms.
Well, he’s just lovely. Turning, he slipped back into the shadows to await the inevitable.
Faith let the arrow fly the instant the demon erupted from the pond. The shot
was good. It broke through the soft tissues around the demon’s neck. Instantly smoke
started to billow from the wound. She dropped her bow when Angel leapt from the
shadows to attack the surfacing demon.
Swinging both weapons into the demon, Angel carried the momentum around
into a brutal kick. All three blows connected, leaving gashes across the creature’s chest.
He staggered back into the pool. A cloud of milky-blue clouded the clear water. It
swirled as the demon launched himself at Angel. He swung his weapons to parry the
attack.
Faith used the distraction to slip between the demon and the water. Swinging in
a crossing motion, she brought her sword down into the creature’s neck as her dagger
slipped through a joint in his body shell. She spun around, carrying the demon with her.
She ripped the dagger out as she moved. His head hit the floor at her feet seconds
before his body splashed into the pool.
She glanced at the vampire and smirked, then turned to kick the head in the
pool. Stooping down, she began to wash her weapons in the cold alcohol. Wordlessly,
she slid them into place and went to pick up her bow. Once it was retrieved, she
motioned for Angel to lead on.
He bent to quickly rinse his weapons and slid them into the harness on his back.
No wonder she’s not worried. I’ve never seen anything move like that in my life. I’m fast,
but she makes me look positively human.
The humid night air hung heavy and warm around Buffy as she walked, just
barely keeping pace with her exuberant girlfriend. She leaned heavily on the cane,
relying on it to keep her standing. As they left the crowds of Bourbon Street behind,
shock overcame her when Willow picked her up and swung her gently against the side
of a car.
The crush of soft flesh overwhelmed Buffy’s senses. A hungry mouth sought out
her neck while eager hands caressed her body. Yeah…I’m doomed, she mused as soft
lips met hers. She returned the passionate kiss with equal enthusiasm. It’s a good kinda
‘doomed,’ though. As ‘doomeds’ goes—it could be worse.
Wedging her thigh between her girlfriend’s legs, Willow started to move in a
slow, firm rhythm.
The pressure forced Buffy to break the kiss, groaning into her lover’s mouth.
Hands came to rest on her breasts, thumbs tracing circles through the fabric of her
corset directly over her nipples. Her mind went fuzzy and her body started to tremble.
She could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead. After propping her cane against
the car, she seized Willow’s ass and took control of the movement. If I don’t stop this,
our second time’s gonna be on the hood of a car—at least it’s not a police car! See what
I get for letting her read? No more books for Willow. Yeah, that’ll be the day.
Moderating her strength, Buffy turned, rolling Willow against the car. My turn.
As she started to assert herself, gently nibbling the moist, salty flesh of her girlfriend’s
neck, something very strange happened, Willow went limp. What the hell? Then a
sensation similar to a bee sting caused Buffy’s shoulder to burn. She winced with the
pain. A dizzy feeling threatened to overcome her.
A strange pair of hands grabbed her. She swung around. Catching hold of the
cane as she moved, she lashed out at the attacker. She missed but used the momentum
to flow into a counter-move.
This time the cane connected. Their assailant reeled, quickly shaking herself off.
Buffy’s focus lapsed as the tranquilizer took hold. The cane was wrenched from
her weakening grip. Seconds later, she felt it connect across her lower back. Oh God!
Her left leg folded and she collapsed onto her side. Pain erupted across her shoulders.
She rolled onto her back to try and block the blows. After summoning the last of her
strength, she sat up.
The aggressor slipped from view. Buffy yelped when a blow came from behind,
striking her right kidney. The cane impacted her right clavicle, sweeping her over
backwards. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her right arm lay entirely useless. She tried to
move it. Sharp pain shot from her shoulder when the broken bone dug into her muscle.
The attacker started to use her feet to break through Buffy’s feeble defenses.
Between the sedative, the kicks, and the cane, she was overwhelmed. Closing her eyes,
she screamed as the dark-haired woman struck her. Her cry choked to silence when she
felt her ribs snap. The air rushed out of her lungs and she lay in agony, gulping for
breath. Tears leaked out between her closed eyelids.
It became impossible to follow where the blows were landing. Soon her entire
upper-body was on fire. Allowing her head to fall to the side, she opened her eyes.
While the woman beat her, she peered dimly at Willow. I’m so sorry. Her mouth tasted
like tin. She swallowed to clear the blood, remembering the salt.
I failed. It was my job to protect her and I failed. In that instant, nothing else
mattered. Her heart broke, rendering the pain meaningless. All of the sensations blurred
and Buffy started to slip away. Terror clawed at her—not for herself, but for Willow.
Sinking into the shadows, Faith listened to the sound of something approaching.
It was impossible to tell exactly what was coming their way, only that it was big. She
looked around the corridor where they were hiding and turned her attention to Angel.
She made a jerking motion with her head to indicate they ‘fall back.’ When Angel
nodded in reply, she began to slip through the shadows toward the chamber with the
pond. At least we’ll have room to move.
Once they arrived in the cavernous room, Faith moved back to her previous
hiding place and notched another arrow. When she was ready she glanced over at
Angel. He was shaking his head. Jeez! What’s wrong now? She strode noiselessly over to
the vampire and whispered, “What?”
“No poison, Faith. If this thing is what we want—”
She cut him off by holding up the plain hunting arrow. Looking annoyed, she
stated frankly, “No poison,” not bothering to suppress her voice.
He nodded and mumbled, “So long as you know,” appearing mildly selfconscious.
She abandoned the vampire and returned to her post.
When the demon finally entered the room, it headed straight for the pool.
As she lined up her shot, Faith mused, These things just aren’t getting any
prettier. More bumps and spiky shit than that last bastard. Hope this is paydirt ’cause,
they get much nastier, I’m askin’ for a missile launcher.
The demon caught sight of the body in the water and reared back, bellowing out
a piercing wail.
Faith let the shot go. Before the arrow hit, she had her weapons out and was
halfway to the demon.
The cry fell silent as the arrow tore into the creature’s throat. It turned its
attention to the slayer unleashing a series of vicious blows with all four arms. After it
swung, its upper right hand went to its neck and tore the arrow out, casting it aside.
Yeah, faster and stronger too. Parrying all but one blow, Faith reeled from the
onslaught. A grunt slipped out as Angel moved behind the hulking demon. Recovering
within seconds, she flowed into a series of counter-moves.
The demon easily deflected the blows as Angel lined up and took one brutal
swing. His blades connected along a ridge of barbs where the demon’s spine should’ve
been. Silvery-blue blood flowed for only an instant before the wound began to close
over.
The creature spun, driving a clawed hand into the vampire’s gut. Angel flew
backwards across the room. Smashing into a column of quartz and shearing it off.
Faith took the opportunity to unload. Bringing her blades down into the demon’s
left shoulder as it turned. She finished with a brutal kick that sent the demon flying
across the pond. Not letting up, she descended on the creature as it flailed to stand.
Don’t do well on your back, do ya? Dodging the swinging limbs, she drove the sword
down into the demon’s cracked carapace. That sword was blocked, but the dagger
slipped through. It laid open her victim’s throat. Shimmering blue blood flowed freely
from the creature.
Yatzee! It’s different. Same shit, but full of steel filings. Sounds healthy! Yum! She
drove a foot into the demon’s healing chest. About half her blows were countered as
she focused on collapsing the beast’s upper body. The sound of splintering shell soon
filled the room.
The demon lay defeated and broken moment’s later. Blood welled up in its
crushed chest. Faith took out a heavy black plastic bottle and dipped it into the pool of
fluid. Instead of closing the lid, she raised the bottle and whispered, “Here’s to your
health, B.,” then tipped the bottle up. After draining the contents, she made a face and
wiped her mouth. Okay, not yum! That was just gross! Giving the demon another brutal
kick to slow the repair, she bent down and filled the bottle again. This time, she capped
it tightly and shoved it into the inside pocket of her coat.
Grabbing up her weapons, she turned away from the demon. Her gaze fixed on
Angel. He still wasn’t moving. She ran toward the vampire half-afraid of what she’d find.
He’s not dust, so it’s all good. When she reached his side, he was stirring. Blood still
poured from the gaping abdominal wound. “You gonna be able to stand, Boss?” she
asked as she offered a hand down.
Struggling to sit on his own, Angel groaned, “Yeah. Give me a minute,” and
accepted the hand.
After helping the vampire to his feet, Faith went over to the pool to wash her
weapons and put them up. As she worked, a flourish of movement and a shower of
something wet caused her to wince and spring to her feet. What she saw shocked her.
The demon was fully repaired. Angel hung, suspended by the base of his ribcage, on one
of its arms. It was obvious he had stepped into a blow meant for her. She rolled her
eyes. Hero types. Do they come any dumber?
The demon was about to rip him in half when she attacked, opening with a low,
sweeping kick. The demon’s legs folded. As it collapsed, Angel was thrown across the
cavern. Faith continued to focus low on the demon, tearing into its legs. Careful to stay
out of range, she hacked until one of them came off. Moving around as it floundered;
she concentrated on the right arms. The majority of her swings were blocked for the
first few seconds until she did enough damage to break through. When the right arms
were severed, she quickly moved to the head. The leg was already starting to reattach.
Sensing the pressure for time, she took one vicious swing and cleaved the head off.
She rushed to stow her weapons and ran to Angel. The gaping abdominal wound
was much larger. He winced when she threw him over her shoulder. Again, not dust.
He’ll live, but y’know that’s gotta smart. Leaning down when she passed her bow, she
snatched it off the ground as she fled.
The sound of hammering caused Willow to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, but her
vision was too blurry to make anything out in the dim firelight. Tilting her head in the
direction of the noise, she blinked, trying to clear the distorted image. There was
something hard in her mouth and it burned. She tried to swallow. Instantly regretting it
as acrid salt washed down her throat. While she struggled, the board across her back bit
into her shoulders. She kicked out futilely with her bound feet.
A raspy female voice growled out of the haze, sounding along side the pounding,
“Were they ashamed because of the abomination they had done? They certainly were
not ashamed and they did not know how to blush. Therefore they shall fall among those
who fall. At the time of their punishment, they shall be brought down.”
When Willow’s eyes focused, her heart stumbled. Gasping, she started to gag on
the salt in her mouth. She felt sour acid rise up in her throat. With her mouth taped shut
it only added to her sickness. Panic ripped through her when the woman turned her way
with blood pouring from her nose.
The woman sprang to her feet and swung around to face the witch. As she
moved, still clutching the claw hammer, she snarled, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to
live.”
Trembling, Willow peered into the woman’s malevolent face. Tears streamed
down her cheeks, flowing into her ears. Sweat beaded on her skin. Her breathing grew
erratic. The tape across her lips billowed in and out, pulling at her skin. Numbness
paralyzed her as she grappled with the certainty that she was about to die.
With each step the woman grew weaker. Blood began to leak from her ears.
When she reached the witch, she slumped onto her knees. Spittle mixed with blood and
ran down her chin. It dripped onto her dirty, white tee-shirt as her neck sagged, no
longer supporting the weight of her head.
Willow tried to scream, only to choke again. Confusion tore at her. She didn’t
understand why the woman was injured. The limp body dropped on top of her. It took
her several moments to grasp that the other woman was dead. When the reality finally
crept in, Willow tried to scream again. She gagged and acid rose up into her mouth. The
sound of her own heartbeat was deafening. The weight of the other woman across her
chest was making it hard to breathe.
Fighting to remain conscious, Willow focused on the ropes that held her right
hand to the board. The knots were hard. As she struggled to loosen them, she grew
faint.
Angel felt like he’d been swept into one of those crazy video games the kids
played at the mall. The tunnel walls blurred as they rushed by, weaving and dodging. As
they rounded a corner, his head came dangerously close to a sharp outcropping of rock
and he winced. He was amazed by how smoothly the slayer ran. Her footfalls barely
jarred the wound in his stomach. It was the view instead that was causing alarm, making
him sick.
He cringed when the demon came into sight behind them down a long straight
stretch of tunnel. The creature was picking up speed as it healed. A clawed hand hit the
catacomb wall as the beast ran, sending a shower of rock down behind it. Angel closed
his eyes when Faith started to weave again. If one of the sharp chunks of rock was going
to hit his head, he sure didn’t want to see it coming.
Fine mist coated his skin. Oh! Thank! God! We’re out. He opened his eyes in time
to see the waterfall moving into the distance. Then things turned peculiar for an instant.
He was being thrown. Flying through the air, he landed on his back, just in time to see
the slayer draw her bow. Oh hell! His eyes fixed for a moment on the arrow tip and he
screamed, “No!” It was too late. The arrow flew as the demon burst from the waterfall.
Angel’s hands reflexively covered his face as the slayer dove on top of him. Time
hung for just an instant. Strange how comforting it is—having her protection. He
grappled with this thought for a second or two before the world around them turned to
fire.
He found himself flying again. This time he wasn’t alone. Faith clung to him. They
bounced and tumbled, shearing off rocks in their path.
When they came to a rest, Angel pulled his hands from his head and swept the
slayer’s singed hair from their faces.
After rolling off him, she asked, “You okay?”
mean.”
Struggling to sit, he replied, “That’s a relative thing. It depends on what you
Faith smirked and offered wryly, “Still not dust—you’ll live.”
Angel began to chuckle despite the pain as he stared at the fire that poured over
the cliff into the burning lagoon. Falling silent, he remarked, “Subtle—somehow, I have
a feeling that word just isn’t in your vocabulary.”
“It’s not a very useful word,” she supplied with a grin. Giving the vampire a
sideways glance, Faith asked, “You gonna be okay to move or do you need—?”
The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. He peered shamefaced at the wound in his stomach as she held out her bared wrist.
“You’re useless to me that way. Get over it and drink before company comes,”
she stated frankly.
When he pushed the arm away, she added, sounding mildly amused, “Be happy.
I got the goods. So, let’s get over it, get outta here…and save your princess.” She pushed
her arm back under his nose and added, “Sound okay to you?”
He was surprised when Faith winced at the bite. Withdrawing, he looked
questioningly at her.
She sat like a statue, obviously waiting for him to finish.
What the hell changed? He watched the blood well up from the wound that
instantly started to close. She’s right; we don’t have time for show and tell. If this doesn’t
attract attention, nothing will. As he drank, he could feel his injuries repairing. He didn’t
take a lot. He didn’t need to. The blood was the most incredible thing he’d ever
experienced. After a few moments, he sprang to his feet, completely healed and feeling
better than he could ever remember.
Faith collected her bow and bounced to her feet. Smiling knowingly at the
vampire, she asked, “Better, Boss?”
Ignoring the question, Angel wordlessly set off for the passage. Eventually, after
his face changed, he said, “Thank you,” just out of sheer courtesy.
When Willow’s right hand ripped free from the board, she tore the tape from her
mouth. Turning her head to the side, she spat the salt rock out and vomited. After
heaving the corpse away, she rolled over, immediately starting to work on her left hand.
It took several minutes of struggling with her shaking hand to loosen the rope. Once her
hands were free, she turned her attention to her feet.
Finally, she pushed herself to standing. She staggered to keep her balance and
tripped over the body. Her right wrist made a loud cracking noise when she landed.
Tears welled up in her eyes and she resigned herself to crawling.
After slowly dragging herself across the dirt yard, she slumped over next to
Buffy. The first thing that crossed Willow’s mind was to feel for a pulse. She put her
hand to her lover’s throat and started to weep. She’s alive. Her gaze fixed on the blood
soaked rope and the nail that held her girlfriend’s right wrist.
I need to think, but I’m so tired. After struggling to sit, she began to look over the
injuries. As she gently pulled the tape and removed the salt from Buffy’s mouth, reality
sank in. There was nothing she could do. She sagged over shaking and sobbing.
Repeating pleas for forgiveness, she wept until her head started to pound. Her grieving
ended with a whisper, “I’m so sorry,” and a kiss. I need to stop with the guilt and do
something!
Anger at her own foolishness strengthened her resolve and Willow sat up to take
a look around. An old cabin sat up on stilts about twenty feet from where she was.
There was a late-model minivan sitting next to it. The fire pit that provided scant
illumination to the clearing was to her right and a marsh lay to her left. Two massive,
gnarled cypress trees that had grown together at the base of their trunks stood near the
edge of the water, shrouding the clearing.
She started to inch back over to the corpse that lay between her and the cabin. I
need to see if she has a phone. If not I’ll try to get in the cabin. I don’t think I can drive,
but I may have to find a way. I won’t leave her, though. I don’t care what it takes. I
refuse.
After reaching the body, she rolled the woman onto her back. Willow’s hands
were shaking so hard she could barely thread them into the pockets of the woman’s
jeans. I did this. I’m not sure what terrifies me more: that I did it or that I don’t
understand how I did.
Locating nothing useful on the body, she began to crawl to the cabin. It seemed
to take forever to even reach the steps. She pulled herself up, holding onto the door for
balance. The hasp that held the rickety door closed was loose. She turned the knob and
stepped into the cabin. On an old table by the door, she found a purse. Dropping to the
steps, she began to rummage through it.
After quickly locating keys and a cell phone, she dialed nine-one-one. Her heart
skipped a beat when the phone actually began to connect. This is good! We’re not so far
off the grid that there’s no cellular signal.
The phone rang twice and a neutral male voice declared, “Nine-one-one
operator, please state your emergency.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks as Willow stuttered into the phone, “I-I was—I
mean, my friend and I—we were abducted. She’s really badly hurt and I-I don’t know
where we are.”
“Is the person that abducted you still there?”
dead.”
“Y-yes,” Willow forced herself to say, quickly stammering to add, “But sh-she’s
“Please stay on the line. We can attempt to triangulate your location. Can you
reach your friend?”
Trying again to stand, Willow fought to keep her balance as she replied frankly “I
can get to her. It’ll take me a minute.” After a moment, she sluggishly set off across the
dimly lit dirt yard. About half-way across, she collapsed to her knees, grunting when she
hit the packed dirt.
“Are you okay, Ma’am?”
“I-I’m fine—well, as fine as you’d expect. I just fell. I’m not walking—w-walking is
bad,” Willow stammered to explain and started to drag herself on her side, pushing off
with her legs.
“We have your location and are dispatching an ambulance. When you get to
your friend I need you to take her vitals for me. Can you do that?”
“Y-yes,” Willow gasped as she struggled to move.
“Can you tell me something about where you are? Anything would be helpful.
We can get a rough fix on your location, but it’s impossible to be exact.”
“It’s an old cabin in the bayou,” Willow said, fighting to keep her tone even,
“There’s a black minivan in the driveway and a fire burning in the yard.” Heavy bruises
had started to rise on Buffy’s exposed skin. Willow began to weep again as she drew
closer.
“Are you alright, Ma’am?”
“Sh-she’s hurt re-really bad,” she choked through the tears.
“Are you with her yet?”
After creeping the last few feet, she replied, “Yes.”
“And you have a watch?”
“Yes,” Willow stated, already starting to take her girlfriend’s pulse. There was a
short pause and she offered, “She’s bleeding really badly from her right wrist” — she
began to untie the rope from Buffy’s left wrist — “I’m going to try a tourniquet. I’ve
never done one, but I get the principle.” So stupid! If I’d done this when I first got to her
she’d—
“Ma’am?”
“Her pulse is weak and thready—forty-three beats per minute. She needs a
blood transfusion,” she rattled off, understanding what was being asked. When she got
the rope loose, she threaded carefully behind the injured arm. Before the task was
finished the phone went dead. “Hello?” No answer came and she pitched the phone
aside. Once the arm was tied off, she curled up in a ball facing Buffy.
Fear reasserted itself and Willow began to sob. She lay watching the fire cast
warm radiance over Buffy’s broken form. I’m afraid to touch her. It looks like all I could
do is cause her more pain. I’ve already caused her enough. She’s— She gasped, shaking
as she struggled with the thought. She’s dying because of me.
After several moments, she shut her eyes. Her body shook as she fretted. The
cricket song overwhelmed the watery breath sounds of the body next to hers in waves.
Occasionally, a pop from the fire disrupted the melody. Severe fatigue and the serenade
of the bayou eventually lulled her into a deep, fitful sleep.
Faith was starved. Sitting with unusual restraint on the cold ground next to the
Norseman, she mused, A coupla cheeseburgers, a bucket of coke, and three large fries.
Her mouth started to water. Oh! And another bucket of ketchup! That’s what I’m gonna
ask for. I don’t really care about much else. After living on bugs for who knows how long
in that creep’s cave and this freeze-dried shit for a couple weeks after. Hell, I dunno how
long it’s been, really. There’s no night here. It seems like a lifetime. All I know is gimme
real food! She patted the lump in her coat made by the pouch Willow had given her as
she watched the vampire dig.
Angel pulled the duffle bag out of the ground and began to remove the items.
Her heart lurched when he set the skull on the ground and began to cut into the
top. I’m seriously going home. Crazy after all this. The really weird thing? I don’t hate
him anymore—either of them, actually. We depended on each other too much and they
never let me down—not after we got free. Angel didn’t let me down before that. I’ve
never been happier to see anyone then when I saw Siggy dropping that damned rope.
And I think Angel was right, Siggy here’s not a bad guy. He was just a guy put in a bad
spot. What kinda name is Sigvaldi anyway?
Angel lifted the top of the skull off and opened a few bags of dried herbs,
crushing them before sprinkling them into the skull. He glanced up, making eye contact
with Faith before pouring the venom over the top.
Faith smiled brightly. I’m going home! She felt like her face might split open from
the smile when the first drop of venom produced a wisp of smoke. A tear trickled down
her cheekbone, freezing before it reached the hollow of her cheek. It’s gonna work.
Pulling the locket from under her clothing, she mumbled, “Hear that, Red?” The portal
crackled to life. She stood up and moved towards it. Now the question is: besides food,
what the hell am I gonna do? Her body trembled as the energy of the portal washed
over her. Take it one day at a time.
When she stepped through into the warmth of their world, there was a crash.
She jumped at the sound. The portal faded behind her and the world went impossibly
dark. A thud to her right made her flinch again. Instinctively, she fled the sound.
As she collided with a wall, Giles’ voice muttered out of the blackness. Giles and
he’s talkin’ to someone—someone who’s scared. Blinking reflexively to clear her eyes,
she heard the Norseman gasp and choke as though in trouble. Her nerves settled while
she listened to the exchange. He’s comforting him. Siggy’s freaked out. Well, I guess
that’s expected. Guy was sorta trapped in Hell forever.
When her eyes finally adjusted, Faith had trouble understanding what she was
seeing. Giles stooped over the Norseman, holding his hand while the other man
convulsed. A putrid foam poured from Sigvaldi’s mouth as Giles muttered something
about ‘Valhalla.’ That’s like Norse heaven. He’s dying. Why’s he dying?
Faith stood stark still staring in slack-jawed disbelief. When the Norseman finally
passed away, she was no longer hungry.
As Buffy drifted on the edge of sleep, she gradually grew aware that her head
was throbbing. She cracked an eye and quickly snapped it shut against the bright lights.
Her head pounded its thanks. Bad idea.
A wave of nausea gripped her as a fragment of memory returned. She swallowed
hard to try and regain control. Willow’s unconscious face hung in her mind’s eye,
haunting her. Willow? Willow was hurt! Panic gripped her and she screamed, “Willow.”
Instead, her voice sounded like a weak croak.
“I’m here, Buffy. You’re safe.”
Oh thank god! Buffy tried to move her arm. It jerked, hitting the bedrail. Wait!
What’s wrong with her—her voice, it’s wrong—distant, detached. She winced
reflexively. Her arm dropped back to her side before she rasped, “What’s wrong, Will?”
It hurt to speak, but she struggled to finish, “Is something wrong? You’re scaring me.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of.”
That voice. It’s wrong—it’s hollow and wrong—like she’s trying to hide
something. Buffy was getting really uneasy. Her stomach knotted again as another
memory returned. I was being beaten—watching Willow and being beaten. I was with
Will—so happy. There was another woman—a dark, angry woman—empty eyes, gaunt
face. She looked sick. “Will, please, the light, could you turn it off? I need to see you.”
Why’s she not touching me? I need her. Last time I needed her she was holding me when
I woke up. What’s wrong?
Her girlfriend was moving and Buffy could sense it. As Willow neared, it was like
a weight lifted from the slayer’s chest. She could hear the other woman’s heartbeat; it
was strong and healthy. Willow was nervous—her respiration was a little heavy—but
uninjured. There was a strange lope to her step as she walked past the bed, but she
dismissed it. It’s minor. Will’s okay! She’s really okay!
The lights went out and Buffy’s eyes fluttered open. She wasn’t surprised to be in
the hospital. What did surprise her was that Willow had continued out the door. Why?
What! She looked down at herself. Both of her legs were in traction. The bits of bare
skin she could see were deeply bruised. No wonder she’s afraid to touch me. I wouldn’t
want to touch me either. I look like shit. ’Kay, so…calming down—breathing normal—I’m
not gonna get sick.
When Willow returned to the room, there was a nurse right behind her. “The
nurse is going to give you something to make you feel better, ’kay?” she said in a
temperate tone.
“What’s wrong with you, Will?” Buffy begged when her girlfriend limped right
past her.
Willow came around to the other side of the bed and took a seat before she
spoke. “Nothing, Buffy—well, actually I have a broken wrist and a sprained ankle, but
I’m fine. I just feel bad, y’know?”
“Yeah, okay…” Buffy replied uneasily. She turned her head too quickly when the
nurse touched her I.V., instantly regretting it as her head answered by pounding. Her
eyes started to water. “Wh-what is that?” she asked, nervously eyeing the needle.
“Something to help you relax, dear,” the nurse replied in a reassuring tone.
Buffy felt the flow of cold liquid enter her vein and her vision blurred. In a matter
of moments she drifted away.
Giles pulled the Citroën into his usual parking space at the school and climbed
out. His face filled with concern as Faith caught his attention again. He’d never imagined
that she could look so ragged and unkempt. You’re acting like a mollycoddling old biddy.
Do show some self-control.
Faith offered a weak, reassuring smile as she climbed from the car. Barking a
laugh, she remarked, “Get a grip, G. A shower and some food, I’ll be good as new.”
Giles replied with waning concern, “Yes, quite right, you look at though some
rest might do you some good as well.” Turning, he matched pace with the slayer as they
moved toward the school. When they reached the doors, it occurred to him that he
hadn’t seen Angel exit the vehicle. He stepped away from the entry to have a look
around and asked, “Where on earth did Angel go?”
She shrugged vaguely and opened the door. Meeting Giles’ gaze when he turned
toward her, she remarked flippantly, “How long’s it been, G.? You should remember he
does this crap all the time. It’s no big.”
Casually answering the question with little thought, “Nearly two weeks now.” He
didn’t delay passing through the entry as the slayer held it open for him. Giving her a
sideways glance, he set off down the corridor toward the library. It shouldn’t surprise
me that they’ve become accustomed to one another’s habits, as long as they’ve been
gone. What does have me a bit bewildered is Faith’s behavior; I didn’t imagine that she
would be nearly so friendly when she returned. In fact, I thought quite the opposite
would occur. I suspect there’s an intriguing story to be had if we could prompt either of
them to speak of their experiences.
“The others should be here shortly,” Giles remarked as he pushed open the door
to the library. He was a bit taken aback to see Angel standing with Xander by the stacks,
whispering.
As Giles approached, Xander set off for the door at a brisk pace, offering a hasty,
“I’ll be back in a few, Giles, gotta get something from the car.”
Furrowing his brow, Giles took a seat at the head of the study table, his attention
fixed on the vampire. He’s looking remarkably better. His skin is still grey, but the
blackness around his nose and mouth have faded. It’s remarkable, given the condition of
the Norseman, that Faith seems to have suffered very little damage. Her skin was
obviously chapped, but one would think, with the extensive frostbite the other man
had— Well, at any rate…we’ll call it a small blessing. Taking her to the hospital with
severe frostbite would not have been enjoyable at all.
As Angel silently made his way to join them, Giles began to examine the slayer’s
hands again. Neither one of them are willing to share any of the details. I suppose that is
fitting. One can tell, just by looking, that they’ve been through quite an ordeal. He took
in the black bone and tendon structure that showed through the translucent skin.
Faith smiled, twiddled her fingers to allow Giles a really good look, and placed
her hands in her lap.
Giles turned his attention right to address Angel. I really must stop gawking, he
chided himself before asking aloud, “Might I see the sample you’ve returned with?”
Angel nodded to Faith and she pulled the container out, placing it on the table as
she remarked, “There you go, G., the miracle cure-all.”
Giles picked the bottle up and opened the lid. It was full to the brim with a light
blue-grey fluid. He quickly replaced the cap and set the bottle in the center of the table.
Shifting his attention between the two as he spoke, he offered sincerely, “We are all in
your debt for doing this. It’s quite remarkable, really.” As he fell silent, Angel nodded
and walked toward the door.
Faith smiled and snarked, “Well, I’d say, ‘No trouble, G.,’ but I get you not likin’
the lyin’. It’s cool though. It got me outta the ’Dale for a few weeks.”
Turning to see where the vampire had run off to, Giles replied, “Indeed.” He sat
puzzling over the details while Angel and Xander both reentered the room. Xander
quietly took the seat across from Faith and Angel sat next to him. Yes, that would indeed
explain it. His gaze fixed on the bottle. This fluid—this blood is said to endow the person
that imbibes it with remarkable regenerative abilities. It would stand to reason that,
given an opportunity, Faith would partake. That doesn’t explain her hands. That is unless
they were— Dear Lord! It’s no wonder she doesn’t wish to speak of it.
“G-Man?” Xander asked, appearing concerned. He snapped his fingers in front of
Giles face.
Pushing the hand away, Giles glared at Xander and grumbled, “Xander, if I told
you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, please do not refer to me that way.”
Xander put his hands up in a ‘surrendering’ gesture and offered apologetically,
“Sorry, you were just zoning pretty bad.”
Turning toward the younger man, Giles offered truthfully, “Terribly sorry,
Xander. My apologies. I just have a great deal on my mind.”
Silence hung over the room for a time and the attention of the entire table fixed
on the bottle in its center. Finally Wesley and Joyce entered through the side door. The
others turned to greet them.
Once they were all seated, Joyce took out the cell phone and hit the send key.
“I’ve already tried this twice. It worries me that they’re not picking up. I suppose it’s
nothing. They’re probably just out to dinner.” When no one answered, she hung up the
phone. She smiled self-consciously at the attention she was getting.
“Not to worry, Joyce. I’m certain, as you say, that they’ve just stepped out,” Giles
offered reassuringly, “Once they see that they’ve missed your call, they will return it in
short order.”
Wesley chimed in, “Until we have some notion where to deliver this miracle
serum, there really isn’t much to be done. Might I suggest we allow Faith and Angel to
go tidy up a bit?”
“That sounds like a reasonable plan,” Giles returned, “That is unless they have
something to report?”
After rising from the table, Faith replied casually, “Nada, G.”
As Angel rose to leave, both entrances to the library opened. Four men in black
tactical gear, carrying assault rifles, rushed in through each door, surrounding the table.
Quentin Travers strode into the room through the main doors and asked smugly,
“Do you seriously believe we weren’t watching?” He gestured to Faith and Angel and
four of the men broke formation, seizing them by the arms. He went directly to the
table, sweeping up the bottle.
ribs.
The slayer growled as the men both pressed the muzzles of their guns into her
Travers began to pace as he spoke, “Tobias uncovered evidence to suggest that
this” — raising the bottle so the others could plainly see it — “is the Holy Grail: ‘le san
gréal,’ or rather the Royal Blood: ‘le sang réal’ it was fabled to contain. I always did love
a good pun, no matter the language.” He chortled, “Rich with irony, this magical liquor
of Christian legend actual comes from deep within the bowels of a demon dimension.”
Removing the top of the bottle, he started to drink, then paused, returning to
gloating, “Did you have any idea, Mr. Giles? Did you see the connection, or did you just
send these two festering piles of shit to Hell on a hunch?” He leered at Faith, giving her
a contemptuous grin.
Faith tensed, pulling against the two council goons who held her arms. She
looked over at Angel who gave her a slight head shake and she stood down.
Turning to glare at Giles, Travers continued his sermon, “Documents buried
deep within our vaults suggest that Widukind was beheaded during the Bloody Verdict
of Verden along with 4,500 other Saxon leaders. There are those who believe he still
walks the earth today. While this may be folly, it is clearly documented that, after the
slaughter, Widukind dedicated his life to erecting churches to honor the Christian God.”
His tone turned venomous. “And you honestly expect me to sit by while you grant this
miracle to an impudent wretch who defiles our great council’s name with her very life?”
“What I expect from you is betrayal,” Giles snarled, “I expect egotism and
cruelty. Good of you not to disappoint.”
Travers smiled sweetly, appearing even more evil for the effort. “Yes, yes, very
well, Mr. Giles, show what a big man you are by casting rubbish insults around. Now we
see who the better man is,” he said in a patronizing tone and turned the bottle up,
draining the contents.
In the Beginning is My End
Finding it impossible to contain himself any longer, Xander allowed the impish
grin he’d been restraining to show. Angel said, ‘piss in it,’ but—well, I just couldn’t stop
there. Besides…demon blood—it just wouldn’t’ve been right. Bet this makes him sicker
than a dog. He gave Angel a sideways glance and burst into peels of laughter when
Travers dropped to his knees and started to retch.
Faith looked at the two men like they’d lost their minds and grumbled, “Failing
to see the funny.”
Angel wheezed, trying to calm himself enough to speak, and said thickly, “You
guys really need to get a new act.”
paste.
Faith quirked an eyebrow when Travers began to vomit a sickly, blue-green
“Sleight of hand, Faith,” Angel gasped, “I asked Xander to get another bottle and
piss in it. What that is—well, umm…I have no idea.” Tilting his head, he gave the young
man a questioning look and asked, “What is that?”
Struggling to get a grip, Xander choked and said, “Well, it’s what you asked for
and—I have no idea. I found it in the cafeteria.” His brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I’m
thinking vanilla pudding. It sorta looked like it before the blue dye.”
As the room filled with laughter, Angel turned deadly serious and barked,
“Now!”
The instant the command came, Xander watched Faith jump into a back flip just
as her assailants pulled the triggers of their weapons. The two men staggered while
blood poured from their stomachs. Not wasting another second, Xander plummeted
under the table and grabbed Mrs. Summers by the ankles.
The sound of automatic weapons fire roared through the room. This is really,
really mean, he considered as he dragged a struggling Joyce underneath, but Angel was
right. Joyce was too wigged to duck. He took in the horrified look on her face and said
above the chaos, “Relax, Mrs. Summers, it’s just me.” It took him a couple of tries to
break through her hysterics. When he finally had her attention, Xander pulled the bottle
from his jacket pocket and handed it off to her. Her expression filled with shock again.
Once Joyce had settled, Xander chanced a peek under one of the chairs. His view
was blocked. Shifting his head, he peered around the council goon’s legs. What he saw
stunned him. Faith was standing, bent over near the steps to Giles’ office. When she
straightened up, he stared at her blood-coated hands clutching her stomach. Oh! Sweet
Jesus! That’s so not good!
His gaze traveled up to her face. Her matted hair clung to sweat-covered cheeks.
The look on her face was haunting. It spoke of pure malice. The man’s weapon fell
clattering to the ground. Xander quickly swept it under the table. His attention returned
to Faith. She was grinning, head bowed, glaring up at the man. A string of bloody saliva
dangled from her lower lip. She moved her hands and revealed a hole in her tattered,
blood-stained tee-shirt. The skin underneath was healed. Shit!
Xander didn’t stick around to watch the carnage. As he redirected his attention
to Joyce, there was a snapping noise that made him cringe. The council goon’s body
dropped to the ground beside them. After shutting his eyes tight to wipe the alarm from
his face, he offered reassuringly, “I think it’s under control.”
Joyce was half sitting under the table, propped up on her elbows. She clutched
the bottle to her chest with both hands.
Making eye contact, Xander said in a slow careful voice, “Listen to me, Mrs.
Summers. Angel’s gonna let us know when it’s safe. Angel and Faith are gonna take you
to the airport and drop you off. When you hear from the girls, you’ll fly out with Giles.
Okay?”
When Joyce nodded with understanding, he returned the gesture and continued
in a soft reassuring voice, “Just ignore the—it’s okay, I swear. I know this is really wiggy.”
Falling silent, he glanced over to look at Travers. The pompous Englishman was lying on
his side, his back to them, clutching his stomach, in a puddle of putrid sick. Serves the
old bastard right.
Xander turned back to Joyce and instructed, “Put that in your purse.”
She obeyed as Angel’s voice sounded out, “It’s clear.”
Wesley and Giles poked their heads around two of the lower level bookshelves
when Xander emerged from under the table. Good! They were smart enough to duck
too. I was worried. After climbing to his feet, he offered a hand down to Mrs. Summers.
“I’m really sorry about that,” he remarked sheepishly as he helped her rise.
After fastidiously straightening her clothing, Joyce replied aloofly, “No, Xander,
its fine.”
Releasing her hand, Xander was a bit bewildered when she set off immediately
for the coat rack.
When Joyce turned around, she held one of Giles’ umbrellas. Stepping carefully
around the bodies of Travers’ fallen men, she made her way to the Head Watcher. She
stood just outside the puddle of sick and peered down at the pathetic man.
Uh-boy! I know that look. Badness—that look means total badness. Xander
glanced anxiously around the room, taking in the attention Joyce had garnered.
“I hope this will be a lesson to you,” Joyce stated firmly as Travers peered dully
up at her. “I get the feeling that you’re not a man that listens to reason.” She twirled
the umbrella in a circle as she continued to rant, “The obvious tends to elude you.” She
whipped the umbrella down across his shoulders. “What really speaks to you is pain.”
The umbrella bent when she beat him over the head.
Travers whimpered, covering his head with his arms.
When Joyce brought the umbrella down again, the vampire swept across the
room and caught it. Angel carefully pulled the umbrella from her grasp while he offered
soothingly, “That’s enough, Joyce. Just let him slither away.”
Tears welled up in Joyce’s eyes.
’Kay, so…the planet’s gonna start spinning backwards at any minute, Xander
mused when Joyce slumped into the embrace Angel cautiously offered. Yup, cats and
dogs are gonna be frolicking in the sun together. Oh! And it’ll start raining toads. It’s
always fun when that happens.
Angel put his arm around the elder Summers and led her to the door.
As Faith walked over to escort Giles to the car, Xander gave Wesley a sideways
glance and smirked. He joined the younger Englishman and said, “Hungry? ’Cause
there’s this great pizza place just down the street.”
Wesley peered wide-eyed around the room at the bodies and replied, “Someone
should really stay and—”
Xander shrugged and turned to leave. “Suit yourself. Given the choice—pizza or
cops—I’ll pick the pizza every time.”
Wesley rushed to catch up, remarking as he went, “Did you say you liked sausage
on your pizza?”
Holding the door for the other man, Xander answered, “Love it.”
Once Wesley passed by, Xander set pace next to him. He watched vaguely as
Angel’s car sped away. Sirens sounded in the distance and he picked up the pace.
When they were clear of the school, Wesley leaned in to ask, “What just
happened?”
Slowing his gait, Xander stuffed his hands in his pockets. As he strode casually
down the sidewalk, he commented softly, trying to suppress the bitterness from his
tone, “Y’know, no one ever pays much attention to me.” He fell silent when the street lit
with the glare of flashing lights.
The fleet of squad cars careened past without so much as slowing and Xander
resumed, “All around me I’ve got slayers, and watchers, and vampires, and even Will” —
he directed his attention to his feet — “not that she’s here now—but she’s really smart.
What am I? Just Xander. But I figured it out tonight. I do have a power: if I want, I can
become invisible—like that girl.”
He gave Wesley a sideways glance, surprised to see he had his full attention.
“You weren’t here for her. She turned invisible—like really invisible—because of the
ignoring. Whatever. Point is: all it takes is the right words and Giles completely tunes me
out. Y’know I told him I was going to my car when I left to get another bottle?” He
chuckled. “I don’t even own a car. Faith was looking right at me when I swapped the
bottles. She turned away as I did it.”
Xander cleared his throat and directed his gaze forward before concluding,
“Angel was right. No one saw me.” He sighed wistfully. “But whatever… What
happened was this: Angel saw another one of those black vans outside. When you and
Mrs. Summers came in, I switched the bottles. Then Travers showed exactly how much
of a creep he is. And from there, I’m thinking, ‘lots of kicking and punching,’ but I’m not
really sure—what, with the hiding.”
“I see.”
Xander glanced over to take in the pensive look on the watcher’s face.
As the lights of the pizza place came into view, Wesley chucked wryly and asked,
“So what are we doing tomorrow evening?”
“I was considering having a movie night. Have you ever seen Apocalypse Now?”
Detective Richard Lawson scanned the barren clearing, rapidly taking in the
teams working the scene under the flood of artificial light. After a few moments, his
partner Danny poked his head out of the shabby little cabin and walked over to greet
him. Ah…kid said he was hitching a ride with Parish. Regular little eager beaver. I
remember when I cared.
The younger blond man shook his head ruefully and offered, “Helluva way to
start the weekend, eh, Rick?”
“You know it,” Richard replied, “So, what’ve we got?”
“The perp’s name is Micha Dresden, age thirty-six” — Danny gestured to the
body in the center of the yard — “diagnosed at fourteen with schizophrenia, in and out
of mental hospitals most of her life—a genuine nutcase—one of the documented few
that actually developed multiple personality.”
“So, the perp, how’d she die?” Richard asked, peering into the dark waters of the
marsh, past the techs from the coroner’s office as they worked to bag the body.
Turning away from his partner, Danny studied the yard as he responded, “Won’t
know until we get the autopsy results. Brain aneurism or something? I don’t know. It’s
the damnedest thing. Looks to me like she fell over.”
Richard observed the techs carrying the body away. “So why was she out?”
Danny put his hands on his trim waist and replied, “From what I gather, her
condition was perfectly manageable with meds. System shows that she was fine last
time she got out. Course that was years ago. Taxpayers don’t like paying to keep a
healthy person in a psych ward and the patient doesn’t like being there. So, they let her
go.”
Rubbing his scruffy chin, Richard prompted, “So, she dropped her meds?”
Danny cleared his throat before he answered, “I really wish it was that simple,
but, yeah, you’re right. Trouble is: cabin over there’s full of religious propaganda. From
the piles of pamphlets and other stuff, she was a Christian Scientist. You know, that
whole ‘God will heal you, modern medicine is the work of the Devil’ line of crap.”
After letting out a deep belly laugh, Richard remarked sarcastically, “Great! So
we’ve got another religious nutjob on our hands? We just don’t get nearly enough
cultists.”
Combing his fingers through his collar-length hair, Danny shrugged and
responded, “Yeah…looks that way. She’d go in and after awhile be just fine, once they
pushed the drugs down her throat long enough. Then she’d get out and stop taking
them. She played the cycle a few times. After a while, she just dropped off the radar.”
“And the vic?”
Danny answered dispassionately, “Vics. Two girls: Anne Rouche, twenty; and
Danielle Williams, twenty one” — starting to stroll across the yard to where the two
women were found — “just moved here from Arizona. Both clean. I got to interview
Williams before they took them both to Ochsner. The other one, Rouche, was too beat
up.” He stopped and began to gesture indicating where they were laying. “They were
both here when we arrived. The Williams girl had passed out. I thought for sure we had
three bodies on our hands to look at them. They were really bad off.”
Richard looked at the scuff marks in the packed earth before he remarked,
“Sounds to me like those girls got lucky.”
Danny gave his partner an incredulous glare before commenting, “I’m not sure
I’d call getting nailed to a board ‘lucky’. That’s how we found the Rouche woman.”
“Fair enough,” Richard mumbled, “Poor choice of words.”
Danny gestured and set off for the two bald cypress trees near the water.
“Come look at this. The lab techs took samples to determine how many we’re talking,
but you can tell just to look it’s going to be at least twenty.” He snapped on a pair of
latex gloves, mostly out of habit, and pulled out a pen light. Using the light he started to
point out the nail holes in the tree for the other detective. “I counted twenty-two.” He
stepped back and pointed out the two u-shaped brackets on each trunk of the huge
tree. “See the brackets—like you see in old barns to hold the doors—?”
Peering up into the gnarled old trees, Richard shuddered before interjecting,
“Yeah, yeah…you can stop now. I get the picture.” Long as I’ve been on the force—stuff
like this still gives me the willies. His gaze lingered on the blood soaked bark for a
moment before he turned away.
As Richard started to make his way back to the drive, Danny kept pace beside
him, commenting softly, “We’ve got a team coming out to dredge the swamp at first
light. It’s an open and shut case. We just have to figure out which missing persons’
reports line up.”
Richard paused at the edge of the crime scene tape to ask, “Think the Rouche
woman will know anything more than Williams?”
Holding up the tape for his partner, Danny concluded, “If she ever wakes up, I
doubt it. My gut’s telling me we’ve got all we need. Those girls have been through
enough. Fact is: we may never know who they all were.”
Buffy drifted on the edge of sleep listening to a muffed conversation in the
hallway outside her room.
“It’s your turn, Denise.”
“I’ll take old man Hannover off your hands if you’ll do this for me, June.”
“What’s your problem with these two? They’re just a couple of girls.”
“It’s the Williams girl. Have you seen how she looks at us?”
“Not really—I mean, sort of, I guess.”
out.”
“She’s like some kind of predatory animal protecting her mate. She freaks me
“Alright—I think you’re nuts, but alright, you take Hannover. I don’t get you,
Denise. You’d rather have a dirty old man grab your ass than deal with a couple of
lipstick…”
A weak chuckle slipped out, muting the rest of the statement, and Buffy turned
her attention to her sleeping girlfriend in the corner of the room. Hear that, Will? You’re
scaring the help.
“She just gives me the creeps, June. I wish she’d go home and at least get
cleaned up. She’s really got me worried.”
As the two nurses moved away, returning to their rounds, Buffy studied her
friend. Mate? Interesting choice of word. But, whatever. Fact is, Will, the nurse is right—
you need to go home—whatever that is. She took in the dark, hollow look on her
girlfriend’s face. The effect was made more striking by the smeared black makeup. You
look like that guy from that movie. What was that? The tragedy mask guy. It’s a bit
creepy. Not to me, but I can see the—
Willow stirred. Meeting the gaze and holding it, she sat unmoving and silent.
Refusing to break eye contact, Buffy peripherally inspected the slings holding her
legs. Yes, Will, I know the truth. Despite the drugs—in spite of all your work to keep me
out—I’m paralyzed. I get that. How do I feel about it? Nice of you to ask. It’d be nice if
you did, but you don’t need to. You know—you know I’m not sure yet. You get that I’m
desperate and angry, but too fucked up to do anything about it. You’re keeping me that
way. You blame yourself. I can feel it. That and I know you. I don’t need to feel to know.
The flourish of movement from the corner of the room didn’t surprise Buffy.
Watching her guardian remove the blanket and stand up, Buffy rasped, “Go home, Will.”
Back to sleep. That is, if the nurses will listen to you again.
Buffy followed the limping figure as Willow set off wordlessly out of the room.
You can’t keep me like this forever, Will. Eventually I’m gonna wake up and you’ll just
have to deal. You’ll have to deal with me…and you…and ‘you and me’…and ‘us.’
Bristling, Faith’s attention snapped to the door of the hotel room when the lock
issued a couple of clicks.
As Joyce pushed the door open with her back, she stooped to pick up a handful
of shopping bags.
Faith slumped back into the chair, visibly relaxing when Mrs. Summers entered
the room. Her gaze moved back to the ice bucket that contained the blood—the blood
she’d given everything for. I didn’t want her to go out alone, but it’s what she wanted.
And she was totally right. No one would notice her alone. Me? I stick out like a sore
thumb. She looked down at the dirty, ripped clothing she wore. I look like a fucking bum.
Her attention turned to Joyce as she drew near.
“I hope I did okay. I’m used to shopping for Buffy,” Joyce remarked, handing off
the shopping bag to Faith.
Faith poked her nose in the bag, lifting the items aside to look. Her face lit up
when she saw the black jeans, plain black button-down cotton shirt, and boots. “It’s
perfect, Mrs. S. Thanks!”
“Alright, you go get showered and I’ll drop off Angel’s things. I got him a
Hawaiian shirt he’s just going to love,” Joyce replied cheerfully and set off out of the
room with the second bag.
Faith chuckled while she looked through the remaining bags. Locating toiletries,
she went into the bathroom to shower. As she removed her old clothing, she piled it
into a trash bag. The shower was the best thing she’d experienced in recent memory
and she had a hard time leaving it. When she was clean, dried, and dressed, she
returned to the room with her hair in a towel.
Joyce was sitting in one of the chairs patiently waiting. Gesturing to the floor at
her feet, she offered, “Please, come here.”
Faith went over to take a seat at Joyce’s feet.
Joyce giggled lightheartedly and made a twirling gesture with her right hand.
“Turn around.”
Furrowing her brow with uncertainty, Faith followed the directions. She flinched
when Joyce removed the towel.
The tone of Joyce’s voice was warm and kind. Despite the distrust, Faith found
herself calming as Mrs. Summers began to touch her hair and speak. “Its okay, Faith.
Relax and get comfortable. I used to do this for Buffy when she was little. Truth is, I sort
of miss it.”
When Joyce started to brush her hair, Faith was stunned. She expected it to pull,
but it didn’t. The touch was very gentle. Joyce carefully sectioned off clumps of knotted
hair, working from the bottom to remove the tangles. Faith had trouble imagining the
patience it would take to remove all of the snarls. I wasn’t sure how I’d deal with this.
My first thought was crew cut. “Mrs. S., you don’t have to spend the whole night on
me. It’s cool. I’m good,” she said nervously.
“If you have something you’d rather do, I’ll stop” — Joyce let the hair she was
holding fall from her fingers and set aside the brush — “but right now we’re just
waiting,” she responded frankly, “I thought I could return some of the kindness you’ve
shown us.”
Faith turned so fast it made Mrs. Summers jump. Raising her hands to show she
meant no harm, she gave the older woman an incredulous glare and stammered,
“Kindness? Mrs. S., I caused”— she stabbed her chest — “it was me.”
After the alarm passed, Joyce responded patiently, “Yes, it was. I haven’t
forgotten. But, Faith, what makes a person good isn’t the mistakes we make, it’s how
we deal with those mistakes.”
Faith’s brow knit with confusion. “I was forced to do that. Angel made me.” This
motherly shit’s makin’ me crazy. I don’t deserve it. She took in the kind, patient look on
the older woman’s face and grew angry.
“And you were forced to see it through?”
Faith folded her arms across her chest and snapped, “If I wanted to go home.
The bastard hid the stuff to get us back.”
Joyce was unaffected by the outburst. Motioning for Faith to turn, Mrs. Summers
stared obstinately until the slayer obeyed and went back to brushing her hair.
Faith rolled her eyes when Joyce started to speak. Great! More wisdom from the
peanut gallery. Just what I need.
“People make mistakes, Faith. Sometimes they do all the right things for all the
wrong reasons. That’s part of being human. Sometimes you have to look past the reason
and simply look at the action. Then hope that something good will come from it.”
Faith started to calm again. The anger drifted away and she sat listening to the
soft, serene voice. The fingers moved across her scalp reminding her of what she lost
and what she had gotten back. “I was a monster,” she mumbled.
Making a soothing hushing noise, Joyce stated frankly, “Just listen.” After several
moments of imposed silence, she began to reflect, “When Buffy was fifteen, she got into
a bunch of trouble at school. It was a parent’s worst nightmare.” She paused to chuckle
bitterly. “Hank and I were beside ourselves. Did you know she actually burned down the
gym of her old high school?”
Faith nodded and the story continued.
“I didn’t know what to do, so I let Hank do what he felt was best. He said she
needed help. At first I agreed—she was ranting about vampires; how could that be
real?”
Faith felt the other woman grow still. When it became obvious that Joyce was
crying, Faith tensed with uncertainty. As she started to move away, Joyce began to
speak again and the slayer froze.
“It was slowly draining the life out of her. My little girl—the one person in the
world I’d do anything for—was dying in that place.”
Faith puzzled for a moment. They had her committed? When she settled back in
her spot, the gentle, soothing touch resumed.
“So I did the only thing I could: I made a choice. I left Hank and brought Buffy
with me to Sunnydale.”
There was another drawn-out silence and Faith slumped into the comforting
touch. Is this what it’s like—having a mom who cares? A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Last year. It started again. Just when I thought we were okay—everything was
fine: Buffy was doing well in school, making friends, living a pretty normal life. Then, out
of the blue, she started up with the nonsense again—telling me she was ‘the slayer’.”
“She showed me some things that frankly just scared me. I reacted badly and I
lost her again.”
Yeah…she said she bailed—went to L.A. I wondered why she didn’t just stay gone.
I think I get it now. Faith sat patiently waiting for more of the story. During the break,
she absently wiped away the tear.
“When this all happened, we were just starting to talk again. Most of what I
heard was really hard to accept, but we were talking. Then she was gone again.”
“But the thing you have to understand, Faith…the reasons don’t matter. You’ve
given us another chance. I don’t care why you did it. The fact that you did is all that
matters—you and Angel.”
The contact lapsed for several moments and Faith turned to peer up into the
peaceful, tear-stained face. She flinched when Joyce took her hand and started to
examine it. The sensations were all muted and the scrutiny made the slayer uneasy.
“What’s more, I know what you gave up.”
Faith steeled herself when Joyce drew her into an embrace. I will not cry! If I
start, I’m not sure I’ll stop. A tear slipped down her cheek, causing the slayer to cringe.
Dammit! As the older woman began to caress her back, Faith broke down and wept.
Willow put the key into the lock and entered their room. The afternoon sun
radiated into the space, giving it warmth. She took a deep breath. It smells like her.
Strange after only a few days.
After shutting the door behind her, Willow’s jaw clenched with resolve. I need to
do this and get back. I can’t stop to think. If I do, I’ll cry. And if I cry, I won’t stop. She
started to shed the filthy, rumpled clothing and made her way to the shower. Piling the
foul mess of black leather, lace, and cotton into a corner of the bathroom, she turned on
the faucets. Looking down at her injured wrist, she began to peel off the brace and Ace
bandage.
Her reflection caught her eye and she looked into the mirror, meeting the
smeared, dirty gaze. At first she was astonished by how bad she looked. It was like the
face wasn’t even her own. As she peered into the deep, sunken eyes, she grew
comfortable. I look like what I am: a monster.
She turned her back on the monster in the mirror. Climbing into the shower, she
started to hastily bathe. At least I’ll be a monster that smells nice. There just aren’t
enough good smelling monsters in the world. Maybe I can set an example for monster
hygiene.
Though, in all fairness, the Master’s progeny were all pretty clean. Willow
chuckled, falling silent as she started to wash her hair. Heck, Angel’s practically
metrosexual. When we met him, he wore more eyeliner than I do now. Glad he stopped
that. He looked like such an idiot.
When her hair was rinsed, she applied some conditioner and started to carefully
wash her face. Me? Well, at least I don’t have to drink blood. I’d never get past that. But
I don’t need to. All I need to do to kill—to destroy the woman I love—is this oversized
brain of mine. I can kill with a thought. That’s way more scary than the pointy, bitey
routine. They’re all amateurs.
After lingering a moment, she stepped out of the shower and began to dry off.
Tucking the towel around her, she met her reflection again. I look harmless, like I
couldn’t hurt a fly. She drew back and punched the mirror with all her strength. Drawing
back bloody knuckles, she stared at her fractured likeness. That’s better. She ignored the
pain throbbing through her mangled hand.
Seconds later, without a conscious thought, she began to paint the face back on.
When the monster met her gaze again, Willow left the bathroom to dress. I need to get
back and make the nurses drug her again. If I don’t, she’ll wake up and see what I’ve
done.
A beep caught her attention as she sorted through her clothing. The cell phone
sat on the desk, emitting a metered tone. She walked over and picked it up.
After hitting the send button twice, she listened to the monotonous chime until
Joyce’s excited voice replaced it. “Yes,” Willow replied, waiting patiently through the
eager speech. When Mrs. Summers fell silent, Willow responded with six simple words,
“Anne Rouche, Ochsner Baptist, New Orleans.”
“What? What is that, Willow?”
“Her name and the name of the hospital,” Willow answered dispassionately. As
Joyce pled for information, the remainder of Willow’s heart turned to ice. She hung up
the phone and cast it aside.
After rushing to dress, she gathered one suitcase of clothing and her laptop.
Seizing her jacket, she picked up her bags and walked out of the room.
Leaning against his shovel, Angel stood back, watching the slayer pour the last
scoop of dirt onto the grave. I’m not sure what the difference is. One of them is in the
ground; the other’s walking around. Yet they both had the same thing done to them.
Maybe it’s the slayer—whatever that is—the thing that makes her a slayer. Maybe it’s
just the time they were there.
Faith turned away and picked up the fifth of Maker’s Mark. Raising it, she
muttered, “Rest in peace, Siggy,” and took a healthy gulp.
Maybe it’s the fact that she drinks like a fish? Eyeing the slayer, he asked, “So
that’s the plan? After all this, you’re gonna get drunk?” Whatever it is, the fact remains
that Sigvaldi died of exposure. His body couldn’t handle this atmosphere. I have to
wonder if the effect will be the same—if it’ll just happen slower for her. When no reply
came, he drew his favorite sword and buried it almost up to the hilt at the head of the
Norseman’s grave. He stepped back, leaning against a tree, and whispered, “Safe
journey, Sigvaldi.”
As she turned to meet his gaze, taking another swig, Angel pulled the
Norseman’s blade from his back. He stood for a long time, examining the sword in the
moonlight while the slayer watched him and drank. Eventually, he began to whisper,
“There’s an ancient tradition. When two honorable men become brothers as a result of
their journey, they trade weapons. Carrying a brother’s sword is a sign of fealty.” A
sardonic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he admitted, “That and this is just
such a nice sword. It’d be a damned shame. This thing really belongs in a museum.”
Faith chuckled and passed him the bottle. “I’m surprised you gave the other up.”
After propping the sword against a tree, Angel took a sip before he responded,
“It’s important we do something to mark the grave.”
When she had the bottle back in hand, Faith tipped it over, allowing a portion to
dampen the fresh-turned earth. She stood, quietly observing the grave for several
moments prior to asking, “What’s gonna stop someone from just taking it.”
He met the slayer’s gaze again and responded matter-of-factly, “The same thing
that holds the rest of our world together: magick.”
Faith took another swig and passed the bottle before replying, “Fair enough.”
Taking a sip, Angel prompted, “You never answered me,” careful to keep his tone
neutral. This is it: the moment of truth. Will she go back to stumbling or forward to
something else? It would be incredibly arrogant to think I have all the answers she
needs, but I think I can help her find a few. Maybe, if she’ll give me the time—whatever
time she has.
A harsh laugh slipped out and she smirked at the vampire. After swiping the
bottle out of his hands, she began to reflect honestly, “I figured I’d get a buzz, yeah.
S’not like I’ve got tons of other things hangin’.” She made a sweeping gesture with her
arms and tipped up the fifth, taking another sip. “’Sides, where I’m from, when a friend
dies, you drink—it’s tradition. And the hangover the next day—it’s a lot like mourning—
” she took another healthy gulp “—or at least you mourn what’s left of your head.”
Staggering slightly, she passed the bottle back.
Drinking another swig, he returned the bottle and asked, “And then?”
Faith took another belt off the fifth and passed it back. After mopping her mouth
with the back of her hand, she remarked, “Best I got is: one day at a time. I know I can’t
stick around here. Too many people want me dead or locked up…or worse. Think I wore
out my welcome in the ’Dale.”
He replied frankly, “You and me both. Look, Faith, let me be blunt. I’m leaving
and, if you want, you’re welcome to come with. We’ll try to figure it out together. I’ve
not got a lot to offer except an ear, but I promise to listen.” Falling silent, he raised the
nearly empty bottle to the grave and took another small sip.
When it was offered, Faith accepted the fifth, turning it up to drain the last few
drops. She whipped it into the air, listening to it sing as it sailed away. When it finally
landed in the woods, crunching the leaves, she met the vampire’s gaze and winked.
“Buy me another bottle and you got yourself a deal,” she remarked flippantly and
started to walk away.
After sliding the sword back in place, Angel picked up the shovels and turned to
leave. Rushing to join her, he mumbled, “You drive a tough bargain, but I think I can
handle that.”
The light of the laptop display glowed, illuminating her corner of the dim room.
Movement in the hallway caused Willow to glance up from the webpage she was
studying. The door cracked and light poured in. Ignoring the disturbance, her gaze fixed
on Buffy.
Two familiar voices broke the silence, invading her solace. Willow turned her
attention back to the display, peripherally taking in the fuss Mrs. Summers was making
over her daughter.
Giles moved toward her asking, “What on earth happened? Joyce has been
beside herself since you returned her call.”
Willow filtered out the chiding tone and replied bluntly, without looking up, “We
were attacked.”
Rounding on the chair, Giles stood over her obviously struggling to understand.
Eventually, he managed, “Attacked?”
Willow pressed the power button on the laptop and snapped it shut. After
setting it aside, she folded the recliner closed and stood up. Giles was studying her like
he might something disturbing, yet curiously fascinating. She disregarded the scrutiny
and answered impassively, “You heard me, Rupert.”
Pushing Giles aside, she moved to the foot of Buffy’s bed and waited for Joyce to
administer the blood. Buffy looked up and their eyes locked. The expression on her face
wasn’t accusing. Willow had half expected it would be. Instead it was bewildered, like
her friend was trying to understand something very alien to her. Willow held the gaze,
allowing the blonde her examination.
Joyce interrupted the exchange by putting her hand behind her daughter’s head
and lifting it up. “Honey, I need you to drink this,” she instructed in a soft, patient voice.
When Buffy made a face at the request, a soft grin curled the corners of Willow’s
lips. It swiftly faded into the same vacant expression she’d worn since they left the
bayou together. She watched Buffy drink. I don’t think they get this—how violent it’ll
be—how damaged she is. I wouldn’t have stayed, but they need me. She needs me one
more time.
A thick silence hung over the room as the four waited for some sign that this
miracle was working. They stood motionless, listening to the beeps of the monitors.
Again, Willow patiently allowed the blonde her study. Ripe questions seemed to tug at
her friend’s lips, but thankfully she remained quiet. I don’t have your answers, Buffy. I’m
sorry I don’t.
Movement in the hallway caught Willow’s attention. Without disturbing the
tranquility of the room, she bid the nurse to pass by. She doesn’t need your drugs now.
While Willow stood engaged in this wordless dance, silently placating, she felt
them—millions, perhaps billions of microscopic stars, little pulses of energy, coursing
through her friend’s body. She sensed them fanning out, carried by the new blood. Any
moment now. Her friend’s pulse jumped and Willow stifled the machine, forcing it to
keep their secret.
Terror reflected back at her from the bed. Willow ignored the expression and
continued to focus, calming the machines, holding the trembling limbs still, keeping
their silence. When a scream bubbled up in her friend’s throat, Willow snuffed it out.
Shhh… I know it’s hard. I know it hurts. I know you’re scared. Just hold on. It’ll be okay. I
promise.
As Buffy grew calm, a tear rolled down Willow’s cheek. Yes, it’s almost over, love.
I’m here.
When peace rested over the room, Willow turned away, paying no heed to the
stunned looks.
“Will?” Buffy pled desperately, “Will, please?”
Willow continued to the recliner. Quickly bagging her laptop, she brushed off the
shock of those around her. After slinging the case over her shoulder, she limped out of
the corner. Exhausted, she pushed past Giles. Ignoring the barrage of questions, she
started for the door.
Joyce stepped in her way and Willow stopped out of respect.
“Willow, please,” Joyce appealed as she reached for her purse. After a moment’s
search, she pulled out the locket and tried to hand it off. “Faith wanted me to see this
was returned to you.”
Taking a deep breath to suppress a cringe, Willow replied, “Hold onto it for me,”
and gently pushed past Joyce. Determination hastened her step as she passed through
into the corridor. That skanky bitch! Rage welled up inside her. That skanky bitch kept
her promise! She helped! She did everything right! She made it better! What’d I do? I
screwed everything up! I made it worse! I hurt her! Me! The one that loved her—loved
her more—more than I loved—more than I love…myself.
Tears poured down her cheeks. Willow ignored the stares—ignored Giles. She
could feel him behind her. Her ankle shrieked with pain. She ignored that too, moving as
quickly as she could to the exit.
She broke through into the moist night air. The sterile smells of the hospital
faded and she was grateful to be outside. Free—free of the guilt. A weight lifted as she
made her way across the concrete bridge to the parking garage. Please, just leave me
be, Giles. Let me slip away. I need this. I have to go. I can’t stay—not after this. I’ll just
hurt you. You can’t trust me. You should see that.
When she passed into the parking garage, Willow hit the button on the key fob
and the Mustang chirped to life.
Giles caught her shoulder, spinning her. “Willow, wait! You must listen! We can
help you,” he pleaded. Pointing desperately at his chest, his trembling voice turned faint
as he added, “I can help you.”
Wind whipped past the concrete pillars, whistling as it circled around the witch’s
form. The fury returned and Willow spat at Giles, “You can help? You really think” — she
seized him magically and shoved his body into a pillar — “you can help me? You want
to?” Rounding on the fearful Englishman, she continued to rant, “When did we change,
Giles? When did your mission statement change? When did the good guys start
defending murderers? Did someone forget to send me the memo ’cause I thought you
were supposed to catch the murderer and defend the innocent?”
Eyes widening, Giles gaped, slack-jawed at the witch. Wind whipped violently
around him. Pieces of debris caught in his hair as dust pelted his skin.
Closing the distance between them, Willow rose off the ground. Her voice
dropped becoming low and dangerous. “Take a good look at me, Giles. Tell me you see
something to save.”
She paused to inspect the speechless man. The air around them drew painfully
calm. Outside the bubble they stood in roared a hurricane. His breath issued in puffs,
hot and steamy. She could feel his heart laboring to pump blood through his body at a
frantic pace. Her voice was barely a whisper when she finally broke the silence of their
communion, “Now let me go. There’s nothing here to save.”
Suddenly without warning, she willed it all to stop. The air snapped completely
still as Giles slumped into a pile on the ground.
Turning her back to the life she once loved, Willow hobbled the last few steps to
her car and climbed inside. The engine roared to life and she drove away without
glancing back. I’m really, really sorry, Giles. You needed to see. You had to really see me
to understand. I’m dangerous. I kill.
Staggering sideways, Faith began to sing, “Nobody liketh meeee!” taking a few
creative liberties.
“Shhh…” Angel hissed as he caught her, steering her around a shipping
container. And I left my duct tape at home. Leaning in to speak, he whispered into her
ear, “Faith, we need to be quiet now.”
“Quiet?” Faith slurred inquisitively, tipping up the fifth in her hand to take a large
gulp. She wiped her mouth sloppily and added, “Oh…’kay…shhh…”
“Yes, Faith,” Angel mumbled, putting his finger to his mouth, “Shhh…”
“’Kay…got it, Boss,” Faith whispered, sounding like a little girl. She snapped a stiff
salute and whacked herself in the forehead.
Shaking his head, Angel turned to look at the ship. Chinese, that’ll work. It’s been
a long time since I was in China. Last time I was there it was on fire. I hear they’ve
rebuilt.
“Everbodeeeee hateth meeee!” Faith began to wail again, “Guess I'll go eeeeat
worrrrms!”
“Faith!” Angel barked in a restrained voice. When her face crinkled into an
exaggerated pout, he quickly amended apologetically, “We’re being sneaky.” Way this is
going…first town we hit—angry mob. I can rate most of the world based on their ability
to assemble an angry mob…and the Chinese—they throw together one hell of an angry
mob. Very focused people—they’re good at violence. Maybe China’s a bad idea.
Faith sulked for another moment or two and took another sloppy gulp off the
bottle. Attempting to lean against the container, she landed flat on her ass and started
giggling.
He stood back putting his hands on his waist and peered down at the slayer. That
second bottle was a bad idea…and the third? The third she snuck off with was bad
beyond measure. So, now I’m stuck with a slayer who’s had enough alcohol to put two
full grown Irishmen in a coma. There’s only one thing to do. Stooping down to meet her
unfocused gaze, Angel asked, “Faith you want to go to China?”
“Yeah! China’d be wicked cool!”
“Okay,” he confirmed and reached down, tossing the slayer over his shoulder.
Once she was settled in place and thankfully hadn’t gotten sick down his back, he said,
“We’re going to China then. Please try not to get us killed.”
Faith wiggled for a minute and grumbled, “Fuck it,” then raised the fifth, “Here’s
to you, B.,” taking another long drink.
Shrugging, Angel began to walk toward the gangway. I hope this is actually what
she wants. It’s going to get pretty tough to change our minds soon.
After taking another swig off the bottle, Faith broke into song again, “Long, thin,
slimy ones…”
Angel chided, “Hush, Faith,” starting to board the cargo ship.
She continued as though she hadn’t heard him, “Short, fat, juicy ones.”
Slipping behind a crate, Angel sighed before he interjected, “Sneaky,
remember?”
“Yeah…sneaky,” she replied, putting her finger to her mouth and hissing a
sloppy, “Shhh…” When they started to move again, she caught sight of the pier and
waved. Slurring the words, “Bu-bye, B.,” she took another drink and added, a little too
soberly, “I hope it worked.”
Rolling her eyes, Buffy peered into the fractured mirror as her mother’s anxious
voice sounded from the bedroom. It smells like her in here.
“Buffy, we only have two hours until the flight leaves.”
After stripping off the scrubs, Buffy turned on the taps and started the shower.
Why’d you have to leave me, Will?. I don’t get it. Happy ending! We got our happy
ending. You love a good happy ending. Why aren’t you here to enjoy it with me? It was
one hell of a ride, but here I am, walking, talking, standing, dancing Buffy. Only I don’t
feel like doing any of that without you.
Rustling sounded from the other side of the door followed by Giles’ voice, “Yes,
Buffy, do try to hurry.”
Her eyes welled up when Willow’s face entered her mind. She blinked away the
tears. Turning her attention to the parted shower curtain, she vacantly watched the
water swirl down the drain. In memory, she was peering down the length of her bed at a
face. Eyes like black marbles stared back at her from deep, darkened sockets. Her
friend’s face was pale and gaunt, like she hadn’t eaten in days. The expression was
something new—empty, yet somehow deeply focused. Light crackled around Willow’s
form as she stood statue-like, helping. Buffy remembered the sensations, filtering out
the pain. Strange, it felt like she wasn’t involved—like she was an outsider.
What the hell happened to you, Will?
Snapping out of the daze, Buffy called out, “Going as fast as I can! Chill!” and
climbed into the shower. My luck I’m gonna get grounded again. That’s how this all
started. Doesn’t matter, though. They can ground me. Watch me twenty-six hours a day,
ten days a week, and it’ll all be the same.
As she started to wash up, a wave of nausea hit. A vinegary taste welled up in
the back of her throat. It was so bad she could smell it. Uh-boy…I don’t feel so good.
After parting the curtain, she leaned out into the room and hung her head over the
toilet. This is one hell of a note. I feel great…except… And they want me to fly? They’re
outta their minds. The hot water pounded on her back and shoulders as she retched.
The sensation made her feel like she might be gagging up her toenails but, when it was
over, thankfully it was over. She glanced at the pool of icky blue sick and shut the lid of
the toilet.
After rinsing her mouth in the spray, she went back to hastily bathing. Well that
was pleasant. Think that might be the first time I’ve ever puked in the shower. Glad the
bathroom’s small. Wonder what fun-filled adventures life has in store for me next.
Maybe I can get hit by a bus before I leave this goddamn city.
Her gaze fixed on her left hand as she poured shampoo into her palm. That’s
weird. I could swear I had a scar there. She furrowed her brow and dismissed it,
choosing to work the shampoo through her hair instead. Anyway, this place doesn’t
seem to spare the hate. Neither does Sunnydale, but at least that’s the sort of hate I can
relate to. Shove a chunk of wood in its heart and the hate usually turns to ash and blows
away in the wind. There are times when ‘Sunnydale hate’ can be hell on the dry cleaning
bill, but that’s about the ‘it.’
She moved around in the mist, letting her hair and body rinse off. I hope you left
this place, Will. I hope you go far, far away. I hope you’re alright. Well, that’s way past
my normal level of stupid. Of course she’s not alright. If she was alright, I wouldn’t be
alone. But then that might be awkward too. Mom and Giles in the next room and Will
and me in the shower? A wry grin flickered across her features. Yeah…interesting
picture, but one I’d like to avoid.
Dammit, Will! Why? A deep scowl settled in place of the grin. I’d trade all that
awkward and more to have you here with me, right now, in my arms.
After applying a handful of conditioner to her hair and rinsing it, she grabbed a
towel and stepped from the shower. Wrapping the towel around her body, she leaned
in, turning the faucets off, and flushed the toilet. That’s better. Wow! I actually feel
good. How long’s it been? Was it—? It was before my birthday.
She stepped over to the vanity and wiped the glass to clear the steam without
thinking. “Ouch!”
Joyce’s concerned voice sounded through the door, “Are you okay?”
“Fine, Mom,” Buffy called out, looking at the small drop of blood that beaded up
from the cut. As she watched, the nick sealed over. Oh, that’s cool. I mean ouch,
but…umm, er…wow! She rinsed the blood off and grabbed another towel to dry the
broken mirror.
Absently grabbing her toothbrush, she began to brush the foul taste from her
mouth. I don’t get why? Why was she— I’ve never seen Will upset enough to break
anything. It’s not like her. In fact, it’s anti-Willow. She likes things neat and orderly.
Brokenness is bad in her world.
When she leaned in to spit, it hit her. After all the blank staring, she knew
something was wrong, but she couldn’t place it. Her face drew with confusion as her
mind jumped tracks. Holy shit! It’s, well it’s not gone, but— She examined her neck
carefully. There was a scar there—like a huge scar—from where that Master jerk bit me.
It’s fading. It’s almost gone.
Quickly rinsing her mouth, she took a seat on the toilet and started to frantically
look herself over. I had a scar on my knee from ice skating. Well, not so much ‘skating’
as ‘stumbling and falling.’ Whatever. Gone. My hands. I had about a billion scars from a
billion different stupid things. They’re all fading. Most of them are gone. This is totally
weird. It’s me, but not.
Rising to her feet, she started to dry off and get dressed. Done wigging. But
that’s just too cool. I could seriously get into this. If this is true—like really true—none of
my mistakes count anymore.
She snapped completely still as the thought hit her, But what does that make
me? If I did get hit by a bus, what would happen? Would I die? Or would I lay there for a
few minutes in pain, then get up and walk away? What am I if I could walk—if I can walk
away? ’Kay, so…stretching, it was one small cut, but my back—
Peered into the fractured mirror again, she whispered, “What am I?” A noise
from the other room prompted her to get going again. Moving, before the bitching. Hear
that, Mom? Pre-bitching movement happening here.
When she finished dressing, she began to gather the toiletries and bag them up.
Her mind drifted back to the previous musing as she worked. Something’s different.
When I was called, it was like running from my home end-zone to the fifty-yard-line. I
looked back at my friends and wondered what I was.
She finished picking up and stared at the lump of clothing on the floor. Will, I
need your help. I need to talk. The football metaphor is seriously dorky, but I’m just a
cheerleader, or I was. Now I’m just too weird to be much. I know you could come up with
better. But if this—this new thing—whatever it is—if it is what I think it is, I just ran into
the visitors’ end-zone—the enemy end-zone and there’s no looking back.
Turning to gaze at herself in the mirror, she mopped away the tears that had
started to flow. My friends are all dots on the other side of the field now. I’m not human.
I may look like one. I may be able to go to the doctor—not that I’ll need to—and not get
funny looks. All my pieces and parts are in the right place. But really I’m as human now
as Angel. Maybe less.
Sitting with her back propped against a crate in the dark cargo hold, Faith stared
at her hands. The effect was sobering. She pulled out her shirt to peer inside and
gasped. I’m a nightlight. Handy…but can I just say, ‘What the fuck?’ I don’t feel bad,
but…this is just too weird.
Her skin tingled as Angel moving around the hold behind her. Slayer crap.
‘Danger! There’s a vamp!’ Yeah, okay…what if you don’t give a shit? Can I turn it off
’cause it’s seriously on my last nerve?
When he drew close enough to call, she let out a hiss and whispered, “C’mere.
Tell me what you think of this.” And if you call me ‘firefly,’ I’ll break your legs.
As he caught sight of her hands, she felt him tense. She raised her hands,
twiddling her fingers, and reflected, “Pretty wicked, eh?”
When she started to unbutton her shirt, Angel grew uncomfortable and replied,
“Yeah, ‘wicked.’ What the hell are you doing, Faith?”
“You need to look at this too,” she offered anxiously. Parting her shirt, she
revealed her glowing sternum. “So, whatcha think, Boss?”
After averting his eyes, Angel responded, “I don’t know what to think.”
“Well, that’s helpful,” Faith remarked coolly and started to button her shirt.
When she was done, she stated bluntly, “Look, I get that you’re still hung up on Blondie,
but that wasn’t what I was askin’.” All of her insecurities surfaced as she added, “Should
I be worried?”
Before replying he took a seat next to her. “Would it really help if you were?”
Allowing him to take her hand, Faith replied honestly, “No.”
“Well, then don’t,” he directed in a firm tone, “None of us knows what’s
coming.”
Nodding, she went back to studying her free hand.
“Look, when we get to China, we’ll get you in to see someone,” he offered
kindly, quickly amending, “Not a doctor. Don’t freak. The Chinese are an ancient,
deeply-superstitious people. There are lots of people there who understand things that
Westerners ridicule.”
Consumed by her musings, Faith nodded absently.
A tear seeped out as Buffy sat cross legged on her bed, regarding the knife.
There’s something you don’t see everyday — her gaze traveled from the hilt to the tip of
the dagger that pierced her forearm — if you’re lucky. She grimaced and her jaw set as
she pulled the blade out, dropping it onto the towel in her lap.
Blood welled up, running trails down her arm. It dripped from her elbow onto
the towel. As she sat, silently observing the healing process, a picture she’d seen earlier
in the newspaper hung in her mind. She looked sorta like that girl from the Matrix—only
her hair was long. Though, honestly, you see one dark-haired chick with bedroom eyes
and great cheekbones, you’ve kinda seen them all. They’re a dime a dozen out here. This
bitch was lots plainer, but—
Using the towel, she wiped up the mess off her arm and cleaned up the blade. It
was a good picture, anyway. Why they used a good picture—it makes no sense. When
everything was tidy again, she dropped the dagger and towel into her weapon bag. She
was smiling. I wouldn’t have guessed she could. All I remember is rage. I remember her
trying to kill me.
After shoving the duffle into her closet, she fished out Mr. Pointy. The polished
wood felt comfortable in her hand. So she’s dead? That’s what the paper said. Zipping
the bag closed, she randomly piled stuff on top of it. I didn’t look long. Giles and Mom
were doing their protecty bit—I didn’t want to answer a ton of questions—so a glance
was all I got, but a glance was all it took. I turned the question game on Giles. Boy, was
he ever uptight, but he told me enough. Will blames herself for a death. Has to be her.
She pulled on her tennis shoes and peered down, taking in the tank top and
sweats. So, I won’t look my best for the first vamp I dust. Not like he’s gonna tell anyone.
Shrugging, she went to the window and her thoughts snapped back on track. But if she
killed her, that means she saved me—she saved herself—it was totally self defense. Why
the wig?
After lifting the sash, she crouched on the window sill, momentarily savoring the
night air. My brain keeps spinning over the same crap. It’s totally annoying. Repeat-o-girl
for the win. There’s something I’m missing and I have no clue what it is. Will wouldn’t
wig over—would she?
As she dove to the ground, a memory returned: a pencil stuck, half-buried in a
tree. Hitting the lawn, she collapsed and rolled onto her feet, using the momentum to
propel herself forward. She heard Faith’s name and…badness. She was running at full
speed when she reached the front of the house. ‘Emotional control.’ Pressing off the
fender of a parked car, she launched herself into the center of the street straight into a
passing car.
The car struck her and she tumbled across the hood, not stopping. Glancing over
her shoulder, she called back, “Sorry,” in a restrained voice. That’s it! Someone trying to
kill you…ergo: emotional train wreck. I can’t believe I was that stupid! She lost control
and now she’s scared. It’s so simple.
Her ankle throbbed as she continued to run, cutting between two houses. I have
to find her. The pain passed and she poured on more speed, leaping a privacy fence
without slowing.
Buffy tore through the gate of the cemetery and slid to a halt. I’m back. Did you
miss me? Taking a deep breath, she scanned the rows of monuments.
Starting off again at a leisurely pace, she couldn’t suppress a mischievous smirk. I
need to find her…and I need to spank her for shutting me out. Her brow furrowed with
doubt. She might like that, though. Besides…I totally get the ‘needing to get away.’ I can
respect that. I get that things can pile up.
As she slipped into the shadow of an ancient mausoleum, her skin prickled. But
it’s the principle of the matter. She saved my life and this time she didn’t get a kiss. It’s
just good manners. Someone saves your life, you give them a kiss.
She rounded the corner of the mausoleum and her gaze fixed on a tall, slender
vampire with long, wavy, chestnut hair. Smirking at his outmoded fashion sense, she
stepped out of the shadow and looked over his black velvet frockcoat, ruffled shirt, and
fitted trousers. Uh-boy. Not another one. She let out an exaggerated sigh before
offering conversationally, “Haven’t seen you around here before.”
The vampire’s brow furrowed with indecision as he turned to face her.
There was a bounce in her step when she moved toward the vampire. Holding
out her hand, she commented cheerfully, “Welcome to Sunnydale. My name’s Buffy.”
When the befuddled vampire took her hand, Buffy twisted his arm, flipping him
head over heels onto his back. Peering down, she smiled brightly and chirped, “I hope
you enjoyed your stay,” as she drove the stake into his chest. Huh. He looked a little like
Brad Pitt. Kinda cute. Uncertainty crinkled her face for just an instant. Oh well, too late
now.
Turning her back on the pile of ash, she put a hand to waist and cocked her hip.
Yeah, that’s just what I need…another broody vampire. I’ve got enough issues with my
wigged out Wiccan.
Epilogue
The Seeds of Life
Manu was washing his hands in a river one day when a little fish swam up and
begged him for help. The fish would’ve certainly made a fine meal for any of the larger
creatures of the river, so Manu decided that the right thing to do was rescue the tiny
fish. He took the fish home and put him in a jar, tending to him carefully each day. The
fish grew. Soon he was too large for the jar, so Manu moved him to a tank and
continued to see to the creature’s needs.
Many months passed and the tiny fish grew very large under Manu’s attentive
watch. He loaded the tank into a cart and took it down to the river, releasing his pet.
Each day he still returned. Relieved to see his friend, he continued to provide food and
care for the fish’s needs.
The day came that the fish could no longer comfortably swim in the small river,
so Manu led his friend out into the ocean, again setting him free. Still, each day, he came
to offer food and the fish would greet him, graciously accepting the meal.
This continued until one day the fish came up and warned Manu that a great
deluge was coming within a week. He instructed his friend how to prepare.
Manu went away and built a boat. When he returned, his friend, the fish, allowed
him to tether the boat to him. The rains came, bringing with them a devastating flood
that destroyed all life. The fish towed Manu to the top peak of a great mountain. And
thusly, by his kindness, Manu survived the flood.
The waters receded and Manu sowed the seeds of life, restoring his ruined world.
One
(two months)
After the Flood
The growl of an engine caused Willow to tear her gaze from the book of Hindu
parables in her lap and glance nervously around her modest room. What the—who—no
one comes out here. Well, only the landlord, but the rent’s not due for another two
weeks…and—well, that’s not how her car sounds.
She snapped the book closed and started to the door. As she reached for the
knob, it popped open and the door swung in. She didn’t have enough time to register
what happened next. In a fraction of a second she went from alone to wrapped in a
warm, comfortable embrace and smoochies—soft, gentle, loving smoochies. The
sensation that she was forgetting to do something drifted at the back of her mind,
nagging at her. Oh yeah! I’m supposed to be mad.
Wrenching herself free, Willow met the blonde’s gaze, putting on her best
indignant face despite her singing heart. Shut up dammit! I’m supposed to be upset. I so
don’t need your help. “What in the frilly heck are you doing here?”
Buffy ignored the expression and the question. Uninvited, she pushed past
Willow and wandered into the spartan room. After quickly surveying the space, the
blonde made her way to the bed and took a seat. “Huh,” she sighed. The sound was
pregnant with curiosity, as though she had just seen something that baffled her.
When no answer came, Willow glanced out the door, then shut it behind her and
went back to her chair. After curling up, she lifted the book into her lap and started to
read again. She did her best to ignore the blonde. Maybe I’ll bore her to death and she’ll
leave. It’d be better for everyone if she did.
Finally, she looked up. Buffy was sitting with her head in her hands, staring at the
small area rug at her feet. All Willow could see was the crown of her friend’s head, but
she didn’t need to see to know that the blonde was weeping. As she guiltily went back
to her book, Buffy began to speak in a low, raspy voice.
“It’s funny, y’know? I totally get the ‘why.’ I get the need to leave. I understand
being scared of what you are” — her voice dropped to barely audible — “maybe better
than anyone.”
Sudden movement caused Willow to glance up when Buffy shot to her feet and
started to pace.
Anger washed over Buffy as she moved, corrupting her entire disposition.
Eventually, she resumed, “Doesn’t matter, though. What matters is: I made a decision—
” halting, she stabbed at her chest “—I made a commitment. Do you understand how
hard that was for me, Will?” There was a short pause where Buffy considered what
she’d just said. Then amusement flashed across her face for an instant and she hastily
supplemented, “’Kay, so…that didn’t quite come out the way I wanted, but you get what
I mean.”
An exasperated sigh snarled out and Buffy went back to pacing.
Willow averted her eyes, returning to her book. She sat, unblinking, peering
dimly at the book, not caring about the words anymore.
Her friend’s voice sounded out, overwhelming the cadence of the boards
creaking under her feet, “You told me that relationships—” Buffy paused, groaning as if
trying to work out how to paraphrase. “Relationships are about the people involved—
just them. They’re about the emotions, not a bunch of other stupid stuff.”
The blonde drew still again, turning to fix her gaze on the occupant of the chair.
As she continued to reflect, she closed the scant distance between them, “You missed
something—something really important. They’re also about trust. That’s actually the
hardest part—for me at least.”
Willow didn’t have to look up to see the expression on her friend’s face. She
could feel the accusing glare. When the words finally came, they burned.
“You didn’t trust me. You didn’t even give me a chance.”
The next thing that happened confused the heck out of her. Peripherally, she
watched the blonde sit down and remove her boots and socks. Then Buffy stood up and
slowly started to unbutton her shirt. Willow’s gaze remained fixed on the book. Though
she could see, she didn’t want to look.
Buffy stated matter-of-factly, “In the last couple months I’ve been stabbed about
a dozen times, shot, drowned, run over by a truck…” Her shirt fell to the floor and she
giggled. “The loss to my wardrobe alone was tragic.” She mocked a sniffle before
resuming, “Anyway, I got a little sloppy without you, Will. Hope you’ll forgive me.” After
ripping the white undershirt over her head, she hooked her fingers under Willow’s chin
and attempted to raise her head.
time.
Willow flinched away, refusing to look. The hand returned, cupping her jaw this
“Look at me, Will,” Buffy directed insistently, “Don’t make me force you.”
Jerking away from the adamant touch, Willow hissed, “You really think you
could?” in a low, dangerous voice.
“Yes, actually, I do. You’ll wanna watch me if fighting is where you wanna go
with this. If it is, I’m up for it. You can’t hurt me. You can give it your best shot. I’ve
tried,” Buffy remarked casually, her tone turning thoughtful as she added, “Y’know I
haven’t been immolated yet, so if you’re gonna do it—call it a request.”
Despite herself, Willow turned pensive. Still refusing to look up, she remarked
dryly, “Immolation might work—depends on how hot—but if you really wanna die,
exsanguination’s the best way.”
Buffy took a step back and gasped, “Huh?”
The encounter had finally come around to her advantage and Willow snapped
her attention to the blonde. She took in the confusion and explained, “The fire would
have to be hot enough to kill them. I’m not sure how hot, but we could test if you like.”
Standing up, she pushed past her stunned friend, continuing to reflect, “Your blood is
tainted now…with a parasite. I can feel them. That’s why—” she moved to the door “—
that’s what they brought back. Why it thrives in human blood, I have no idea. It’s so
alien I’m not even sure what it is. I just know how it feels—like tiny little stars. You glow,
Buffy. Others may not be able to see it, but I can.”
As Willow stared blankly at the door, she ignored the movement in the room and
the curiosity it inspired. I’m so used to being alone now. This is just too weird. A creaking
noise caused her to flinch. When she realized seconds later it was the sound of her bed,
she swung around. Refusing to look at the bed, she stated frankly, “Buffy, you can’t stay.
I don’t want you here.”
“Then throw me out, Will.”
Willow scanned the floor, mentally inventorying the clothing. Buffy’s jeans,
Buffy’s boots, Buffy’s blouse, Buffy’s socks, Buffy’s undershirt, Buffy’s underwear… Uhboy. Naked Buffy. What the—what do I do now? I might be able to dress her as I toss her
out the door. It might even be fun. She imagined the expression the blonde would make
and grinned as she strode back to her chair.
As she settled back into the old recliner, three soft words disturbed the stillness
of the room.
“I need you.”
It took us forever to wind down to this point. Buffy lay silently, enjoying being
held. Mostly I just listened. I let her have her silence until she wanted to talk. When she
finally did, it was to read. I like it when she reads to me, so…
It’s a hardship, yet somehow I soldier on. The feel of soft skin pressed against her
back, delicate hands drifting over her body, caused Buffy to tremble. And then there
was…umm, well…yeah… It was unlike anything I expected, or could’ve imagined. It
was—it is…it’s impossible to compare because I lack anything to compare it to. The first
time was different. This was all about touching and being touched, savoring, enjoying
the textures and smells. And I know I’m still clueless. I feel inadequate on every level, but
somehow it was perfect.
Buffy submitted when Willow swept up her right hand and raised it into the light
to examine. Finally, the touch relaxed and a soft, velvety voice asked, “Why?”
Clearing her throat, Buffy replied, “’Cause I didn’t know.” Claiming the inquiring
hand, she clutched it to her chest as she explained, “Remember that night? We ate and
stopped in at that little shop and got henna tattoos, then we went to the Hustler store,
finally we stopped by the club?”
Buffy released the hand and brought her wrist up to eye-level. Studying the fine,
intricate design in the dim light, she continued to reflect pensively, “Well, when I got out
of the hospital, it wasn’t gone. The tattoo had faded lots, but somehow it survived” —
she reclaimed the hand — “to remind me of you. I was really careful. I didn’t want it to
go away. It was like a piece of something—something really important I needed to keep.
So, the next day I got up and snuck away.”
“I made it permanent, not knowing whether it would be,” she concluded, letting
the hand free again. “The lady that did it asked about color and I said—” she shrugged
“—‘whatever.’ So, she had me pick—blues, reds and greens—it seemed to fit.” And now
I have this thing—this mark on my body to remind me—to make me remember the night
we nearly drowned.
“It’s beautiful,” Willow murmured, “And it’s the last thing I’d expected.”
Buffy commented wryly, “Mom wasn’t impressed,” punctuating with a snicker.
She lay enjoying in the warmth for a few moments. Eventually, not expecting any reply,
she continued to murmur, “I wasn’t asking for anything. I hope you know that. When I
came through the door I was just as naked as I am now. The clothing—it was a
formality—” That and I know you, Will. I knew you’d have a harder time tossing me
naked into the yard. You wanted me to leave. You were on the edge of throwing me out,
so…
After sweeping the hair aside, Willow started to kiss the nape of Buffy’s neck.
Between kisses, she whispered, “I know.”
She caught Willow’s hand as it moved across her stomach and raised it to her
mouth, tenderly kissing the fingers. Releasing the hand, she continued to whisper her
thoughts, “There are about a dozen or more clichéd phrases I’ve heard to describe this.
None of them manage to say much. The words just aren’t there. You have to feel it to
understand. It’s like you don’t get that anything’s wrong, but once it happens—once
you’re finally whole—you see that you were incomplete.”
Allowing her lover time to adjust, Buffy slowly turned onto her back and asked
self-consciously, “Is that weird?” Feeling like a hollow shell when you ran
away…knowing, above all else, I needed to find you to really live.
Willow’s hand came to rest between Buffy’s breasts and she began to fiddle with
the locket. Glancing up to make eye contact, she offered honestly, “No, it’s actually one
of the most eloquent, beautiful things you’ve ever said.”
Lying silently, basking in the warmth and the comfort, Buffy absently combed her
fingers through the short locks of red hair. I’m glad your hair’s red again, even if there’s
not lots of it. She snickered softly and added, “I guess the weird thing is: it’s got nothing
to do with sex. You’d think it would, but sex is just an expression—it’s a way of
showing.”
Clearing her throat to gain attention, Willow murmured, “How’d you get here?”
“Oh,” Buffy gasped. Well, that’s the last thing I’d expect her to ask after
everything else, but it’s not an unreasonable question. “Giselle,” she filled in, knowing
full well this wasn’t really an answer. She giggled and began to smooth the wrinkled skin
of Willow’s brow with her fingers as she explained, “Y’know, it’s weird how people
expect stuff from you. They get you all figured, and then the expectation.”
“What’s a Giselle? Is she waiting for you in the car?”
“Giselle is the car, Will. I name stuff, you know that,” Buffy replied frankly. As her
hand drifted down to Willow’s bare shoulders, the redhead turned, giving her the
funniest look. “See, with the expectation?” she remarked amusedly, punctuating her
delight with a snicker.
Willow sat up enough to gesture for more, then settled back into the curve of
Buffy’s shoulder.
Buffy began to answer, stream of consciousness, in a gentle voice, “Mom came
into some money right after you left, so she asked me what I wanted. I said a car ’cause I
knew I’d need one to find you. I didn’t care about much else. I sorta coasted by—I
finished school, but other than that—lots of unfocusy Buffy. Nothing much mattered. I
got really reckless.”
“But yeah…the car, Mom and I had a hard time with that. We looked at lots of
stuff. After the ‘candy’ thing, Mom was really scared to let me drive. We finally found
something we agreed on, though.”
Willow perked up, appearing curious.
Buffy rolled her eyes and said, “You’ll laugh.”
“What?”
“It’s a 1974 Volkswagen Super Beetle,” Buffy admitted. Putting her hand to her
face to cover the embarrassment, she continued the story, “See thing is, Mom wanted
slow and safe.”
“Buffy, I’ve heard—that wasn’t a Beetle you drove up in.”
Buffy corrected, “Yes it was.” When the redhead gave her a look that suggested
she’d lost her mind, she continued, “What? It’s a Beetle—well, sorta,” pausing to giggle
again at the look. “I learned to drive…eventually. Mom tried to teach me at first, but it
was hopeless. Then I asked Xander and he helped. He made it make sense. I guess we
finally found some connection…besides missing you. I’m actually a good driver. The
slayer reflexes don’t hurt.”
“Mom finally just broke down and gave me some of the money. We were having
trouble. It was pretty awful. And I guess she thought if I found my own place I’d chill or
at least she wouldn’t have to watch. I dunno which.”
“Xander came to my rescue again. He gave me the weirdest thing to focus on. It
was as much for him as anything else. He found an old salvage car. The car was a 1986
Porsche 911. I have no clue how I remember that other than the listening. Xander was
really excited. Who knew he was such a car guy? I didn’t get it, the Porsche was total
junk, but I went along to make him happy.”
“So, we found a place with a garage. I practically had to carry the Porsche inside.
Then Xander started to mix the two and I got it. I learned the names of the tools, so I
could hand him stuff, but mostly we just talked. Well, that and I helped. There were tons
of thing-a-ma-jigs he couldn’t get loose.”
Pausing for a peek, Buffy chuckled at the stunned expression the redhead was
wearing and resumed, “Anyway, there was something wrong with the Porsche engine.
No clue—something broken. I wasn’t surprised. I just know Xander’s uncle came over
and I bought the beer. There was lots of cussing and sparks.”
“So why—?”
Buffy cut her lover off again by answering the obvious question, “Remember
Herbie, when he falls in love? The other car was called Giselle.”
Rolling her eyes, Willow corrected, “Buffy, that was a Lancia.”
A thick mock pout tugged at her lips and Buffy replied, “They cheated, she
should’ve been a Beetle.” Her expression shifted into a bright smile when the redhead
responded with a giggle.
The smile faded and Buffy gently guided her lover to lie down. When they were
settled and comfortable, she remarked nervously, “Look, Will, this is fun and all—the
reminiscing.” Pausing to sigh wistfully, she shifted focus, steering the conversation, “You
don’t know—you can’t imagine how much—well, maybe you can imagine how much I
missed you, but—”
“But what are we going to do?”
“Yeah, that.” Buffy’s gaze fixed on the exposed, rough-timber ceiling of the small
cabin. She allowed Willow several moments to comment. When the offer was met with
silence, Buffy began to reflect, “Look, Will, despite what you might think, I’m not here to
bring you back. I can’t make you do anything. It’d be wrong of me to try. I’m here” —
loosening her hold, she started to caress the supple skin of her lover’s back — “I came
just to tell you I love you. And to let you know I don’t blame you. There’s no blame.” A
tear ran down her cheek and her voice choked, turning thick as she added, “There’s only
sadness…and loss.”
Buffy wiped the tear away in annoyance and took a deep breath before
continuing, “I’m leaving in the morning. I just needed you to understand.” Her words
had exactly the opposite effect she expected and Willow broke down, starting to weep.
Lying perfectly still, Buffy held her tongue, allowing her friend time to recover
before she resumed, “There’s an offer too. Like I said, there’s a house. It’s on the edge
of town ’cause we—Xander and me—we knew you wouldn’t want to be around anyone.
There’s a room in the house that’s yours. You just need to come. It’ll always be yours, so
there’s no pressure. It’s there for you if you want it.”
Sitting up, Willow snatched a handful of tissues from the box by the bed and
started to dry her eyes. Buffy giggled lightheartedly when the redhead took more
tissues and started to dry her chest. Once everything was neat and orderly again in
Willow’s world, the redhead started to relax. When her lover was finally tranquil again,
Buffy prompted, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me how I found you.”
“I don’t have to ask. I knew you’d come—when I felt them, I knew it was only a
matter of time.”
“And that’s the last part of the offer. They’re willing to send someone to help
you. It’s an offer, so there’s no stress. You can choose to accept it or not. Giles is willing
to help too. Whatever’s better for you. The point is: there are people—people who are
willing to give you whatever you need to feel better—to feel safe.”
Silence hung thick over the room for several minutes. In that time, Buffy could
sense the inner dialog the redhead was going through. It was nearly tangible. Finally,
she broke the spell by offering in a reassuring tone, “I don’t need an answer. I’ll leave
the address when I go. The rest is up to you.”
There was no reply and Buffy didn’t expect one. As she started to sigh, drifting
closer to sleep, a hand came to rest on her thigh. Soothing caresses caused her skin to
tingle. Gently whispered words broke the silence, “Make love to me, Buffy,” and the
slayer’s eyes opened. They locked momentarily with their green counterparts, fluttering
closed again when Willow’s lips met hers.
Two
(two years)
After the Flood
Moving to the end of the steel grate, Buffy peered down into the swirling energy
vortex. A deep sigh drifted out and she turned back to meet her sister’s gaze. She placed
a reassuring hand on Dawn’s shoulder and said, “I need you to take care of Will for me
now.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Dawn stared at her sister as if she’d grown another head
and gasped, “Huh?”
Buffy cracked an amused grin and winked. Facing the light again, she grumbled,
“Because she’s gonna be completely insufferable after this,” and bounced off the
platform. This is so gonna suck! Spreading her arms, she arched her back and
plummeted into the tear between worlds.
As her body was engulfed by the vortex, every nerve ending lit up with pain. Her
vision swam. Alight with color, it dimmed, slowing turning black.
Tearing her gaze from the broken, crumpled body at her feet, Willow glanced at
her watch. Five minutes. ’Kay, so…let’s be rational about this, five minutes isn’t long
enough. I know if I reach down and touch her, she’ll be—she’ll be cold. But she’s
supposed to be. It’s how it works.
After taking a deep breath, she struggled to wipe the worry from her face. In
truth, she wanted to collapse to her knees and weep. It’s too soon. Giles told me when
the stranger pulled her out of the ocean, he worked on her for ten minutes before she
came around. He called it a ‘miracle.’ ‘It’s a miracle she lived.’ That’s exactly what he
said. It might be, but it’s a miracle with rules. She can dive off a cliff and drown in the
ocean, but if she bleeds to death, she’s gone.
The others moved around behind her, but Willow ignored them. She was
consumed by her inner monologue, trying to reassure herself it’d be fine. When Adam—
when Adam beat her to death. Stupid, stupid, Buffy, she just wouldn’t back down—she
should’ve backed down. When she died, again it took ten minutes. It took days for
everything to heal, but the— But she came back to life in ten minutes. Least that’s what
that liar Spike said. Still, ten minutes, so…
As she stared at her watch, Dawn came up behind her. Eight minutes.
“I want cookies tonight.”
Willow was shocked by the bluntness of the statement. She gasped, “Huh?” and
spun around to meet the amused teenager’s gaze. How can she not be worried?
Folding her arms across her chest, Dawn stated firmly, “I want cookies. Oh! And
Snoopy pancakes in the morning.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Willow glanced back at the broken body and tried to wrap
her mind around what she was hearing. She wants cookies?
“Look, Buffy gave you to me and I want cookies.”
Willow choked, trying to stifle the hysterical laugh that bubbled up.
A bright smile lit the teen’s face and Dawn offered reassuringly, “It’ll be fine,
Willow. Another minute and she’ll be fine.”
“But we don’t know that,” Willow stammered anxiously, “This was a blood thing.
What if she’s not fine?”
“She’ll be fine,” Dawn insisted, “But don’t think that gets you out of the cookies.”
Willow glared at the face of her watch, willing it to move without touching it
magickally. She’ll be fine. She will and if I do—if I break down, she’ll tease me about it for
days. Dawn’s right I need to—I need to wait. I need to stay calm and wait. The hand
ticked and she turned to face the body. Any second now.
A deep blurry haze surrounded Buffy. She was vaguely aware of the others
around her and her own trembling body. Suddenly her eyes snapped open. Her back
arched as she reflexively inhaled deeply, filling her empty lungs with air. When she let
go the unsteady breath, her body slumped back to the ground. She lay choking for a
moment. Finally, control returned and she scanned the faces of her family: Giles,
Xander, Anya, and Dawn. Her gaze came to rest on Willow. I love you.
A subtle smile curled the corners of Willow’s lips. Shaking her head, she turned
to Dawn and said, “Cookies?” Dawn took the offered hand and the two started to slowly
walk away.
Bewildered by the exchange, Buffy started clumsily trying to move. Huh? Wait!
What cookies? Where are my cookies? Struggling to speak, her voice cracked as she
called out, “Hey! Where’s my—?” Her voice failed, stifling the thought.
“You’re the one that gave me away,” Willow called back, “Not my fault.”
Vying for Buffy’s attention, Anya stated frankly, “I think you should try again.
Your form was a little off. It was sloppy. Your back was too arched. I’d give it a five.”
Xander put his arm around his girlfriend and smiled sheepishly down at Buffy
before he quipped, “Those Swedish judges—they’re just ruthless, aren’t they?”
Completely flabbergasted, Buffy peered up at Giles, pleading for some measure
of sanity with her eyes. What do you mean ‘my back was arched’? It hurt like a bitch,
you unbelievable cow!
As Giles offered a hand down to the slayer, Anya turned away in a huff, ranting,
“I am not Swedish, Xander! I’m an all-American girl!”
Accepting the hand, Buffy rose awkwardly to her feet, thankful that Anya’s shrill
voice was getting further away. I’m so glad they got their own place. Her head throbbed
painfully and Giles put his arm around her for support.
Buffy watched vacantly as Xander shrugged and took off in Anya’s wake while
the former vengeance demon continued to seethe, “I love apple pie, Superman, that
silly game with the bat and the men in tight shorts, and money just like every redblooded American girl!”
Leaning into the embrace, Buffy remarked weakly, “You see what I have to put
up with? I die—I die saving the world and—” she sighed despondently “—no one seems
to care, Giles.”
When Giles began to slowly guide her away, she leaned heavily on him so she
wouldn’t fall.
“They care, Buffy,” Giles remarked reassuringly, “They just have a very unusual
way of showing it. They have faith in you—faith that you will prevail. And I for one am
extremely grateful.”
Three
(twenty years)
After the Flood
Faith saw it coming. The world around her slowed to a crawl. The fist hooked
under, speeding toward her. She could’ve stopped it. Instead she allowed it through.
She clenched her jaw in preparation. The fist struck her under the chin, lifting her off her
feet. Pain surged through her head. She sailed backwards across the open lawn, peering
muzzily at the furious blonde. When she smashed into the ground, a breath of air
rushed out of her mouth, carrying with it droplets of blood. Her gaze fixed on the spray.
The tiny globules of blood hung in midair over her face. Turned by gravity, they began to
fall. Her eyes snapped closed as the spray misted her skin.
Clamping her eyes shut tight, Faith ignored the hateful words. She listened
instead to the crickets, chirping in the woods. It’s peaceful here. I always loved coming
to visit B. and Red. A tear leaked out past her clenched eyelids and she inattentively
wiped it away.
The tormented words, “You’re crying?” shattered her reverie, followed closely
by the foot that smashed into her ribs. Faith ignored the pain, refusing to react. She
could feel Buffy starting to pace, following the path laid out by her supine body. I won’t
fight you, B. I get it. It hurts more than dying. You want something you can fight. You’re
still the slayer after all these years. Trouble is: I can’t fight you—not over this.
Faith could sense the rage. She respected it. It was like a caged animal paced the
ground next to her. Buffy wasn’t really there. Eventually, several blows later, the animal
started to depart. When the woman returned, she fell to her knees and began to weep.
Through the sobs, Buffy rasped, “But why?”
Faith opened her eyes and rolled onto her side, propping her cheek in her gloved
hand. A deep sigh drifted out before she replied simply, bluntly, “Because it’s wrong, B.”
you?”
The rage returned and Buffy looked up. Glaring at Faith, she growled, “How dare
Faith implored, “Just hear me out” — holding her free hand between them to
call for peace — “if you still got a problem—well, I’m not sure. Guess I’ll lay here and let
you beat me to death. Not like it’d be the first time.”
Tears continued to leak from Buffy’s eyes. Despite this, she smirked and shook
her head. A soft snicker sounded through her nose and she submitted, “Make it quick. I
gotta get back.”
“I know ya do, B.,” Faith confirmed. Sitting silently for only a moment to reflect,
she marveled at the blonde. In twenty years you haven’t changed a bit, B. Can’t you see
that’s wrong? Red aged. God she was a beautiful woman. I swear she just kept getting
prettier, classier, while you and I stood still, frozen in time—frozen by the blood.
Buffy reclined back on her elbows in the yard and stared expectantly at the
brunette.
“I wasn’t with you for this, but R—” Faith started, falling short as she choked
over the name. She growled with frustration and said, “Red,” through clenched teeth,
“told me that when your mom got sick you tried giving her your blood. Remember
that?”
Appearing annoyed, “Yeah, it didn’t work,” Buffy replied, “But that’s not what
I’m asking for.”
“I know what you’re asking for, B. and I’m not going back. I would—I’d do it in a
heartbeat if I thought it was right,” Faith responded, quickly adding, “It’s not.”
Sitting up, Faith turned her attention toward the lawn. I can’t take seeing her like
this. I need to just say this shit and leave. She began to run her dead fingers absently
through the freshly mowed lawn as she reflected, “B., you and me, we’re freaks. I
wouldn’t do this to anyone. Certainly not someone I care for…and you know I do. People
are supposed to die. It’s how things are. You value what you have more when you know
it’s gonna end. It’s not fair, but it’s real—it’s what we got, or what we should have.”
“That’s not the reason, though,” she added quickly, cutting the rage off before it
welled up. “The reason’s simple. What’s going on with Red—there’s no magick that can
fix it. You should get that from your Mom. You tried. The stories” — she glanced up,
forcing herself to meet the wounded expression on Buffy’s face — “I heard them. It took
years, but I heard them all. I get that you want to make it better. I totally get that you
want something to fight, but this is not the way.”
“But it can be, Faith!” Buffy raged, “Why don’t you get that?”
“No it can’t,” Faith rebuffed, raising her hands again to keep the peace. “Hear
me out. Say we go and by some miracle manage to get whatcha want before she dies.
What makes you think that what you get back would be Red?”
When the blonde sputtered in answer, Faith continued to drive the point home,
“Its encephalitis, Buffy. Her brain’s already swollen so much that you know—you have
to know—there’ll be brain damage. She doesn’t know us. She doesn’t know you. That
won’t change regardless what we do. You gotta let her go.”
Buffy’s head sagged into her hands and she started to weep again. Eventually,
she managed to rasp through her parted fingers, “But we just went to Baja for the
weekend—our first vacation in years. We made love on the beach. It was so beautiful.”
Faith placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder to comfort her as she listened. I
wish I could feel, B. I wish something about my touch felt like more than the plastic and
wires wrapped in leather.
“Next day Will was running a fever and throwing up. We waited till afternoon to
leave, hoping it’d pass—figured it was just the water. Y’know how Mexico is—she
couldn’t remember if she checked the top on every bottle she drank. She had a few bug
bites, but nothing bad—nothing to make me think—” A bitter snicker slipped out and
Buffy supplemented matter-of-factly, “It was sort of a bummer, but no big, right?”
“She wasn’t getting any better as we made the drive home. It was awful. I got
her to the first state-side hospital I could find. They ran their stupid tests. Eventually,
they came back with malaria as a diagnosis. I couldn’t believe my ears. I was stunned. I
thought only people in underdeveloped countries got that. How could that touch us?”
“How, Faith? How?” Buffy begged as if there might be some answer she was
missing. “That was four days ago. How can it be ‘the right thing’? How can it be right for
someone as beautiful—someone as wonderful as Will to die…” Her jaw set with rage
and Buffy looked up. Snarling through clenched teeth, she concluded, “Because of a
fucking insect.”
Faith stood up and turned her back on the livid blonde. As she started to walk
away, she whispered, “I didn’t say it was ‘just.’ That’s not the same thing as ‘right’ and
you know it, B.”
Faith prepared to take another hit when the blonde leapt to her feet and started
to close the gap between them. Instead the rage faded, giving way to confusion and
pain. She froze, listening to the soft raspy voice.
“I just don’t get it, Faith. I don’t understand how something so insignificant could
do this. I really wish someone would make it make sense to me. How could something
you squish—? A mosquito lands on your arm—you slap it away without a second
thought—’cept the ‘eww.’ We’ve done it, thousands of times—everyone has. It just—”
Buffy gasped, breathing hard, struggling to choke away the tears enough to
speak. When she continued her voice was very soft and thick with hurt, “It’s just stupid.
How could something so small do this? What kind of a world does this? It makes no
sense to me.”
Threading her fingers into the pockets of her jeans, Faith slouched, refusing to turn
around. I dunno, B.
When Buffy’s voice rang out again it was stronger, but still laced with pain, “And
y’know, they tried to explain it to me. I still don’t get it. I know the ‘what’—viral
encephalitis—but I don’t know if the ‘malaria’ thing was a misdiagnosis, or if one thing
became the other. I thought malaria could be treated. I thought there was stuff they
could do. I dunno if they just didn’t do what they should’ve or if it was inevitable.
“That’s the worst part—the not understanding. Will was always the one that’d
make stuff like this make sense to me. She’d explain it. She’d take the time to break it
down and simple it up so my stupid brain could handle it.
“What I did know is she wouldn’t want to be in that place. She hated hospitals.
They didn’t like it when I took her, but they couldn’t really stop me. I brought her home
because it was the ‘right’ thing to do. She’d want to—she’d want to be in her own bed.”
Buffy’s trembling voice fell silent and Faith stood rooted to the spot for another
moment. Not knowing exactly what to say, she began to walk away. I wish I had
something for ya, B. I wish I could say the right thing and make it all fit. But fact is: it just
doesn’t. It can’t. There’s no sense to be had here. That’s why they call shit like this a
‘senseless death.’
She was almost to the driveway when Buffy’s voice rang out, strong and
confident this time, “Come back in the morning, Faith.”
Faith spun on her heel. Confusion crinkled her face as she gasped, “Huh?”
Closing the distance between them, Buffy reached into her blouse and withdrew
an object. As she pulled the necklace over her head, she reflected, “Look, it’s just you,
Dawnie, and Xander. That’s it. All the others are dead.”
Holding out her hand when Buffy gestured, Faith accepted the necklace. As she
stood silently peering down at the tiny silver locket set against the black leather glove,
her thoughts began to drift. I don’t think I ever told you how he fought for me. How
much we struggled when I started rejecting the implants. I know you’ve looked at my
hands and wanted to know. Questions would form on your lips and you’d think better of
it, understanding it’d just be too painful to ask. Thank you, B. Looping the necklace over
her head, she tucked it into her shirt before distantly remarking, “I know. I was on the
roof, remember?”
“Yeah, I know you were with Angel,” Buffy confirmed. A wry grin flickered across
her features. It was consumed so quickly by the grief that Faith blinked, wondering if she
imagined it. She turned away, listening to the blonde’s soft pensive voice.
“I always wondered—call it a last request—did you and Angel ever—?”
Faith’s shoulders slumped as she took the last few steps to the long gravel
driveway. Finally, she mumbled just loud enough for the other slayer to hear, “Never, B.
He was always too much like a brother to me. It wouldn’t’ve been right.”
“You’ll come back?”
The gravel crunched under the heel of her boot as Faith glanced over her
shoulder for one final look. “Yeah,” she murmured, “I’ll come back.” The blonde stood
with her hand on her hip on the sprawling lawn. It occurred to Faith again that it was
almost like looking back in time. She paused, remembering the first night they met at
the Bronze. A long ago club, in a long ago town that had been swallowed by the earth.
Nodding, Buffy asked anxiously, “And you’ll take care of them?”
“Till the day I die, Buffy.” After making eye contact one final time with her friend,
Faith set off into the night.
Buffy stood anchored in one spot for several moments. Her gaze fixed on the
other slayer. When Faith disappeared into the wooded thicket between the house and
the road, Buffy turned to face the house. Soft light radiated from their bedroom
window, calling her. I’ll be right there, love. Promise.
Urgency pressed down on her as she strode back up the drive. Breaking into a
run, she covered the distance in a blink. I was gone too long. She stood in front of the
door. She gets so scared, but I wouldn’t let them do it. I couldn’t let them tie her down. I
hope it’s okay. Hesitating, she peered down at the polished brass knob for a moment.
This is stupid! Her hand trembled as she reached for it and pushed the door open. This is
our house—same house we’ve lived in for ten years now. She stepped inside.
As she shut the door, the smell of lingering death penetrated her senses.
Remember this, Will? Remember watching Giles die? Feeling completely helpless to stop
it? It’s only been a couple years. He said he lived a good full life and not to fret. I never
could listen to him. Disobedient right to the end.
She started to walk through the house. Her attention drifted. Pictures of familiar
faces smiled at her from frames on the wall. As she passed into the living room, she
heard the din of the heart monitor upstairs. It urged her on and she picked up the pace.
Inattentive to the details, she pressed on through the dining room. Objects, hundreds of
items assembled over a lifetime, passed by. Gifts given, things received, treasures
collected that they both loved.
Rushing through into the kitchen, she flipped on the light and moved to the
pantry. After grabbing a bucket from the floor, she returned to the living room and
made her way swiftly up the stairs.
When she entered their room, the sound of the breathing machine grew frantic
and labored.
“It’s okay, Will, it’s just me: Buffy,” she offered patiently as she placed the bucket
on the floor. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, she looked down at the swollen,
misshapen face of the woman she loved. A soft, reassuring smile warmed her features.
The only details remaining, untouched by disease, were Willow’s eyes and her hair. They
were both unmistakably her. Buffy peered into her partner’s eyes for several minutes as
she gently stroked her soft red hair. Thank you for letting me do this. Last time I tried to
touch— It’s okay, though. You didn’t know any better.
Tearing herself away, she went to her dresser and got out a pair of shorts and a
tank top. Quickly moving to the bathroom, she started to undress, tossing her jeans,
blouse, and underwear into the hamper.
Once she was redressed in sleep clothes, she pulled an I.V. needle, valve, and
some tubing from the cabinet under the sink. After removing the sterile packaging, she
cut the tubing and placed the valve inline just down from the needle. Lifting back her
shorts, she leaned back and stretched out her leg. She was thin enough she didn’t even
have to feel for her femoral artery. Sitting still for a moment, she watched the skin
inside her hip bone pulsate.
Buffy took a deep breath and pierced her skin. Her first two tries were
unsuccessful. By the third time, she was getting frustrated, but she moved the needle
until she hit the artery. The tubing filled with blood and she shut off the valve, wiping
away the mess. After taping the needle and valve to her leg, she picked up the extra
tubing and returned to the bedroom.
When Willow moved away like she was frightened, Buffy said in a soothing voice,
“Its okay, sweetie, it’s just me.” This is gonna scare her, but I can’t help it.
Moving to the bedside, she carefully ripped the face off the auto-infuser that fed
Willow metered amounts of morphine. She removed the bottle and opened the
nightstand, taking out a packaged hypodermic needle. Quickly reading the bottle, she
prepared the hypo with thirty milligrams of the drug.
Her hands shook as she pressed the needle into Willow’s I.V. I’m sorry. I just
wish—well, I wish lots, not that you’ll hear me say it. I wish we had more time, I guess.
She pressed the plunger down and set the needle aside. The machines all fell silent as
she ripped the plugs out of the wall.
After climbing into bed, she finished hooking up the tubing and taped the end
into the bucket. Once everything was ready, she reached over and flipped off the light.
Time to sleep.
Relaxing against the curve of her lover’s body, Buffy closed her eyes. As she held
tight to stifle the trembling, she started to whisper, “Twenty years. It was a gift. A gift
you gave me. In twenty years we saved the world a dozen times or more. I dunno, I lose
track of these things. You always were better at keeping track than me. Twenty years.
We were lucky. We found peace by making peace. Twenty years is more than most
people could wish for. Twenty years of knowing one thing with absolute certainty.”
She stroked her partner’s hair away from her face and stated the simple truth, “I
love you, Willow Rosenberg.” After kissing the redhead’s puffy cheek, she added, “I
couldn’t ask for more.” I hope the others will forgive me.
Once the tremors quieted, she placed her head in the curve of Willow’s shoulder
and turned the valve. There are people that say you’ll go to hell for this. They preach and
rage about sin. I never could get my mind around how being so angry over something—
so quick to judge and condemn—could be good. I’ve been to hell—I’ve been to couple of
hells, actually. I’ve seen things they couldn’t imagine. I’ve done things they’d never
survive.
Buffy began to feel weak. The Powers and me—we have this thing. Every time I
get ahead, they smack me down. I’ve died so many times for the ‘greater good’ I’ve lost
count. It never stuck. Right here at the end, when things were looking up—I saw rest on
the horizon and they tried to take something—something I just—
The room started to spin and her eyes spotted behind closed lids. I’m tired. I just
want—I deserve to rest.
Just let me rest, please.
The last light went out in the house as Faith watched from the tree line. I’ll give it
an hour before I go look in, clean up and make the calls.
After cracking the seal, she raised the bottle in toast. Safe journey, Red, B. Tipping it up,
she took a healthy gulp. Funny thing, I get it. I’ve never been in love—not like that, but
I’ve watched. It’s taken me years to get here. Now that I’m almost alone it’s easy to see.
Her jaw clenched and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. If I wasn’t such a
pussy I might—but B. always was the stronger one.
Four
(somewhere in time)
After the Flood
The air smelled sweet. Buffy took a deep breath, savoring the scents. She didn’t
recognize where she was at first. The colors were all too bright. The rich green of the
lawn that stretched in front of her looked like something from a children’s program. As
she scanned the yard, a girl with long, fiery red hair caught her eye. She followed her,
picking up the pace, while restraining herself enough not to come off like a crazy stalker.
Willow?
Willow sat down in the courtyard on a concrete bench, placing her book bag on
the ground.
As Buffy slowly approached the redhead, Willow opened her bag and pulled out
a sack lunch. Wow! She was so beautiful. She is so beautiful.
Looking up, Willow’s brow furrowed with uncertainty. “Do you need
something?”
Smiling brightly, Buffy considered how to answer. A dozen or more questionable
things flitted across her mind before she finally chuckled and held out her hand,
announcing cheerfully, “How ’bout we start with, ‘Hi, my name’s Buffy’?”
She grinned and subtly shook her head when Willow eyed her suspiciously.
Dropping her hand back to her side, Buffy added, “As first greetings go, it’s the
most approved—two out of three people polled prefer it.” An amused smile warmed
her features just before she prompted, “And you’re Willow, right?”
Willow grew extremely anxious. After setting her lunch aside, she stammered,
“That’s right. Should I—do I know you?”
Buffy remarked honestly, “Technically” — taking in the drab plaid jumper the
redhead wore — “not in the strictest of senses.”
When the redhead glanced down, sneaking a peek at her cleavage, Buffy bit back
a laugh. That’s right, Will, they’re called ‘breasts.’ If you only knew what you were gonna
do to them you’d—well, I’m not sure how that’d go, but it’d probably be really colorful.
Buffy started, “Look, Will—” falling short as she thought better of the nickname.
“It’s alright if I call you that?”
Willow hurriedly rattled off, “Yeah—I mean, I guess, it’s just that—well, weren’t
you with Cordelia earlier?” As she fell silent, her brow creased, reflecting the epitome of
confusion.
After wiping the silly grin off her face, Buffy began to rummage through her
purse. When she located a hair-tie, she set her purse next to Willow’s untouched lunch
and replied, “I guess you could say that, but I’d rather be with you.”
mind.
An expression passed over Willow’s face that suggested the blonde had lost her
Buffy put her hands up and said reassuringly, “I won’t do anything mean, ’kay?
Don’t wig out,” and stepped around behind the bench.
Willow turned nervously, peering over her shoulder, and asked, “Wig?”
“Yes, ‘wig.’ Don’t do it,” Buffy replied patently, “There’s just something I wanna
do. I’ve wanted to do it” — gently turning Willow’s head forward, she began to run her
fingers through the long red hair — “well, realistically for only a few hours, but trust me
when I say it feels like years.” Will got her hair cut before I really got to play with it
much. I always felt like I missed something. I hope I don’t totally freak her out, but I just
can’t resist.
Buffy could feel her friend bristling under the touch. As she started to French
braid the long locks of red hair, she whispered, “Just relax. It’ll be okay. Promise.”
Amazed her words had any effect, she watched amusedly as Cordelia rounded the
shrubberies with her entourage.
When the redhead tensed again, Buffy whispered, “Relax,” and made eye
contact with the brunette. Her eyes narrowed at the snotty looks she was inspiring.
When Cordy opened her mouth to speak, Buffy cut her off by growling, “Just go, Cordy,”
in a low dangerous voice. Holding the braid in her left hand, she placed the right on
Willow’s shoulder to calm her and whispered, “Ignore her, ’kay?”
“Gladly,” Cordelia snapped. Adding as she turned her nose up and stalked off,
“Nice of you to show your true ‘loser face’ before I wasted my time.”
When Cordelia was finally out of earshot, Willow sputtered, “But why?”
Returning to braiding her friend’s hair, Buffy responded frankly, “Because I like
you more.” She didn’t have to see to know. She could feel the warmth of the smile even
standing behind her friend. That’s right, Will. I’d choose you over a thousand girls like
Cordy. They could line you all up in a row and when I finally got to you I’d take your hand
and lead you away without a second thought. Hopefully they’d be nice and put you early
in the line, though. ’Cause having to look at a thousand Cordy-clones—it’d be seriously
disturbing.
When she finished the braid, Buffy quickly bound it with the hair-tie. Before
stepping around to face the redhead, she gently ran her hand down her back.
Willow was beaming when Buffy came around to face her. Her expression
transformed to awe and she stuttered, “I-I can’t believe—”
“Believe it,” Buffy stated firmly. “Grab your stuff” — she held her hand out —
“and walk with me,” making a ‘come hither’ gesture. She accepted her purse when it
was offered and took her friend’s hand, leading her toward the front of the school.
As they reached the edge of school property, Willow tensed and sputtered, “But!
But, Buffy, w-we can’t—we can’t leave the school without permission.”
me?”
Giving the redhead a sideways glance, Buffy offered patiently, “Do you trust
“I dunno—I mean, I suppose—but we’ll get in trouble.”
“Trust me enough to step off the curb,” Buffy said in a pleading tone, “Just for a
second, ’kay? I swear I’m not trying to get you in trouble.” I think I get this. If I’m right—
She stepped off the curb to encourage Willow by taking the risk first. Turning back, she
took both of her friend’s hands and said, “See, nothing bad happening.”
“But we’ll get in trouble. Please, come back,” Willow begged.
me.”
After releasing her friend’s hands Buffy took a step back and teased, “Come get
Mortified, Willow gasped, “Buffy!”
Feeling horrible for scaring her friend, Buffy inched back to the curb and offered
her hands. “Please trust me, Will. Just one foot. I have a feeling about this.”
Giving the blonde a baffled look, Willow accepted the hands. Her eyes clenched
shut and she slowly extended her toe down toward the street.
Buffy watched in amazement as the ball of redhead’s foot met the tarmac. She
does trust me. No clue why. It must be some fragment—something left over.
Suddenly aware they were moving very fast, she protectively wrapped her arms around
her friend. Shutting her eyes tight against the barrage of sensation, she offered
reassuringly, “I gotcha.”
They came to a halt and Buffy opened her eyes. The Willow that faced her was
four years older. She blinked to try and clear the confusion and the redhead gave her a
gentle kiss. She remembers! Tears welled up in Buffy’s eyes as they kissed. It was as
though all of her prayers had been answered in a single act.
When the contact abated, Buffy’s eyes fluttered open again. She looked around.
They were standing alone on the beach. Waves gently lapped at the shore. She took a
deep breath enjoying the salt air.
“Let me try?”
Buffy heard the words and registered them. She was moving again, but this time
Willow was guiding them. Buffy walked along casually next to her partner as though
they were simply walking down a corridor. Her senses reeled as the scenery whipped
past. It was like being in a car without the confining cage. As the world rushed past, she
had a hard time not flinching at the things that brushed by.
They came to a stop in front of their home and Willow led her to the door.
Still perplexed by what was happening, Buffy turned to make eye contact with
her lover. The face that peered back had aged again. Willow was in her early thirties.
She had a refined appearance, tempered by wisdom. Buffy blinked, wondering if she
would change again.
“I am what you want me to be,” Willow explained patiently, “You see what you
expect to. We can go anywhere. Be anything. Those are the rules. Right now what I want
is to go to bed.” Reaching for the doorknob, she opened the door and stepped inside.
After shutting the door behind them, Buffy asked “You’re tired?” and dutifully
followed.
Glancing over her shoulder, Willow smirked and replied, “Not at all.”
A bright smile lit Buffy’s face. There was a bounce in her step as she made her
way up the stairs, following her witch.