Endlessly . . .
by Elysian
This fic and the parts of it that follow use quite a few story ideas and lines of
dialogue from episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, esp. the last half of the final season. Hell, I ripped them off in
total so I’d like to take this chance to thank the writers for their fabulous work, though I won’t be able to name them here, their
contribution to this work cannot be underappreciated. This fic is
a reworking of season seven to my liking. You may not like it all, hell I don’t like it all, but trust me, I’m going somewhere with this and I
hope it’s somewhere where we’d all want to be.
Thanks.
part one: “First Date”
“You know this is very dangerous?!”
Buffy, sitting a cluttered desk in front of a small
mirror, putting an earring in her ear. “I
used to hear the horror stories. Wear hoops, they’ll catch on something, rip your lobe off. Lobes
flying everywhere . . .”
Giles seemed quietly exasperated.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“You mean Spike not having a chip. Free
range Spike.”
“I have to ask. Wh . . . W-Why on earth did
you make that decision?”
“I guess it was instinct,” said Buffy
distractedly. “Like you were talking about.”
“For Christ’s sake . . . I made that up.
I knew the Bringer was there because his . . . shoes
squeaked. Buffy, it’s crucial to keep these girls safe. I-I can’t count the dangers. The First. The
Bringers. Random demons. And now Spike . . .”
“And the Principal.”
“What?”
“Oh nothing much. He was in the school
basement, holding a shovel, acting kind of
evasive. Plus, he’s got that whole too charming to be real thing going on. I’m looking into it.”
“Oh, that sounds very responsible of you.
Balances out our vampire on the loose issue.”
Buffy stood and started walking across the room
toward her bed. “Nothing’s changed,
Giles. Spike had a chip before, remember . . . when the First had him kill and Sire all those
people.”
“We have no idea if his chip was working
then. A new chip might act to restrain him
should the First attempt to activate him again.
“Spike has a soul now,” responded
Buffy, growing steadily more assertive in the face of
her former mentor’s intransigence. “That’s what’s going to stop him from hurting people.”
“Buffy . . .”
“He can be a good man, Giles. I feel it. But
he’s never going to get there if we don’t give
him the chance.”
Giles approached her slowly, deliberately.
Cautiously sympathetic. “Buffy, I want more
for you. Your feelings for him are coloring your judgement. I can hear it in your voice. And
that way lies a future filled with pain. I don’t want that for you.”
“We haven’t . . . Things have been
different since he came back.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re
not . . . physical with each-other anymore. There’s a
connection. You rely on him. He relies on you. That’s what’s affecting your judgement.”
“You think I’m losing sight of the big
picture . . . but I’m not. When Spike had that chip
it was like . . . having him in a muzzle. It was wrong. You can’t beat evil by doing evil. I know
that.” Making that her last words as she left the room.
“Well I hope you’re right,”
Giles said, intent on having the last word. “You’re gambling
with a lot of lives.”
“I do that every day!”
“Dawn!”
Xander and Willow watched as Buffy paced back
and forth in the kitchen like an animal,
hungry and impatient for prey.
“DAWN!” she yelled up the stairs.
“For Christ’s sake, where is she?”
Buffy threw her hands up in the air, exasperated.
“I can’t believe this. We’re gonna be
late for school. She’s gonna make me late for school. And by the way, I’m in my twenties now.
Do I ever get to stop saying that.”
“Calm down, Buff,” suggested
Xander. “Sit down, take a load off. In all my years I’ve
learned that there isn’t a problem out there that can’t be solved by waffles.”
“Yeah,” said Willow, joining in,
“and there’s even funny shaped plastic bottles full of
sugary goodness.”
Buffy took the bottle of maple syrup from Willow
turning it over in her hands and
looking at it. “I don’t know. Aunt Jemima. I just always thought there was something vaguely
creepy about eating something that you pour out of someone else’s head.”
“I’m not so sure about that
either,” said Willow, taking the woman shaped maple syrup
bottle back as Xander dug into his plate of waffles. “Valid point, I guess. I do have to say
though that some things that you can get out of women taste better than others.”
Xander choked on his waffle.
The door to the basement opened and a bleary
looking Spike emerged. He opened the
fridge and came out with a quart sized deli container labeled ‘blood’. They always remembered
to put a label on it now after Chloe, one of the potentials, had taken it upon herself to get a glass
of juice late one night and had been discovered by Willow a few moments later rinsing her mouth
out and spitting it back in the sink. “Spike!” said Buffy awkwardly. “I . . . I thought you were
sleeping.”
“Was. Couldn’t exactly keep up the
pretense with all the noise n’ all.”
Buffy lowered her eyes.
“Sorry.”
He brushed her off with a gesture. “No
worries. If it wasn’t you it’d be some of the bird
herd.” He filled a mug with blood and put it in the microwave. “Soul or no soul some days I’m
tempted to wipe the floor with the whole lot of ‘em if only it’d mean one bloody blessed moment
of silence.”
Buffy smiled. “Some days I’m almost
tempted to let you.”
”Sorry. I’m here. I’m
here,” said Dawn as she came down the stairs. “You know, it’s
getting out of hand around here. No, wait, it’s passed out of hand a dozen girls ago.”
“Shut up and eat your breakfast,”
snapped Buffy kindly. “Quickly. Xander’s already
here. We’re gonna be late.”
“It’s not my fault Chloe, Molly and
Rona were hogging up sink space in the bathroom.
They don’t even have to go to school! Come on, Buffy, this is ridiculous. One bathroom with all
these girls. That’s cruel and unusual punishment.. Even mistreated prisoners in Guantanamo get
more than one bathroom.”
“Unfortunately, Dawnie,” said Buffy,
“. . . or fortunately as the case may be . . . you’re
not a terrorist. You’re the my sister. You know the riff, ‘Into each generation a slayer is born,
and she’ll fight the forces of darkness, and she’ll have a sister and that sister will be destined to
share a bathroom.’ Think about it, you’re fulfilling prophecy, kiddo.”
“You sure there isn’t a prophecy
where surly, sink-hogging Potential wannabes hang out
in the back yard with the hose instead.” Dawn grinned. “They can make it part of their training.
Spike, you’re with me on this right?”
Spike raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Hey. No problem here.”
Buffy smiled and shook her head.
“I’ll think about it.”
“And just remember Dawn,” said
Xander with surprising diplomacy as he, Buffy and
Dawn walked out the front door a few minutes later, “there are other alternatives.”
“Like what . . . ?”
“Well, I am taking you two to school . . . Gym
class! . . . Communal showers!”
“Uurrk! Don’t remind
me.”
“Oh, come on! It can’t be that bad. I
mean I spent most of my teenage years fantasizing
about what went on in there. Don’t ruin a good fantasy.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes at him threateningly.
“Xander . . . my little sister . . . a house
full of potential weapons to use on you. Ixnay on the teenage shower room fantasies. Or do I
need to paint a more graphic word picture.”
“Sorry, I just can’t get the taste of
Kennedy out of my head.”
Dawn scrunched her face. “Taste of
Kennedy . . . what the . . . ?”
“Xander!”
“Um, Spike, it’s light out . . .
You’re a vampire . . .Why aren’t you on fire?”
“I’m fine, Chloe.” Spike
smiled kindly at the young Potential beside him. Took a long
drag off his cigarette. “This time of day, sun’s in the right place, most of Buffy’s back yard is in
the shade. Don’t worry . . . indirect sunlight only.”
“Well, you haven’t exactly tried to kill
me yet. I just don’t want you to . . . you know . . .
go all poof.” Chloe made a wide gesture with her hands.
“Thanks a bunch.” Spike shook his
head. “I think.” They sat there together quietly, the
vampire and the young girl on the porch step beside him. Finally he looked back at the house.
“What’s takin’ the others so bloody long. We are on a schedule here.”
Chloe glanced back over her shoulder at the house.
“Something about priority bathroom
time. I didn’t quite understand.”
Spike stood up and tossed away his butt.
“Well, we might as well get started.”
Chloe frowned. “You mean me n’
you?” She gestured at herself and Spike.
“You see any other tasty morsels
standin’ ‘round here?”
“No.” She watched as Spike backed
up a little into the bright shadows of the back yard.
“Wait . . . did you just refer to me as food?”
Spike smirked. “Possibly. You do look like a
tasty bit if I do say so myself.”
Chloe’s expression sharpened.
“That’s it!”
She came at Spike all out. Spike almost casually
brushed her aside. She rolled across the
grass and got back up, grinning widely.
“A fight is about control,” Spike told
her. “You’ve got a certain . . . enthusiasm. But
enthusiasm on its own doesn’t mean anything.” The vampire and the young girl circled each-other. “Don’t just think
about the hit. The punch you’ll throw. The kick you hope to land. It’s
not just about the moves, luv. Think about where you’ll be when you make that hit.”
Chloe threw a series of punches, which Spike
easily blocked, followed by a hard arcing
punch at his head, which he ducked beneath.
“It’s about balance,” Spike
said, and pushed her over. “See, luv, you overextended. You
didn’t think of what would happen if you missed and you left yourself open. You lost your
center, and because of that it’s all over. Whatever else you do, you have to keep your balance. If
you always try to follow through all the way, try for that one decisive punch or kick that will
settle the engagement you will lose. Even if you’re the Slayer you’ll rarely win a fight with brute
force alone. You don’t win a fight by beating each-other until one of you can’t stand anymore.
It’s balance, that’s all . . . yours and his. It’s about searching for a moment, that one moment
where he’s off balance and you’re not.
“Otherwise, you’re nothin’
but lunch . . .”
“Answer me, Kennedy! Why did you
lose?”
Kennedy rolled her shoulder, checking to see if
anything was broken. She glared at
Spike. “I don’t know, maybe because you’re stronger than I am!”
“It’s not about strength.”
Spike smirked. “Well, not completely. Buffy’s faced a whole
bunch of baddies that were stronger than her, be it Adam or Glory, and she’s always come out on
top. Look at me. I’m just as strong as Buffy is, and yet when we’ve fought she’s always
managed to beat me. Why? Because she’s bloody patient. ‘Cause she knows how to fight.
‘Cause she knows how to reach out and grab those opportunities in front of her and run with
them . . .
“Rona, you’re
up.”
Molly groaned as she took Spike’s hand and
he helped her to her feet. She pierced Spike
with a sharp glare. “You know, you could pull your punches a little bit!”
“I thought I was.” Spike smirked at
her in the way many of the girls were coming to hate.
“Anyway, how else do you expect to learn.” He looked over the rest of the girls. “Vi!” Made a
come hither gesture with his hand.
The girl nervously stepped out of line and
approached him slowly. They traded a few
tentative punches. She seemed almost content to block what Spike threw at her and let him come
to her.
“That’s it,” Spike murmured to
himself. “Wait for your moment.”
Stealth isn’t just about secrecy. It’s
about choosing your moments. It’s about waiting for
that moment when you can do what you want to do and be able to get away with it. Buffy liked
Principal Wood. She really did. He’d given her a job, a job she actually enjoyed. He’d given
her a some semblance of a normal life outside of all of the slaying and preternatural drama. But
certain things over the past few weeks just didn’t seem to add up.
There were questions she had that didn’t
seem to have any easy answers.
So when Wood seemed to have disappeared for
awhile around midday Buffy took what
the moment offered. She took a few steps away from her desk. She looked around nervously,
trying not to look nervous. She slipped into Principal Wood’s office and took a second to softly
close the door behind her.
She’d told Giles that she meant to check out
Principal Wood but standing here she
seemed to realize how difficult that would be. She didn’t know what she was looking for, if
there even was anything. And if there was something she didn’t even know if she’d recognize it
if she saw it. And some secrets aren’t so easily found. Some of the worst secrets people had
were held close to the heart for fear of revealing too much.
Buffy flipped through the pile of files on the desk
really not expecting to find anything.
Her eyes drifted across the office. “Now if I was a sign of being evil where would I . . .”
obviously her eye fell on the large free-hanging cabinet on the wall behind the desk, “ . . . be.”
Walking around the desk, Buffy studied the large
cabinet as she approached. Raised one
hand to open it.
Her heart spiked as someone came in through the
door behind her.
“Buffy!”
Turning toward the man standing in the open door
of the office Buffy felt fear suddenly
take hold of her heart. Not fear of anything he could possibly do her in the moment, but fear for
what it meant. Fear that this moment had cost her this job. Fear that in all of a moment
everything good that she’d built in her life had suddenly come tumbling down. She suddenly felt
the aimlessness that had characterized her life all of last year raise it’s ugly head. Where would
she go from here? Where do you go when your life suddenly hits rock bottom? And there were
no answers, just a sense of loss, desperation and loneliness. She suddenly felt like crying.
“Ah . . . Principal Wood.”
“You looking for
something?”
She felt the tears welling up behind her
eyes.
“File folders . . . and mechanical pencils . . . I
want to write on the file folders with a
mechanical pencil.”
Wood gestured. “The supply cabinet in the
outer office has those things.”
“Oh . . . this isn’t a supply
cabinet?” she wondered. “My bad. Okay thanks!” Buffy tried
to walk around Wood and out of the office.
“Hey . . . uh, Buffy . . .”
Buffy stopped. Escape wouldn’t come that
easily. “Yeah?”
“Um, what are you doing
tonight?”
She suddenly felt like the world had turned upside
down. What? She didn’t know how to
respond to that. “Pre . . . Preparing for tomorrow’s counciling session.”
“No . . . really.”
Buffy smiled unsurely. “Watching a reality
show about a millionaire.”
“Well then. I’d, um, I’d like to
take you out to dinner if that’s alright with you. I mean
you don’t have to. I’m certainly not saying come to dinner if you enjoy having a job.” Laugh.
“You know I may have to make up a little document that says I didn’t just say that and have you
sign it.”
“Sure. I’d be happy to have dinner
with you.”
“Great. I’ll, um, draw up the
paperwork.”
Buffy finally left and he closed the door behind her.
When she was gone he removed
something from his pocket. Something wrapped in white cloth. He unwrapped it, revealing a
dagger. The blade and parts of the cloth it was wrapped in were wet with blood.
Wood walked over and swung open the two doors
on the cabinet on the back wall of his
office. Weapons covered the entirety of it inside, hanging in an eclectic display. Each one
seemed to shine with it’s own light, the surfaces polished to a bright sheen. They were obviously
well cared for.
Wood quickly wiped the blood off the dagger with
the cloth and hung it on the wall with
the others.
“So he asked you out to dinner?”
asked Willow as she sorted clothes and tossed them into
the laundry basket on the couch.
Buffy smiled. “Yeah. Isn’t that
weird? He’s a Principal. He’s a young, hot Principal
with earrings but he’s a Principal. Why do you think he asked me out? He c-could be interested,
right?”
“Yeah. Sure. You’re a frisky
vixen.”
“Or it could be work related,” Buffy
rationalized. “Maybe I’m getting promoted for
doing such a good job.”
Willow laughed out loud for a moment before
suddenly turning apologetic at the look on
Buffy’s face. “Oh. Right. That makes sense too.”
“Or maybe he knows that I suspect
he’s up to something and he’s taking me out to kill
me.”
“Well, you’ll have to dress for the
ambiguity.”
“You know, it’s not even that
he’s acting that suspicious. It’s just . . . There he is, on the
Hellmouth, all day, every day. That’s got to be like being showered with evil. Only, from
underneath.”
“Not really a shower.”
“A bidet,” said Buffy, the words like
a revelation. “Like a bidet of evil.”
“Buff, if he’s really interested, are
you . . . interested back.”
That remark earned a reluctant, embarrassed smile.
“I don’t know. He’s good looking.
And, he . . . He’s solid. He’s smart. He’s normal. So not the wicked energy. Which is nice,
‘cause I don’t want to be only attracted to the wicked energy. Or . . . or what if he is wicked in
which case is that why I’m attracted to him?”
“I’m gonna wait for that sentence to
come around again before I jump on.”
“You know what, yeah, I . . . I think I like him.
And it’ll be good for me.
“Right. Help you move
on.”
“Why does everybody in this house think
I’m still in love with Spike?”
“No . . . I meant move on from this imposed
super-self-reliance. Let somebody get
close.”
Softly, “Oh!”
Buffy and Willow both started as the front door
opened and then slammed closed as
Xander came storming in. Without pause he came up to them and started to rant. “You know
what . . .”
“Buffy has a date!” Willow blurted
out.
“I was going to go with ‘Life
sucks!’ but I guess that works too.” Xander shrugged off
his coat and threw it on the couch. He stood over the two girls and started to pace back and forth.
“I was out today. I saw a girl. Nice looking. I mean Britney Spears, music superstar nice
looking. She has a kayak so I guess she’s a big fan of the water sports. So I did what any self-respecting single guy would do in that
situation, I started talking her up. What do you think of
the weather. How ‘bout them Raiders. Rope is good for it’s entertainment value . . .”
Willow suddenly made a face. Buffy just looked at
him like he was crazy.
Xander finally just collapsed back on the couch
beside Willow. “Was it always this hard?
I mean, I’m a cool guy, aren’t I?! High school was over a long time ago. I almost got married
last year for Christ’s sake. How is it that I still don’t know how to talk to a girl?”
Willow wavered for a moment. “I think the
Anya-speak kinda spoiled you for a while.
And just for future reference talk of rope and kinky sex is a little premature when you’re first
trying to ask a girl out.”
“I don’t know,” said Buffy
teasingly. “It kinda turns me on.”
Willow hit her with a pillow from the couch and
turned back to Xander.
Xander rubbed his forehead. “I
don’t know if I can do this. Three years with Anya and
it’s like I’ve forgot how. I don’t even know if it want to.”
“Well, if Anya’s not interested
it’s not like there’s much of a choice.”
“Yeah,” said Xander tiredly.
“It’s either that or be alone. So, Buff” he said brightening,
as if his bad mood had suddenly disappeared. “Willow says you have a date. You’re moving on.
No longer taking up space beside me among the ranks of the dateless wonders.”
Buffy smiled. “If it makes you feel better
it’s Principal Wood and I think he’s aligned
with the First.”
“Also like ten years older than you,
right.”
Willow smiled brightly. “Which is like a
hundred years younger than your type.”
“Yea . . . Somebody who doesn’t
remember the Industrial Revolution.”
“I think they’re gonna end up making
out . . . ‘Principal Wood,’ she’ll gasp. ‘I love your
lack of wicked energy.’”
Buffy tossed some laundry at her. “Watch it
. . .Or I’m gonna make you talk about your
new girlfriend, who you hold hands with under the dinner table and think we don’t notice.”
Willow’s teasing abruptly
stopped.
The front door crashed open again. A few
moments later in came Giles and an Asian girl,
their arms filled with shopping bags. Giles dropped his on the floor just inside the front door.
“Dear lord, I hate that mall. The shop
attendants are rude and everything on the food
court is . . . sticky.”
Willow said, “Looks like you found her some
stuff.”
Giles looked up and saw Buffy, Xander and Willow
over by the couch. “Oh, hello . . .
Yes!”
“It’s gotta be rough,”
remarked Xander, “getting pulled out of your home, being told
you’re a potential slayer. Not being able to bring anything.”
“And the language barrier is . . . formidable!
I was concerned that my Mandarin is a little
thin, but as it turns out she speaks Cantonese, which is . . . thinner. But we muddle through, and
as I suspect, ice-cream is a universal language.”
Seeming awkward in room full of people who
couldn’t easily understand her, the
potential slayer spoke.
Buffy smiled widely before looking over at Giles.
“What did she say?”
“She’s, um, grateful to be in the land
of plenty.” He spoke slowly to the potential, using
what seemed to be meaningless gestures. “Lets . . . go . . . and put away . . . your new clothes.”
He gestured upstairs.
The potential gave him a thumbs up. She and Giles
each picked up some of the shopping
bags and left the room.
Buffy frowned, “Somehow I seriously doubt
that’s what she said.” She turned back to her
friends. “Hey, Will, do you think you can do a computer check on Principal Wood. See if you
can find anything out.”
“Yeah . . . sure.”
Xander frowned at them. “Come on, Buff.
Live in the moment. Why go looking for
trouble. If it’s gonna find you, it’s gonna find you.”
Getting the most out of your new
microwave,” Andrew read aloud. “Hmm, nice.” He
turned a page. “Clock, comma, setting the . . . page three.”
“You don’t need a manual.
It’s intuitive,” said Jonathan. He gestured at the microwave.
“There’s a button marked ‘clock set’ for pity’s sake. What kind of nerd are you? No wonder you
crashed your jet-pack.”
“Oh,” Andrew looked across the
kitchen at Jonathan, fear growing behind his eyes. He
began to back away toward the counter and picked up a cross that he suddenly saw laying there.
He held the cross out in front of him like a shield. “Get thee behind me. I refute thee . . . take
that the . . First!”
Jonathan shook his head and approached him.
“Look you monkey,” he raised his hand,
moving it back and forth so the fingers passed through the cross. “Ooo . . . ahh . . . it burns as it
ineffectually passes through me. I’m not corporeal remember . . . also not a vampire so . . . ” He
smiled at the feebleness and impotence of it. “. . . the cross.”
Andrew put the cross down. “What do you
want from me, Jonathan-slash-the First.”
“I have an assignment for
you.”
Andrew put up a brave front. “Um, I follow
Buffy’s orders now. I’m redeeming myself
for . . . killing you. I mean . . . for . . . killing Jonathan.”
“Really! Why, so you can earn a spot on
her little pep-squad? You think she’ll ever let
you in. You’re a murderer.”
“Confidentially, a lot of her people are
murderers . . . ah, Anya and Willow and Spike.”
“Interesting, and you’re the only one
she makes seek redemption. Does that seem fair to
you?”
Andrew looked away for a moment. “I
guess not.”
“You know we’re heading for a fight
don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think the world’s going
to be like after that,” the First asked him. “News
flash, there’s not going to be a slayer gang anymore, but there is going to be evil, and as long as
there is evil I live, and as long as I live you can dwell at my side.”
“Sounds nice,” Andrew
admitted.
“Your assignment won’t be hard.
They’re just little girls.”
“You want me to hurt the
girls.”
“No, not all of them . . . not Dawn . . . not
Anya . . . not Willow . . . and not your friend
Buffy. Just the Potential Slayers.”
“That’s . . . That’s horrible.
I’m gonna scream and . . . and get Buffy in here.”
“She can’t see me,”
Jonathan said quickly. “I’ll still be here and I’ll keep talking until
you hear what I have to say. Listen up, okay. The girls must die . . .”
“I . . . I could never do that. All those girls . .
. all that blood. I didn’t like the stabbing
before.”
“You don’t have to stab them.
This’ll be easy. Andrew, I want you to think . . . Willow
brought something into this house . . . Something good . . . Something you can use.”
Andrew gestured. “The new
microwave?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “The gun! I want
you to think hard. Where did they put the
gun.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m not sure if it’s a
date.” Buffy admitted. “It wasn’t exactly clear. That’s why I chose
a top that says, you know, I’m comfortable in a stodgy office or a swinging casual setting, or
killing you, you know, if you’re a demon.”
“It also says I sometimes get blood on my
shoulder . . . or it might be pizza.” Anya
stopped rubbing at the stain and handed the shirt back. “I don’t think I can fix it.”
“Thanks for trying.”
“It’s good that you’re dating.
Get back on the horse and all that.”
“Yeah,” replied Buffy.
“Horses and saddles and all that. Why don’t you . . . date, I
mean.”
“I should. I will. It’s just . . . after
Xander, most guys are just . . . blah!”
Buffy replied emotionlessly. “I know what
you mean.”
“I meet other guys and I think I miss
Xander’s arms or Xander was funnier or Xander
probably has a bigger . . .”
“Okay!” Buffy said a little too loudly
and hoping Anya didn’t finish what she expected to
here her say. “New topic.”
“He ruined me for other men!” Anya
sighed. “I miss Xander.”
“Sorry.” Buffy said hopelessly.
“Anyway, I thought you were all angry at him.”
“My feelings are intense . . . but changeable.
And I really miss his . . .”
Buffy turned away. “I should really go and
find something else to wear.”
“Fine, go . . . Leave me here to stew in my
infinite rage.”
Buffy stopped and turned back to her.
Anya turned suddenly coy and gestured toward
the door. “I’m also gonna pee, so you
should probably go.”
Buffy walked out of the bathroom, closing the door
behind her, and ran straight into
Spike in the hall. There was a long awkward moment when neither of them knew what to do or
say. They just stood there awkwardly.
“You look nice,” Spike said
finally.
“Oh, ah, thanks!” Buffy looked down
at the camisole that she was wearing. She suddenly
felt like she was standing there naked in front of him. Then again he had always made her feel
that way. “Um . . . traditionally one wears something over this.”
“Heard you got a date!”
Buffy felt something go through her. Something
that made her want to crawl back inside
her skin and die. “Ah . . . Well, it’s . . . unclear. Well, it’s . . . I had this whole thing about a
promotion . . . or he’s evil.”
“Buffy, I’m
alright.”
She felt like crying. “You don’t have
to be . . .”
“What? Be noble. I’m not. Really
I’m alright.” “You think I still dream of a crypt for
two with a white picket fence? My eyes are clear.”
“Good,” Buffy said numbly.
“I’m glad.” She fought the tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“I never much cared for picket fences
anyway. Bloody dangerous.”
“You should try this, too. The going out
thing, I mean. There’s that girl that you brought
to Anya and Xander’s not-a-wedding.”
“Oh, yeah, right. There’s always
girls that like the look. Bad boy, ya’ know, does it for
some of them.”
“Yeah, I can . . . see that.” Buffy
looked away from him, and gestured down the hall. “I
should go. Don’t wanna be late.”
Spike stood there long after she left. For once not
a single one of the emotions he was
feeling was visible on his face.
Buffy and Wood walked together down an
alley.
Buffy stopped and looked around.
“This isn’t right.”
“I know it doesn’t look promising.
But I swear this place is great. Best kept secret in
town.” He gestured further down the dark alley. “It’s just right down this way.”
“Well,” Buffy admitted. “It is
one of the nicer dark alleys.”
Wood chuckled. “I promise you. It’s
just a little bit further.”
“Okay.”
Further up ahead of them something moved. A
vampire stepped out. More came from
behind. Suddenly Buffy was in a fight.
Three of them came at her. Buffy kicked and
punched in poetry of motion. Always
moving, always lashing out. When she took a punch she turned around and punched right back,
harder. One of the vamps went down. Buffy sprang up, using him as a step to jump at the largest
one. Buffy sprang up on his back, like a child hoping after a piggy-back ride. She reached over
his shoulder and stabbed a stake down into his chest. She felt his body crumble into ash beneath
her and she landed on her feet.
She went directly for the next vampire. Blocked the
punch he threw at her. Blocked
another punch. Blocked a kick. She found her opening, stabbing straight out from her shoulder
and into his heart.
Buffy ducked a flying kick from the next vampire,
but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the
kick after that, the world flashing behind her eyes and her neck taking a sudden jolt as the kick
connected with her skull and knocked her from her feet. He came at her as she was trying to get
back up, sending another spinning kick at her head. She snapped back away from him, making
him miss, making him lose control for a split second. She took that split second to run a stake
through his heart.
Buffy looked up at Wood angrily. “You set
me up you son-of-a . . .”
Wood stood there fighting with two vampires. She
saw a punch and a rather nice looking
kick connect with one of the vampires, knocking it off its feet.
“What?”
Wood ducked a high, sloppy kick from the other
vampire. Punched it. Hit/threw it
against the wall of the alley and staked it through the back. The vampire turned to dust.
The first vampire had regained its feet. Wood
kicked it in the head, knocking it down
again. The vampire flailed almost blindly to defend itself but Wood stabbed down into its heart
and mercilessly watched it die right there in front of him. Stood there and watched it crumble
into dust.
He turned and started walking back toward where
Buffy still kneeled. Wood flipped the
stake over in his hand and dropped it into a holster beneath his coat. He held out a gentlemanly
hand and helped Buffy to her feet.
Wood looked at her.
“I guess we should
talk.”
Buffy looked at him.
He gestured to a door wit a small green awning just
a little further down the alley. “The
restaurant’s right there.”
Wood put a hand in the small of her back and led
her silently into the restaurant.
“This place is nice,” Buffy said.
They were seated at a table in the restaurant with their
menus in front of them. “How the hell did you do that?”
Wood chuckled. “I’ve had a little
practice. I’ve never took on two at once before but
I’ve taken out a vamp here and there, and some demons.”
“So . . .” remarked Buffy,
“You’re freelance.”
“Mm . . . freelance, I guess that’s a
good way to put it.”
A bright, embarrassed smile. She couldn’t
quite manage to make herself meet his eye.
“And you know who I am?”
“You’re the
slayer.”
“So I’m guessing you don’t
work in an office fifteen feet above the hellmouth because
you enjoy educational administration.”
“Well I actually do enjoy the work, but I . . .
Yeah, you’re right. I maneuvered myself
into that school, and that office, just like I maneuvered you there. The hellmouth draws the bad
things in close. Now we’re heading for something big, Buffy, really big, and I need to be here
when it happens. I want to help.”
Part of Buffy couldn’t help but feel a little
betrayed. Like he had taken something from
her that she thought she had earned. “So . . . So you didn’t hire me for my counciling skills?!”
Wood laughed out loud for a few moments before
he saw the look on her face, realized
and tried to rectify his mistake. “They’re valuable too.”
“Why didn’t y-you tell me about
you?”
“I wasn’t sure about things
yet.”
Buffy frowned. “You didn’t think
you could trust me?”
“Oh, no. I wasn’t sure I was ready
yet. Ready to jump into this fight.”
“And now you are?”
“Now the fight is starting, or it’s
starting to start, and I don’t have time to worry anymore.
I have to do something.”
“So y-you know who I was before you
even came here?!”
“Yes.”
“How? How do you know about
slayers?”
“Right. Okay. See, when I was a little boy,
my mother was one. The one. The Slayer.”
“Your . . . mother . . . Wow, I . . . I-I
didn’t know that any Slayers had children.”
“Well, I don’t know of any others.
She was killed when I was four. I-I still remember her
but . . . it’s a little . . . fuzzy, you know.”
Buffy looked down, not knowing quite what to say.
“Um some-something got her? A
demon . . .”
“A vampire. Oh man, I went through this
whole avenging son phase in my twenties but I
never found him, so now I just dust as many of them as I can find, figure eventually I’ll get him.
That’s probably why we got jumped outside. I’m not very popular with the bumpy foreheaded
crowd and I bet you aren’t either.”
“No,” Buffy smiled and shook head.
“Not most of them.” But that led to thoughts she
didn’t want to think about. Thoughts that would make her ashamed to be sitting here across from
a man that smiled at her that way. “So do you have any Slayer powers . . . I’m sorry . . . I . . . I’m
just so floored I have no idea what to ask.”
“No. No, I don’t have powers. No
super strength or mythic responsibilities. I’m just a
guy with a few skills because her watcher took me in and raised me.”
So-oo,” Buffy said coquettishly. Looking
directly into his eyes. “So you decided to tell
me.”
“That’s right.”
“In a darkened . . . romantic . . . little french
restaurant.”
“Um . . . yeah . . . not really sure how that
happened, but . . . yeah.”
Buffy smiled.
Jonathan stood in the middle of Buffy’s
living room as Andrew approached carrying a
paper bag. “You find the gun?”
“Yes. It was in Buffy’s underwear
drawer. She has nice things.”
“Show me.”
“Well, I didn’t take them but there
were thongs and regular underpants . . .”
“Show me the gun!”
“Here.” Andrew held out the bag
and Jonathan looked down and saw the gun lying in the
bottom of the bag. “Willow tried shooting Kennedy with that.”
“Great,” remarked Jonathan.
“Now, there’s gonna be panic and fleeing when you start
firing so you’re gonna have to get them trapped someplace like the basement.”
“And we’re killing them
because?”
“Because they’re the future of the
slayer line. When they’re gone, the line is gone.”
“Ah-huh. Ah-huh. So why not have Spike
do it. He’s the one with the trigger?”
“It’s not time for him yet,”
Jonathan said, visibly annoyed at Andrew’s lack of anything
resembling focus. “You’ll wait for the next time they’re training in the basement. Don’t just
rely on a locked door to keep them in. You’ll need more.”
“Okay.” Andrew walked a few
steps away. Stopped and leaned on an end-table. “Say,
do you have any weaknesses I should know about if I’m gonna work for you, like, um . . .
kryptonite, or . . . allergies?”
“What are you asking?”
“Nothing . . . um, are you made out of the
evil impulses of humans so that if everyone
was unconscious at the same time you would fade away?”
“You’re asking a lot of
questions?”
“Yes, well . . . I, uh . . . because I’m
evil . . . and I want to do the best I can . . . at that . . .
also, I wanna . . . know stuff, like . . . When . . . When do we kill Buffy?”
Jonathan’s gaze sharpened. “Are
you wearing a wire?”
Willow lowered her headphones and looked at
Anya, Dawn, Kennedy, Amanda and
Xander as they stood around her. They were in the basement, sitting together around a table
while the remainder of the potentials slept wall-to-wall upstairs.
“What . . .” asked Kennedy.
“What’s going on?”
Willows gaze drifted between them
nervously.
“You think you can trick the First?”
Jonathan backed Andrew against the wall. “You
think you can squirm free? I hold you, Andrew. I made you do this . . .” Jonathan had brought
the palms of his hands against his chest and now showed them to Andrew soaking in blood.
“Jonathan suffered. He was your friend and he trusted you and now he spends eternity in pain
because of what you did.”
“No.” Andrew shook his head.
“What’s happening to you?”
“This is what you did to him. Took away
everything he was and left him like this. You
started down a road with that action and you have to keep going.”
“Stop looking like Jonathan. You’re
not him. You’re the First and you’re trying to get
me to shoot innocent girls but I won’t do it. I’m good now. And when the fight is over I’m
going to pay for killing Jonathan.”
Jonathan threatened him with a look.
“You’re gonna pay for more than that. You know
why?! Because the biggest, baddest First Evil in the world’s angry with you.”
“YOU THINK THIS WAS
SMART?”
“I’m hearing something,”
Willow said, listening intently to her headphones, pen held
ready over a piece of paper.
“YOU THINK YOU CAN TRICK ME, DO
YOU?”
Kennedy reached out and pulled the headphones
off of Willow’s head. The voice was
coming from all around them.
“It’s not in the headphones,”
Kennedy told her. “It’s out here.”
“YOU ONLY HEAR WHAT I WANT YOU TO
HEAR. YOU ONLY SEE WHAT I
WANT YOU TO SEE.”
Dawn’s eyes widened as she saw
Jonathan flash into being in the basement. She made a
noise. Everyone turned and saw what she saw.
Amanda screamed.
The image of Jonathan seemed to be rotting before
their eyes.
“SO MANY DEAD GIRLS! THERE
WILL BE SO MANY!”
Jonathan disappeared.
Xander shook his head. “I knew this was a
bad idea.”
“So we’re thinking it didn’t
got too well,” Willow said as everyone stood around in
Buffy’s living room. Giles was there now.
“You should have let me do this
fast,” said Dawn as she tried to remove the tape that held
the transmitter to Andrew’s chest. Andrew was holding up his shirt.
“Oh, no, no. I hate that. Ow.” She
ripped some of the tape from the boy’s chest.
Spike stood in the corner with his arms crossed.
“You tried to record the ultimate evil.
Why? In a complex effort to royally piss it off?”
“Guess we succeeded pretty good,
huh?!” quipped Kennedy.
“I never should have gone in wired.
Redemption is hard!”
Giles frowned at him. “Back to
Spike’s question, why did you try to record it?”
“To study it,” Willow said.
“To see if we could figure something out from what it was
saying. ‘Cause guys, we have to face it. We know nothing about the First.”
“Well,” said Anya. “We know
not to record it. That’s something.”
Spike cut in. He gestured to Andrew, “Why
did it appear to this one then? I thought it
was supposed to be pulling my strings.”
“It said it wasn’t time for you yet.
Ow!” Dawn ripped off another piece of tape. “I’m
frightened, and my chest hurts where the tape was.”
Spike and Giles both looked thoughtful. Thinking
through what Andrew just said.
“It’s okay, Andrew,” Dawn
said. “You did good. You stood up to it. That’s really
amazing.”
“Thank you. You’re a
peach.”
Dawn smiled.
Anya, “Yeah, um, what did it want you to do
anyway?”
“Shoot all the girls.”
Dawn, worriedly, “Shoot
girls?”
“Not you. Just the
potentials.”
Dawn, “Well, that’s something
anyway.” Dawn corrected herself. “Something tragic.”
“This proves my point.” Giles
snapped. “This time is crucial. We should be circling the
wagons instead of doing something like going out on dates . . . wh-when gunplay is imminent.
Willow, call Buffy, get her back here. We need to dispose of the gun a-and figure out our next
move.”
“I’ll go get her,” Spike
suggested.
Giles, “No, Willow can just call her . . .
cell-phone.”
“No.” Willow shook her
head
Giles looked at her.
“What?”
“I said no.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s no reason
to.”
“No reason?!”
“Giles, answer me this. What’s
changed since Robin Wood showed up here and picked
Buffy up? I mean what has really changed? Is anybody hurt? Is anyone in any more danger than
they were when she left.”
Giles removed his glasses. “Willow, I
don’t think . . .”
“No. You don’t. When was the last
time you remember Buffy going out on a date? And
I don’t mean whatever it was that she did with Spike last year. An actual date?”
Giles just stared at her.
“I’ll tell you when. It was Riley. That
was three years ago, Giles. Three years. She has
lost her mother since then. She has died since then. And you have the nerve to say that she is
shirking her responsibility by dating. How dare you. More than anybody else in this room she
deserves a little happiness in her life. Just one little shred of contentment. So . . . no, I’m not
calling her. Not unless I have to. And if you know what’s good for you you’re not calling her
either.”
Willow stormed out of the room.
Kennedy took a moment and chased after
her.
Spike quietly left the room. The front door closed
softly behind him.
Xander looked around at the faces that remained.
“Well, that was interesting.”
Dawn looked at where Spike had been standing a
few moments before and then met Giles
eyes coldly. “You’re not calling her.”
“Oh, my God,” said Buffy.
“Mmm. Oh, my God. That may be the best thing I’ve ever
had in my mouth.”
Oh, come on girl you know that isn’t entirely true. But she couldn’t exactly tell the man
she was out on a date with that could she.
“Isn’t it good. They soak the pears
in brandy. Here.” Wood used his fork to capture
something from his plate. “You need a bite with the sauce.”
He extended his hand across the table to her and
Buffy leaned in, opened her mouth and
seductively, teasingly, enveloped the bit of food with her mouth. “Mmm.”
“Spike.” The bartender’s eyes were wide. If one knew to look they’d see the sudden
tremble of his hands.
“Hey . . . Willy.” Spike’s calm tone was laced over dangerous steel as he sidled up to the
bar and took a seat. “Long time, no see. Got used to comin’ in ‘ere n’ findin’ flunkies. Was
beginning to think that you wised up, gotten yourself retired. Shoulda known better.”
“Wh-What da ya want?”
“Peace,” said the vampire as he leaned over his lighter and lit the tip of a cigarette
hanging from his mouth. “Contentment.” He snapped the lighter closed and slipped it back in
the pocket of his jeans. “Maybe a knock-down, drag-out brawl to punctuate my day. Let’s just
start with a beer.”
Trying to steady his trembling hands Willy filled a mug from the tap and slid it onto the
bar.
“So what’s new?” the vampire asked.
Willy waited a long nervous moment before he seemed to remember that he should
respond. “I-I heard you cleared up your head.”
“You heard that, did you?!” Spike met the man with cold eyes, eyes devoid of kindness
or mercy. “Yeah,” just a hint of a smile played about Spike’s mouth, “I can feel that . . . your
fear . . . the way it’s growing in you . . . beneath your skin . . . the way its spreading all out
through your blood as it takes hold . . . to your arms . . . your legs, ‘til they’re unsteady n’ you’re
not sure they’ll hold you. You wanna run, don’t you?! But you know you’ll never make it. I can
see it in your eyes. I can smell it all over you. Your skin . . . your sweat . . . your . . . bladder . .
.”
The vampire made a face. Reached across the bar and caught the bastard by the shirt.
“Let’s cut the chit-chat you little weasel. I’ve been starving for a long time. But I’d just
as soon drink the blood of the dead than tap the vein of someone who bloody pisses themselves
at the first sign of trouble in their insipid, little lives so let’s make this quick. You keep track of
just about every finger anyone has stirring their own bloody piss-pot in this rancid little town and
you see it all go down. What I want to know is where the fuck can I find myself a little bit of
fight tonight. Whose kettle has come to boil and needs a little stompin’ on before they’ll learn
their place? Otherwise, I’m gonna take my frustration out on you right now, one strip of bloody
skin at a time.”
Willy’s eyes were wide. Dark and empty. The smell of piss hung around him like a
cloud. “Okay, okay . . . I-I may know something. There’s this guy I heard about, lives on the
other side of town . . . he, um . . . fancies to make a play for the slayer . . .”
Buffy stood there. Shifted from foot to foot. Her arms were wrapped around her middle
awkwardly. When Robin Wood turned and looked at her she forced herself to relax, dropping
her hands to her sides. He stood there for a long moment, his eyes on her. She bit her top lip,
nerves a flitter in her abdomen, feeling naked and exposed. Her gaze settled to the floor before
she stole another quick glance at him, suddenly nervous to meet his eye.
She forced a smile. Looked at the room around her. A couch. A comfortable chair.
Shelves filled most of two walls, overrun with an eclectic mix of books. Whatever spaces there
were in the room, whether on the shelves or small end-tables near the chair or the couch seemed
filled with objects discovered over a lifetime of living in the world. The room was lit with a dim
comfortable light. It reminded her of what Giles’ place was like before he decided to abandon
her and move back to England. In ways that were too awkward and strange to qualify it felt like
coming home.
“It’s nice.”
“Yeah . . . I guess,” said Robin Wood slowly, shrugging off his jacket. “If you’d like to
live in the British Museum.”
Buffy chuckled.
Wood laid his jacket over the back of the chair. Tugged at his tie with his fingers and
loosened it. He was wearing a white dress shirt.
“I . . . I had a nice time.”
“Me too.”
Buffy’s finger’s absently toyed with the pendant on a thin strand of silver around her
neck. She smiled nervously. “It’s been a long time since I’ve actually been out on a date like
this. I mean with the food and the conversation and the picking me up at my door.” She looked
around at everything around her. “And especially with . . .”
“Long time?” asked Wood, facing her and taking a step forward.
Buffy’s small tongue slipped out and ran over her top lip.
Wood came a little closer. “How long?” he wondered, very close to her.
She looked up at him. He large hand came up and touched her chin, his fingers so soft
and gentle on her cheek. She tilted her head fractionally, settled her cheek against his touch.
“Seems like another lifetime,” she whispered breathlessly before their lips came together in a soft
tentative kiss. Buffy opened her mouth, breathing him in. Her tongue was gentle across his lip
before they drifted apart, leaving him looking down into her wide green eyes.
His large hand remained gently cupping one small pert breast through her camisole and
blouse. His brown eyes, normally so enigmatic, were burning with desire.
Buffy smiled up at him coyly.
Wood stepped into her, and she into him. He with fistfuls of her blouse. Crushing her
lips with his. Mouths opening into each-other. Arms tangled about the other. Buffy gave voice
to a small, muffled moan. One of her small, perfect hands ran desperately along to the back of
his scalp.
Wood’s mouth left hers, leaving Buffy panting with want as his lips trailed down to the
side of her neck. Soft. Delicate. And sending tremors throughout her body as his lips and
tongue teased at that sensitive bit of skin near where her pendant hung. Her small mouth was left
open in a perpetual gasp. Her head tilted away infinitesimally, inviting each touch. Fire seemed
to race across her skin and warmth up her body when he unexpectedly nipped at the angle of her
throat.
Buffy moaned aloud.
His gentle hands and fingers were unbuttoning her blouse. His mouth slid lower along
her skin. Her breasts straining at the camisole. The first breast came delightfully free and he
attacked it with zealous abandon. The unfamiliar warmth, the squeeze and caress of his large
hand, the tug of his mouth on her nipple made her knees weak. She felt dizzy and lost. Only
Wood kept her from falling.
Wood’s free hand came around, cupping her tight ass through her pants. Holding her to
him, against the hardness that was growing beneath his belt-line. Buffy took the hint and
wrapped her legs around his waist. Her arms over his shoulders, around his neck. Two awkward
steps later Wood had her with her back against the door. His hard cock pressed forward against
her through their clothes. Buffy tipped her head back and moaned.
The door opened with a crash, hung there from one hinge for a moment, and then fell
completely to the floor, landing with a loud clap. The old man inside looked up, startled, and
watched as the angry platinum haired vampire came through the door carrying a sword.
Spike’s eyes widened for a moment at the sight of him.
“Doc!?” Pleasant sounding, as if he had unexpectedly come across an old friend. “Didn’t
exactly s’pect it’d be you.” The vampire’s eyes narrowed, long remembered anger burned like
cinders behind his blue eyes. “I heard you were dead . . . again.” Spike’s voice was like ice,
calm, merciless. “Doesn’t anyone stay dead when you kill ‘em anymore?”
Doc stood up. He picked up a sword that laid beside him and smiled gently back at
Spike. “Look who’s talking!”
The two men slowly circled each-other in the room, only neither of them were really men,
though sometimes they liked to pretend that they were. They were monsters, hungry for blood
and set at each-other in the dark.
“I‘ve been waiting for this a long time,” Spike said almost wistfully. “I owe you for quite
a lot. As a personal favor, from me to you, I’ll try not to make it quick. It’s gonna hurt a lot.”
His words were tight with venom. “What do ya’ say, Doc . . . how ‘bout you n’ me have a
go.”
“I do have a prior appointment.”
“Who is it this time? The First? You might as well send it your regrets . . . You’re not
gonna make it.”
“I barely even smell the girl on you anymore,” Doc pointed out. “She turned you loose.
Why do you even care?”
“I imagine I owe you for part of that as well.”
Doc smiled, “Finally figured that out, have you?! And they say vampires normally aren’t
very intelligent.”
“I always had my suspicions,” Spike pointed out slowly, “but I barely had time to follow
through at the time. That soldier boy you set after me nuked my crypt and most of what I could
easily get my hands on then so I hardly had the resources. But you can bet that if I had known for
certain, you and I would have settled this long ago.”
“Are you sure you want to play this game again?” Doc asked politely. He looked as if he
was taking the time to study the reflection of the room off his blade. “I can’t imagine it ended
very pleasantly for you the last time we both took the floor.”
“You hurt the girl. She was mine. For that if nothing else I’ll finish the dance. The
payment for that will be more painful than you could possibly imagine.”
“Your girlfriend’s not here to pick up the mess this time.”
“I’m just curious . . . do you smell it?” Spike asked. “Something different? Something
pure, and dark, and the sense of it cuts you to the quick like a blade. That smell . . . is death. It’s
the worst thing you could possibly imagine and it’s coming to collect.”
They fell together on the bed.
Buffy pulled Robin Wood’s shirt up and over his head and tossed it aside, leaving him
dark and bare-chested in the faint light. She bent down and started kissing it.
Robin stripped her panties, pulling them down past lithe, muscular legs.
He was kneeling on the mattress beside her. Sitting up, Buffy smiled unsurely at him and
began to fumble with his belt-buckle. Popped the button and zipped open his fly. Wood met her
eye and held it for a long moment when she touched him. Buffy looked away, but kept up the
slow, almost languid motion of her hand.
She gasped out loud when he entered her, her eyes opening wide and her mouth making a
pretty little o. He filled her with a warm tension, fitting inside her as any man might fit.
Remembered and unfamiliar. Carnal lust and a brief unquantified sorrow, as if she’d just
surrendered one more shred of her long lamented innocence.
Two bodies moved together in the dark.
Soft inarticulate noises.
No words.
A gentle rhythm.
Spike smiled grimly. “I think I’m gonna enjoy this!”
Doc came at him with the same lightning speed he remembered, like a blur suddenly set
into motion. Only this time Spike knew what to expect. He brought his hand up and blocked
Doc’s sword almost without a thought, blade catching against blade, before something impacted
against the middle of his chest like a freight train loaded with iron. He almost had time enough
to see Doc lower his extended leg before something slammed into Spike’s back. Spike fell at the
base of the wall for a moment before he got back up. Doc’s lightning kick had near thrown him
across the room.
“Maybe not as much as you think!” Doc barely smiled and for the moment he didn’t
seem intent on approaching Spike again. He just stood there where he was, carelessly posing
with his sword. “I beat you too quickly the last time, a mistake I don’t intend to duplicate.”
“Bloody hell, has everyone seen that movie?!”
“What can I say . . . Love the classics!”
The fight continued.
As the fight went on, even concentrating on defending himself from Doc Spike was
having a hard time of it. Doc was stronger it seemed. Faster.
Word that had passed through his lips three years ago flashed through his memory.
I had a plan . . . a good plan. Smart. Carefully laid out. But I got bored. All that
watching, waiting. My legs started to cramp.
Spike had to hope he’d do better this time.
His memory of the two previous fights with Doc, while both spectacular failures on his
part, gave him his only hope. The one opening he hoped would be all he’d need.
Each hit from Doc’s sword, lightning fast, defended against in the last moment, jarred his
shoulder in it’s socket.
And then he saw it, Doc’s hope for a killing blow. And end to the fight. Doc’s long
prehensile tongue shot out straight at Spike’s chest. Spike threw himself to one side to avoid it,
for the moment off balance, providing Doc with an opening if he could take advantage of it.
Before this had resulted in Spike getting thrown from the tower, and eventually in Buffy’s death.
But before, Spike didn’t have a sword.
Spike’s sword came up and around even as he dodged, severing the tongue in one precise
movement. The severed piece fell to the floor and wiggled convulsively. Doc screamed. The
next swing went at Doc’s arm.
Both his sword and hand fell to the floor between them.
“Actually a Braveheart fan myself.” Spike quipped as he advanced on Doc mercilessly.
Doc backed away and stumbled backward to the floor. Blood poured down his chin from his
mouth. “ ‘The good Lord says he can get me out of this mess, but he’s pretty sure . . . you’re
fucked.’ ”
Spike raised his sword and Doc’s eyes widened in the moment before his head was
cleaved off.
“That’s all folks!”
Spike kicked Doc’s head across the floor before picking it up and tossing it into the lit
fireplace at the far corner of the room. The flames turned green.
Buffy came through the door slowly and entered the room.
Giles looked up from the thick book he was reading. He was sitting in a high-backed
chair. Smiling, he laid the book down in his lap. There was a cup of tea on the end-table to
his left. He picked it up and took a careful sip.
“Dawn, could you close the door.”
“I didn’t open it.”
Dawn and Anya sat leaning over a checkerboard. Dawn reached out and moved one of
the red pieces twice. Dawn smiled widely at her accomplishment, wiggling victoriously in her
chair.
“King me!”
“Why would you want me to do that? You make such a pretty little girl.”
Buffy walked past slowly, shaking her head, and saw Willow and Kennedy trading soft,
affectionate kisses on the couch. Kennedy kissed one corner of Willow’s mouth and whispered
something softly in her ear that elicited a smile. Willow lowered Kennedy’s body to the couch,
herself on top of her. Softly kissed her shoulder.
“Any of you guys want to play checkers with me? Anya’s not playing fair.”
“I think we’re already playing,” Kennedy whispered, making Willow giggle.
There was another chair in the room, nestled up in the corner beneath a dim, comfortable
light..
Buffy smiled as she saw that she herself was there, relaxing in the chair, holding a
bundled blanket against her chest. Something made a faint noise, like a gurgle. “Shhh,” Buffy
whispered, softly, lovingly. “Shhh. Hush, princess.” Buffy smiled down at the tiny child in her
arms. She stuck out her tongue at the baby and smiled brightly at the response. A careless smile.
A smile Buffy hadn’t thought herself capable of.
Buffy tilted her head and watched herself.
“Mommy loves you, Lil’ bit!”
Buffy felt something inside herself. Disbelief warring with . . . hope. Hope that this
might someday be possible. Hope that one day she might have cause to dream about such a
thing.
Something cold suddenly crawled across Buffy’s skin as she watched herself. The
curtains moved faintly with a breeze. Suddenly the baby began to cry. “No. No, baby, it’s
alright. Mommy’s here.” Buffy held the baby up to her shoulder, one hand beneath it, the other
hand cradled in the middle of its back, softly resting her cheek against her child’s head.
“Mommy’s here and everything’s alright.”
The cold breeze crawled across Buffy’s skin. Buffy looked around before she saw that
the breeze seemed to be coming from the archway in the darkened corner, which led to another
room beyond. She walked in that direction slowly, deeper into shadow. When she passed
through the arch she found herself in a mud-room. The walls of the mud-room were cluttered.
There was also a thick wooden door that seemed to lead outside.
The thick door was held together by iron braces across its back, with square headed iron
bolts spread upon their length. It was held shut with an ancient iron latch. Buffy held up her
hand, felt the breeze that was coming out of the iron latch.
Buffy searched through the clutter to try to find something she could use to somehow fix
it with. She found a sword. Buffy just sat there and looked at the sword for a long moment,
scrunching her face just a little, as if trying to figure out what she could ever possibly do with it.
She reached out, wrapped her fingers around the iron doorhandle, and released the latch.
The hinges creaked as she pulled the thick door open and stepped outside.
Buffy found herself standing amid the wreckage of a fortress. The remains of half
crumbled stone walls remained here and there, like the skeletons of former greatness. The
landscape was grey and bleak. The dirt beneath her feet looked like ash. Still holding the sword
in her hand, Buffy turned and looked behind her to see another wall, one no less ancient than the
others but far more intact, though the mortar that held it together still looked brittle and some
parts of the wall seemed on the verge of collapsing. There were places where it appeared that
some good sized pieces had already fallen away and formed irregular piles of wreckage at the
base of what remained. The door she had come through appeared as a gateway, the stone shaped
around the door into an arch that led through the otherwise impassable barrier.
Some small rocks tumbled somewhere in the detritus, followed by the whisper of
crumbled mortar tumbling down like sand.
A noise made her turn. A mob stood opposite her. For the moment, neither moved.
Faces marked the crowd, faces marked and changed angry feral by the demon within.
Buffy realized they hoped to get past her to the arch beyond.
She alone stood against them.
One girl against the forces of darkness.
As it had even been.
Buffy straightened. Raised the sword at an angle across her small body. Her face,
delicate, cast in shadows. Deep eyes, like pits of steel.
Her voice was grim, playful.
She smiled.
“None shall pass.”
“You don’t really think you can win, do you?” asked one of the faceless mass.
Her smile widened, twitched on the verge of laughter.
“None . . . Shall . . . Pass!”
She stood there in the gateway as the thrall began to close on her. Seeing some motion
out of the corner of her eye, her sword came around in a flash of glittering steel cleaving the head
from the closest vampire in one smooth swipe. Each movement was like poetry as she moved
through the crowd that came at her. She punched, kicked, each series of moves always
punctuated in the end by one final sweep of her sword. Dust burned in her eyes.
The faces that swam before her were always familiar, if long forgotten.
The next face was one that she couldn’t help but remember. It had haunted her dreams
for years afterwards. Red eyes. Mouth and chin seemed faintly stained with a hint of red. Face
mangled beyond repair by age and the power of the demon that had for so long swam beneath.
From each dream she had awoke gasping for breath that wouldn’t come fast enough, the taste of
something stale lingering in the back of her throat.
The Master.
He came straight at her, quickly, hunched over just a little. Eyes angry and feral, like an
animal. Snarling, full of teeth and rage.
Buffy’s sword arced down without mercy. The Master’s body stumbled to one knee, fell
to the charred and lifeless earth in a pile of bones.
Vampires. Demons. All fell before her until mangled corpses were like litter and an
almost perpetual cloud of dust settled around her feet like a fog.
Buffy snapped a demon’s neck, the sound loud and sharp, and let the body fall where it
would. When she looked up, finding herself in an unexpected moment of respite, she saw the
next vampire standing there watching her. He too held a sword.
Angelus.
They stood there across from each-other, the Slayer and her former lover.
The faint hint of a smile marked Angelus’s face.
A sweep of a sword, another brought up to counter. The blades slid apart.
The enemies faced each-other.
The swords were almost too fast to watch. The motion, the sounds of the blades striking
sharply together, like music. Buffy blocked, leapt over a low strike quickly, spun around and
graced him with a roundhouse kick. Her sword came around and Angelus just barely managed
bring his up in time to block it. Another kick sent him crashing into part of the crumbling wall,
dropping his sword. Buffy’s sword shot straight out, stabbing him straight through the middle of
the chest and pinning him to the wall. He looked at her with a mixture of pain, bewilderment and
awe. Buffy tugged her sword loose with some crumbling gravel, swept around like she was
dancing, leaving nothing but dust settling around earth and stone.
The thing about the dance was, she never get to stop.
Buffy sent Faith crashing into the remnants of a wall. Part of the wall crumbled beneath
the impact. The dark-haired girl lay at the base of the crumbled stonework and didn’t get up
again.
Mayor Wilkins took the tip of a sword between the eyes. His skin melted into scales and
his limbs turned limp. Buffy put one boot on his head and tugged the blade free from bone.
Vampire after vampire exploded into clouds of cindery oblivion, leaving her choking on
the air.
Adam deflected a series of sword swipes with the hard, sharp spike sticking out of his
wrist and she punched out with her free hand, ripping deep into his chest before her hand finally
came free again. Adam stared at her for a moment with empty eyes, then fell down dead right
there in front of her. She threw away whatever was wrapped in her fingers and wiped her hand
on her pants before she was back in the thick of things again.
Someone was fighting alongside her now. She didn’t know how long he’d been there,
with the flash of platinum hair and the black leather flowing behind him like the wind, but he
was certainly there now.
A vampire knocked Buffy off her feet, getting the better of her for the briefest moment.
Its fangs flashed in her eyes, white and sharp. Buffy’s fingers desperately wrapped around the
hilt of her sword where it lay upon the ground, but before she could do anything the vampire
exploded into ash that settled down on top of her, revealing the pale man standing behind where
the vampire once was, holding a stake.
Spike.
He reached out his hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed the vampire dust off her
clothes and his blue eyes looked deep into hers. Her eyes drifted away.
Spike picked up Angel’s sword from the ground and came up to stand beside her. Buffy
brushed at the dust on her blouse.
Buffy went into it with Glory when she came with everything she had. Glory gave back
just as hard. Blood dripped from a cut high up on Buffy’s forehead near her hairline. A little
more came from her nose. Buffy wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.
Meanwhile, Spike fought Doc. Nothing but fists and fury. It was a dance of carnal
ferocity, both beautiful and terrible in its execution.
Glory had Buffy down. A kick to the ribs from the hell bitch and Buffy coughed up
blood. One hard punch arced down to finish it. Buffy moved, grabbed the arm as it presented
itself, and snapped the bones inside like cordwood. Glory fell, cradling her shattered arm. Now
it was Buffy who stood over Glory, the hilt of her sword held in both hands and stabbing
downward with all her strength, leaving behind nothing but the sad broken body of a man. Buffy
kicked dirt over it and stepped away.
With barely a moments respite the next enemy was upon her. They came with relentless
certainty. No matter how many Buffy killed or maimed, no matter how much dust or how many
corpses there were to see the next ones came on regardless. She impaled demons. Chopped the
head off a semi-corporeal wraith that materialized right in front of her. Rendered vampires limb
from limb. And still . . . they came.
Too many came.
Buffy found herself being overwhelmed. Vampires. Demons. Things that defied
description of any kind. And still . . . she danced.
A short distance away, Spike looked up from the remains of Doc and those of other
demons that littered the ground around him, and glanced in Buffy’s direction.
“BUFFY!”
With fear in his eyes, he suddenly began to run straight toward her. She stood fighting a
small crowd of enemies. A Turok-han loomed large right in front of her, angry and full of teeth.
Buffy brought her sword around, desperation fueling her, and cleaved its head from its neck.
More vampires reached for her from her right, getting close enough for one of them to get a
handful of her shirt before they died as well.
She felt another vampire closing in and turned, slicing blindly down at a forty-five
degree angle, before she even managed to bring her eyes around to watch it die. Spike stopped,
the cut she’d managed to make cleaving him from shoulder to hip, deep enough to spill his
insides out. He stood there, looking back at her with his deep blue eyes. Eyes just beginning to
realize the depth of her betrayal.
Buffy’s eyes widened with the realization of what she’d done.
Spike’s wide eyes darted up over her shoulder, a warning that came too late as a second
fire exploded without warning in her gut. She looked down at the tip of a sword poking out of
her middle, swathed in her own blood. The burning only grew in intensity as the Turok-han that
had come up behind her then ripped its blade free.
“Buffy!” Spike’s last word as he reached for her was only the barest hint of a whisper
before he crumbled into dust, his fingers just out of reach . . .
Buffy’s eyes snapped open in the dark. Robin Wood lay sleeping beside her, a deeper
shadow in the dark. Unmoving.
Buffy curled up upon herself and began to cry.
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