Title: Not The Girl You Think You Are

Author: Jeanny

Rating: PG-13

Feedback: Please. jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Spoilers: Season 7 Through Bring On The Night

Distribution: I don't mind, just credit me and let me know where it's going.

Summary: Why Annabelle ran in Bring On The Night.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, Inc., UPN and any one else with a legal binding claim to the shows and/or characters. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Exuding her usual unflappable calm, she looked into the mirror, pretending that she was merely combing her already perfect hair, that she had no worries or cares beyond the neatness of her appearance. She was always pretending, Annabelle realized. Pretending to be strong. Pretending to be confident. Now she was pretending she wasn't watching the reflections of the Slayer and Mr. Giles, talking quietly, far enough away that she could watch them unobserved through the mirror. She knew Buffy was shaken and frightened, despite her attempts to reassure them all. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but she'd always prided herself on her powers of observation.

Pride. Annabelle laughed silently, bitterly, as her gaze returned to her own features. She winced at the sunken look in her eyes. She looked ancient to herself, like she'd aged a thousand years that night. Pride was perhaps all that she had left, and it was an illusion, one more thing that was just pretense. If there was someone she could have gone to, to beg for release from this destiny, to beg for her life, she would have been on her knees in an instant, promising them anything. Anything at all.

Buffy had told them she'd keep them safe. Again Annabelle laughed to herself. There was no longer any such thing as safe; perhaps there never had been. And there were things she could no longer pretend, not to herself. That she was strong. That she had faith in them, these fighters of evil who seemed woefully overmatched to her.

That she would live through this.

Annabelle knew she would not. She could feel death's sharp breath on the back of her neck, pounding rhythmically into her like the rapid beating of her heart.

She had thought, when the time came, that all the training she'd had, all the time she'd spent would have been worth something, given her some kind of self-assurance or peace. She knew she'd been a competent student. No, more than competent. Good. She'd been good. She'd done everything her Watcher had demanded without complaint, every single lesson, every training session-

"Without complaint? Really, Annabelle?" Warm coffee eyes met hers calmly. Eyes she'd last seen a few days before lying open, disbelieving, and dead. Annabelle dropped her comb with a strangled gasp. There, standing behind her, was her Watcher. Fidelma Wilde, a woman she had been closer to than her own mother, regarding her with wry amusement. "I'm dead less than a fortnight and you're already making up such stories...No, don't turn around, my dear," the Watcher added sharply as Annabelle started to turn. Obediently the girl continued staring into the mirror, her mouth working but no sound coming out.

"Oh! Oh...m-my...M-m-miss..." Annabelle finally managed. The girl's voice was barely audible, but the apparition glanced around quickly to make sure none of the others had noticed. Annabelle then saw Miss Wilde smile at her reassuringly, laying a finger against her lips in a shushing gesture.

"Act like I'm not here. None of the others can see me." Annabelle gave a jerky nod, reaching down and picking up her comb with trembling fingers.

"Why?" Annabelle rasped, and her Watcher sighed sympathetically.

"Because I am here for you, Annabelle, as I should be. Oh, my dear. Please don't be frightened, not of me. You know I could never mean you harm." Fidelma Wilde's hands fluttered to her throat before smoothing her graying auburn locks with an absent gesture utterly familiar to the lamb before her. The First had to fight to keep from smiling at the desperate hope in Annabelle's eyes. She'd wanted someone to tell her what to do since she got here, and now it was only too happy to oblige. "I can only stay a short while on this plane. But I had to warn you, Annabelle. You're in danger. You mustn't stay in this house another moment."

"B-but...Mister Giles..." Annabelle protested faintly, but the First could see the gleam of faith in her eyes. Unshakable faith in her Watcher, like a Slayer should have. Such a good girl, this one was.

"Does not know what I know. He cannot," the First added sorrowfully. Annabelle gave a small nod.

"Because you're dead. You...I'm so sorry, Miss Wilde, I couldn't save you."

"It's alright, Annabelle. It doesn't matter. My only concern now, as always, is you. Your destiny. I would like to have lived to see it fulfilled. You're...you've always been like a daughter to me." At the girl's look of surprise, it added, "I could never say it in life, decorum would not allow...but none of that matters now. I loved you with all my heart, and that's why I've come. You'll die, Annabelle. Can you not sense it?"

"Y-yes," Annabelle whispered. "I feel it...I feel something is wrong, but I-"

"It's time for action, Annabelle. You must go. Now. Or there's nothing to be done."

"I...where do I go?" the apprentice Slayer asked meekly. The First struggled not to smirk.

"Run away from this house and all you must do will become clear to you, I promise," it answered soothingly. Annabelle nodded, but still looked troubled.

"The others, I should tell them there's danger. Warn them."

"You should do as you're told," the First snapped, and Annabelle flinched. It continued more softly, "Please, Annabelle, trust me. You must. Go now, before it's too late. Your destiny must be fulfilled." The girl nodded, but much to the First's frustration remained rooted to the spot.

"I...don't think I can. Miss Wilde, I...I'm afraid," Annabelle stated with effort.

Annabelle saw her Watcher sigh with regret and she flushed with shame. When the First spoke it was with a mixture of compassion and disappointment that it knew would pray upon the girl's weakness perfectly.

"I know this is difficult. It must seem like I'm asking you to abandon a place of safety for the unknown. It's natural that you would feel some trepidation, dear, but I thought you were strong," The First sighed again. "I now see I was wrong. You are not the girl I...it cost me much to come here today, and I cannot remain."

"I'm sorry," Annabelle flushed with guilt as she gazed into the mirror, looking at her own reflection, seeing herself as if for the first time. She saw nothing but a scared, timid child, one who would never be a Slayer, never fight the forces of evil. Merely a sacrificial pawn, one that would be crushed under foot like so much dust. She closed her eyes and turned away, desperate not to see. Desperate to believe for another moment that she was the girl she'd always understood herself to be. Special. Chosen. Annabelle opened her eyes, jaw set. The First waited expectantly. "I can do it. I won't let you down."

The First smiled and allowed the image of Fidelma Wilde to vanish beatifically. It watched the girl drop the comb again, this time deliberately, gather herself and bolt for the door before any of the others could react, her unexpected act paralyzing them for precious seconds. The fears that plagued the young Slayer-to-be would lend her speed, enough to allude the Summers girl until it was too late.

"Good girl," it chuckled to itself. "Good, good girl." It looked around the now chaotic room, grinning at these pathetic beings, stumbling about. These so-called agents of good, whose pain would soon be staggering. It was pleasant to think about, and the First's smile grew impossibly wide. "Coming for you. Coming for all of you."

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FIN :)