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Choices—AR (Altered Reality) during Chosen
By spikeNdru, March 2004
Rated PG-13, the "Faith" chapter contains strong language.
Thanks to Painbow for more of her beta work, it is always appreciated.
If you had the chance to go back and do one thing differently, would you? What repercussions would that choice have?
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Spike felt the power building up inside of him. “Buffy!” he called. The power seemed to blow through the top of his head and then the sun beat down on him.
He’d always had a high tolerance for pain, but this was beyond anything he could imagine! The light gathered in his soul until it could hold no more. The amulet seemed to concentrate his soul’s light and pain; suddenly it burst from him in rays of light that incinerated the army of Turok-Han.
He felt light and free, yet solid and immovable at the same time. His body was pinned in place, caught in a rictus of agony. But his soul felt—cleansed. Angel had said something about scrubbing bubbles . . .
He furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes. He seemed to hear a voice saying something about choices. The ground rumbled and began to shake. Spike figured this was the end . . .
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The light shooting up from the cavern seemed to permeate Xander’s body. It felt warm and comforting. The ground began to shake and he thought he heard a voice giving him a choice. Something about if he could choose to do one thing differently. He struggled to make out the voice and then he blacked out. As consciousness faded, Xander thought, *I really wanted to marry Anya.*
Xander
Xander opened his eyes to find Willow straightening his bow tie and making a remark about the two of them and formal clothes. Xander took a deep breath and almost popped the cummerbund Buffy had needed to use Slayer strength to fasten.
What in Hades was going on out there? It sounded like WW III was breaking out! He should have known that assorted demons and drunken Harrises were “unmixy” things. Okay. He did know that, but had invited them all anyway. What had he been thinking?
Squaring his shoulders, he marched into the room where the ceremony was scheduled to take pace. Putting two fingers into either side of his mouth, he let lose a piercing whistle. All action immediately froze.
“You have five seconds to sit down and shut up or Anya and I are going to Vegas!” he announced.
An old man was plucking at his sleeve, trying to get his attention. The old man was saying something abut needing to talk to him. Xander politely, but firmly, blew him off.
“Sorry, Uncle Whoever-you-are. It’ll have to wait. I’ve got a wedding to go to.”
The guests had righted their chairs and settled down as much as they were going to, he guessed.
He was looking around for Willow, just as he felt her slip her hand into the crook of his arm. The string quartet had begun to play and he and Willow began to walk down the isle. The crazy old man was calling something to him, but Xander couldn’t make out the words. His ears were buzzing and his stomach was doing flip-flops. He was more nervous then he had ever been before. He was terrified—yet, deep within him was a calm, cool place of certainty. It was a place he had only touched once before, when he faced down a crazy zombie about to set off a bomb that would blow up the school.
He put his hand over Willow’s and gripped it tightly as he turned to face the crowd. The musicians segued into The Wedding March as Halfrek began the walk down the isle.
Xander sighed. He knew she was all gung-ho with the “Justice” demon pride, but did she have to chose today to make a political statement? She had a perfectly acceptable human face; you’d think she’d be off duty at a wedding, wouldn’t you?
Tara was next to start down the isle. She was absolutely glowing. Xander figured it must be the sight of his “best man” standing next to him that elicited that warm, loving look. He was pretty certain it wasn’t directed at him.
Dawn followed Tara, and then Buffy.
Xander sucked in air with an audible gasp at his first sight of Anya. She had never looked lovelier. Her beaded strapless gown clung to her like a second skin to the knees and then flounced out in a sea of ruffles. With her long, golden hair, she looked like a mermaid.
He stared at her in awe. She seemed to float down the isle. She looked ethereal . . . insubstantial. Of their own volition, his feet moved toward her and he grasped both her hands, afraid she might float away if he didn’t hold on to her. She smiled radiantly.
They turned together to face the minister, as the former Anyanka became Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins Harris.
~*~
The yellow bus pulled up to the new high school. Robin Wood was giving last minute instructions as Xander clumsily embraced his wife for what they both knew may be the last time.
“I want to come with you Xander,” Anya cried. “I know I usually skedaddle at the first sign of an apocalypse, but now I’m afraid you won’t come back. If you’re going to die, I want to be with you. I don’t want to be alone! I don’t think I could stand it if you left me alone.”
“You won’t be alone,” Xander fondly patted her 7½ months pregnant belly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. I’ll never leave you.”
“Promise?” she asked fearfully.
Taking her face between both of his hands, Xander kissed her thoroughly. “I love you, Mrs. Harris,” he said as he turned to go.
“We love you, too,” Anya whispered.
Getting back on the bus to wait was the hardest thing she had ever done.
*****************************************************************************************
The blinding light from Spike’s amulet was vaporizing the Turok-Han. Buffy thought she heard Spike calling her name and tried to turn as a Turok-Han stabbed her from behind. She handed off the scythe to Faith and felt herself beginning to black out. She heard a voice saying something about choices. She’d made some bad ones in her time! Her mind went to the most seminal choice. . . the one choice that had changed everything. “I never shoulda slept with Angel . . .”
Buffy
Buffy pulled herself out of the manhole and turned to see Angel following her. Her breath caught in her throat. He was so beautiful! Even soaking wet and on the run for their lives, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. They sprinted for Angel’s apartment.
By the time they were inside, she was shaking with cold. He suggested that she get out of her wet clothes and get under the covers to warm up, but she couldn’t just strip with him staring at her like that!
Sensing her discomfort, he turned his back and she removed the sweater of her twin set, wincing as she did so. He heard her involuntary intake of breath and half turned, asking what was wrong.
“A cut, I think,” she said.
“Let me see,” he responded.
She turned her shoulder toward him and he came to sit on the bed beside her. Very gently, he moved the strap of her top and murmured, “It’s nothing. It’s closing already.”
His big hands cupped her shoulders and then slid down her upper arms. She turned to face him and, in an instant, they were kissing passionately. The first kiss encompassed all the love and longing and fear of losing him that Buffy could put into it. She had never felt this emotionally vulnerable before. She grabbed his face, needing more contact than just their lips. His hands tightened on her shoulders and the kiss deepened. She never wanted it to stop, but the human need for air eventually won out and she wrenched away, gasping for breath.
“I’ve never made love before,” she whispered.
She felt his hands still on her shoulders and he looked away.
“Neither have I,” he confessed in a low voice.
She looked at him enquiringly and he stood, facing away from her.
“I’ve had sex—lots of it,” his voice was low and tortured. “With barmaids and servants and prostitutes when I was human. I used them for my own pleasure and walked away without a second glance when I was through. As a vampire, I used sex for power and control, as well as pleasure. I’ve raped unwilling virgins right before I killed them, but I’ve never made love. I’ve never loved anyone before.”
Buffy stood and put her arms around his waist from behind. She rubbed her face on his back.
“I love you, Angel. And when we do make love, I want it to be perfect—for both of us. Now isn’t the time. The Judge is active and we need to do something to stop him and Spike and Dru. There’ll be time for us later. But Angel . . . I do want you!”
He turned and took her into his arms, holding her tightly.
“We can wait. I’m not getting any older.”
~*~
Buffy took a last careful look at each of her friends and loved ones. Over the past seven years, they had managed to stop everything the Hellmouth threw at them, but this time felt different. She knew there would be causalities. Not all of them would make it out alive. She concentrated on each of her comrades-in-arms, fixing them in her heart and her memory.
Willow and Tara. Willow was closer than a sister to her and had become, quite possibly, the most powerful witch in the western hemisphere. Buffy was very glad they had Willow on their side. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what all that power could do in the wrong hands. Thank God, Willow had Tara to keep her grounded. Willow thought she had worked out a way to close the Hellmouth forever. Willow and Tara were their best chance for survival, but, oh, please . . . don’t let anything happen to my best friend! I need her!
Her gaze moved to Giles and his wife, Jenny. They were the ones that had found the spell Willow modified that would hopefully close the Hellmouth. Giles was her rock! She couldn’t imagine a world without Giles. Jenny looked wistful. She was probably thinking about Rupie. Their four year old son was safe in England with Giles’ family, thank goodness. I’m a God-mother! Buffy thought of Rupie and a smile lit up her face. Please don’t let anything happen to Giles and Jenny. How could I ever face that little boy again if anything happened to his parents?
Her gaze touched on Kendra. She still thought Kendra was kinda strange, but she had proven to be a solid ally. It was funny how she could forget about Kendra until she suddenly showed up again with warnings about “a dark power rising in Sunnydale”. Buffy wondered what her life was like when she wasn’t here. A giggle threatened to burst out, and Buffy resolutely held it back. But she just couldn’t help picturing Kendra stored in a glass case like a museum display for months at a time until Mr. Zabuto saw the Bat Signal telling him there was a new dark power rising. He’d then dust her off, wind her up and pack her off to Sunnydale. Buffy knew that wasn’t kind, but Kendra was just so . . . earnest. And dedicated. And single-minded. Not to mention humorless. She was also strong and brave and Buffy was grateful she was here. It wasn’t her fault if the thought of a second slayer still gave her a wiggins, even after all these years!
Angel. Her opposite half. Together they made the perfect warrior. Darkness and light. Impulsiveness and rationality. They were both chosen. They were like two sides of a coin—or that ancient god with the two faces; male on one side, female on the other, but both parts of the whole. Angel was as essential to her as breathing. She smiled fondly at him. She couldn’t believe she had once thought he could be her boyfriend! How lame was that? Their destiny as Champions was so much more. They completed each other in ways they never could have done if they had gotten romantically involved. She shuddered at the thought. God! Sleeping with Angel would be like sleeping with . . . Giles. It was just creepy. It would have ruined everything! And this bond they now shared? She wouldn’t trade it for the world!
Buffy’s eyes at last came to rest on the love of her life. They had both grown and changed so much over the years, yet they always brought out the best in each other. He was her heart. Strong, loving, stalwart—his belief in her never faltered. Yet, he could always make her laugh. No matter how dark the situation, he met it with bravery and humor. He had asked her to marry him last night. He knew all the dangers they faced on a daily basis, he understood the life of a Slayer, yet he never lost his optimism. He never doubted that they could make a difference; that good would eventually triumph over evil. He gave her . . . hope.
Willow spoke. “Everybody ready?”
Buffy nodded. “Let’s do this.”
As the group began to scatter to take up their assigned positions, Buffy grabbed Xander’s hand and pulled him into a last tight hug. “Yes,” she whispered. “The answer is ‘yes’.”
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Fighting back-to-back with Giles, Robin Wood saw a dozen Bringers approaching. Stepping out to meet them, he decapitated one, incapacitated two more, and was reaching to stab a fourth when he felt a warm wetness flowing down his side. He felt no pain, as yet, and was surprised to realize he had been wounded. Looking up, a bright ray of golden light dazzled his eyes and he wondered if he were dying.
Killing the monster that had taken his mother from him had been his life’s goal for so long that he felt the bitter taste of failure that he would die without avenging his mother. He felt his consciousness slipping away.
Avenging his mother’s death wasn’t what he really wanted after all . . . what he really wanted was to kill that bastard before he had a chance to murder the woman who was Robin Wood’s whole world.
Robin (1977)
Robin Wood was terrified. He crouched behind the park bench in the shadows and watched his mother fight with the ghost man. He had pure white skin and hair. He must be a ghost. But he didn’t pass through things like ghosts were supposed to do. He watched “Space Ghost” every Saturday so he knew what ghosts could do. This ghost seemed solid, though—
and he was hitting Mama! Mama was trying to poke him with a stick, but the ghost knocked the stick out of Mama’s hand.
Robin knew he was supposed to stay put, but the stick was lying there, right in front of the bench. If he could just get the stick back to Mama, she would make the ghost go away and they could go home and have cookies and milk.
Robin whimpered as he saw the ghost’s face change. Now it was a monster! If it turned into a monster just like that, maybe he was just having a bad dream. He had bad dreams sometimes, but Mama said they weren’t real. If it wasn’t real, he didn’t have to listen to Mama and hide behind the bench! If he was having a bad dream, he could sneak out and get the stick and he could poke the monster and then maybe he’d wake up and call for Mama, and she’d bring him a glass of water and kiss him good-night again.
Robin crept out from behind the bench and picked up the stick, holding it out in front of him. The monster punched Mama in the face, but she spun around, leaped into the air and kicked the monster with both feet.
The monster could fly! It was flying right at him! Robin was frozen in terror. Robin gripped the stick tightly. The monster flew backwards at him and knocked him over and disappeared. Maybe it was a ghost after all.
Mama snatched him up and was hugging and kissing him and calling him her brave boy. Then she smacked him on the bottom and yelled at him for not staying hidden like she told him to.
Two Months Later
Robin sat in the chair at Day Care and kicked his heels against the wooden brace that held the legs together. It made a nice “thump” sound, so he did it again. Mama was late again. Sometimes she didn’t come at all and sent Crowley to pick him up. He was allowed to go with Crowley or Mrs. Washington that lived in the apartment across the hall, but no one else.
Robin thumped his heels some more. He was tired of waiting. Here comes Crowley! He smiled happily.
They walked home together and Crowley bought him an ice cream cone. They didn’t go home, though, they went to Crowley’s house. He kept asking when Mama was coming home and Crowley finally told him that Mama wasn’t coming home again.
Crowley said that a bad man was hurting people on the subway and trying to take their money and Mama tried to stop him. He shot Mama and now she was in the arms of the angels and was going to stay with Baby Jesus. Robin thought that would be okay as long as she didn’t stay with Baby Jesus too long. Maybe she’d be back tomorrow by the time he got out of Day Care. He hoped so.
Twenty-five Years Later
Robin led the small band of warriors into the new high school. Indicating the various directions, he watched Willow and Kennedy head toward his office and Buffy and Faith lead the Potentials down to the basement.
Last minute strategizing determined that the remaining civilians would form teams of two—Dawn and Xander headed for the atrium, Andrew and Anya took the north hall and he was paired with Giles. Waiting was the hardest part. He could hear the sounds of battle coming from deep in the earth beneath him, then saw a flash of white light that lit up the whole school and briefly dazzled his eyes. Willow’s spell must have worked.
The earth began to shake with the thunder of what sounded like an army of orcs approaching. How many Turok-Han were there?
The screams of dying girls rang in his ears as he and Giles prepared to do their part. He heard the explosion that signaled Dawn and Xander setting off their explosive charges, then closer, Anya and Andrew’s. The walls began to crack and parts of the ceiling fell down as a whole river of Turok-Han came into view. There were so many! What could a handful of humans do against the armies of hell?
They would do what they could, of course. Robin’s job was to protect Giles until the Turok-Han were in position. Giles pushed the plunger, setting off the explosion they were responsible for.
Robin was thrown backwards and a slab of wall came down on top of him. Sunlight poured into the school, incinerating hundreds of Turok-Han, but it wasn’t enough. As his eyes began to glaze, Robin saw the Turok-Han finding passage beneath the rubble, escaping into the sewers, and thus into the world at large.
The plan had been a good one; they had done what they could. They had all died as warriors, but the odds were just too damn overwhelming. As his eyes closed, Robin whispered, “I’m sorry, Mama.”
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Willow felt the power of the Goddess filling her. She drew mystical energy from the scythe, channeled it through her own body, and in a wash of glorious white light felt the power disperse to all the potential slayers in the world.
She handed the scythe to Kennedy with instructions to get it to Buffy. Willow giggled with childish glee. “That was nifty!”
She felt boneless and toppled over onto her right side, no longer able to remain upright, but the wonder and feelings of well-being remained.
Whoa! An explosion of light burst up from the cavern beneath her and blew the roof off the building. Spike’s trinket must be doing its thing! For an instant, she thought she glimpsed Tara’s beautiful form in the pillar of light. Tara was light and beauty and goodness. If she could do one thing differently, she would have listened to Tara about the power and purpose of magic. She wouldn’t have used it for her own ends and gotten addicted . . .
Willow
Willow opened her eyes and stretched carefully, trying not to disturb Tara, whose leg was thrown over hers and whose arm was across Willow’s waist and hip. Tara must have sensed some change though, because she gave a soft little murmur of sound and turned over to her other side.
Willow sighed contentedly. She still couldn’t believe it. She and Tara were going to England for the summer! Giles had proposed the trip yesterday and she and Tara had been so excited, they had stayed up half the night talking about it.
Giles had told his friend Althenea about the enjoining spell they had done last week when they had defeated Adam and brought down the Initiative, and Althenea wanted her and Tara to come to England! They were invited to come and study with the Coven for the whole summer!
Tara had been so excited, she’d been speechless. Willow smiled as she remembered Giles asking Tara if she wanted to go. She had opened her mouth several times to reply, and finally just ducked her head, hiding behind her curtain of hair, and nodded. She had looked up with such a radiant smile, Willow felt her heart skip a beat at the memory of it.
~*~
Willow gently smoothed Tara’s hair back from her sleeping face. She had been dreaming about the first summer they had gone to Devon to study. What a revelation that had been. Willow had felt an almost instant sense of belonging from the moment she met Althenea’s coven.
She was no longer a misfit—she had found her place and her purpose. And Tara had blossomed . . . when they met, Tara had been a beautiful rosebud, tightly closed, but with the promise of so much more. Under the tutelage of understanding and caring witches, Tara had completely lost the feelings of shame her family had spent a lifetime inculcating in her. As she truly came to believe she wasn’t a demon, she wasn’t “wrong”, the petals began to slowly unfurl until she became a full-blown rose, open to light and power. Willow had thought her heart would burst with happiness.
She and Tara had been back to study with the Coven twice more. After they had separated Glory from Ben, they trapped her incorporeal essence in stasis and teleported it to the Deeper Well, where the Coven had bound it for eternity. Ben had quit his internship at Sunnydale Hospital and was now living somewhere in the Rainforest, providing medical care and studying the uses of native plants with a local shaman. He wrote occasionally and it sounded like he had found a very fulfilling life.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t been quite as successful with Amy. After Willow had managed to de-rat Amy, Willow and Tara had tried to teach her the sense of connectedness with all life that they had learned through study with the coven. But Amy wasn’t ready to learn.
Consumed by envy and resentment, Amy had called up Prosepexa and tried to channel the life force of the planet through her to burn the earth to ash. Willow had tried to reason with her, but Amy had glared at her with hatred and spat out a last spell, trapping herself in Presepexa’s effigy.
Willow sighed. After three years as a rat, Amy was now a lifeless statue. Didn’t really seem like a step up. Until she and the Coven could figure out how to help Amy and reverse the spell, there was only one thing she could do. Willow sighed and returned the temple to its previous resting place below Kingman’s Bluff.
~*~
Last night Buffy had come home with a weapon they were calling a scythe, for some reason. Willow wasn’t quite sure why, as it definitely bore an ax-head. Scythes were long, slender blades, frequently curved, used for harvesting and reaping. *Hence, the name “Grim Reaper” who carried an actual scythe,* she thought. But if Buffy and Giles were dead set on calling this ax a scythe, so be it.
She, Tara and Giles had been researching the thing all day, and she was beginning to get a headache. The scythe definitely had power! Buffy and Faith could feel the power strongly, but she and Tara could also feel it. Strangely, Giles couldn’t. If it was a mystical Slayer weapon, maybe it was tuned to women. But she and Tara weren’t slayers. It was ancient—so ancient it looked almost futuristic, like an artifact out of time.
Buffy was going to look for a pagan burial ground. A brisk walk might be just the thing to blow the cobwebs out of her brain and clear up her headache. She decided she’d go along.
Tara had also decided to accompany them, and it was she who suggested the far side of Restfield cemetery.
“But there isn’t anything beyond Restfield,” Buffy protested. “I’ve patrolled there lots of times.”
“There is,” Tara demurred. “But there’s a sort of energy veil at the back of Restfield that makes you think there’s nothing there. If I wanted to hide something important from everybody who couldn’t sense the veil, that’s where I’d put it.”
As soon as they entered Restfield, Willow could also feel the energy barrier. “How come I never noticed this before?” she wondered.
“It’s the oldest cemetery in Sunnydale,” Buffy replied. “There haven’t been any new burials in ages so it’s not on our regular rounds. I just swing by here every so often in case a nest decides to take up squatter’s rights.”
Stepping through the barrier, all three women felt a resonating surge of energy in themselves. “Whoa!” was Buffy’s response.
Willow grinned at her. “Yep. Mystically warded, but it looks like we’re invited in.”
In front of them was a large, Egyptian-looking tomb.
“Sunken churches and missions, government installations, satanic temples and now Egyptian pyramids . . . kinda makes ya wonder what’ll turn up next in Sunnydale,” Buffy remarked.
“And don’t forget Dracula’s big honking castle,” Willow reminded. “Do you ever get the feeling we’re all just some Sims construct in somebody’s computer game?”
Tara’s fingers moved rapidly as she sketched arcane symbols in the air, unlocking the wards of the tomb. Buffy entered first, carrying the scythe. As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they saw a woman stand and walk toward them. She stood tall and straight, but gave off an aura of inestimable age and great power.
“I see you found our weapon,” she said, gesturing to the scythe.
“Who are you?” Buffy asked.
“I am the Guardian. I was once one of many. I was one of those who put it in the rock where you found it. We forged the scythe in secrecy and kept it hidden from the Shadow Men.”
“Yeah, I’ve met them,” Buffy said dryly. “I went to them for help, but they didn’t have any answers and I really didn’t want what they did have to offer.”
The woman nodded. “The Shadow Men became the Watchers, the Watchers watched the Slayer, but we were watching them as they tried to control the power of the Slayer and bring her under their command. We knew there would come a time when the last guardian of the Hellmouth would have need of us, so we waited here for her . . . for you.”
“When you say last . . .” Buffy began.
The Guardian nodded again. “You are the last Guardian of the Hellmouth, as I am the last Guardian of the Slayer . . . for the moment.”
“For the moment . . .” Buffy murmured. “Then you’re saying there will be more? Other Guardians?”
The Guardian smiled knowingly at Willow and Tara. “Oh, yes . . . there will be more.” And the Guardian vanished.
~*~
Willow and Tara set up the spell ingredients in Principal Wood’s private office, where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Buffy, Spike, Faith and dozens of Potentials filled the waiting room almost to overflowing. The remaining Scoobies and allies stood guard in the hall.
Willow and Tara sat opposite each other, both grasping the scythe. As the spell gained intensity, a whoosh of power poured from the room, entering each Potential. A pure white glow filled the office, imbuing both Tara and Willow with its energy. As the glow faded, Willow opened the door to return the scythe to Buffy.
Buffy stared in amazement. Both Willow and Tara had pure white hair, and both were sort of glowing with an aura of energy and power.
“You’re the Guardians!” she blurted.
Willow nodded. “The Guardians of the Slayer line—which seems to have increased exponentially, by the way.”
Buffy grinned and accepted the scythe.
As Spike and thirty-odd Slayers descended to the Hellmouth, Willow and Tara joyfully embraced.
“That was nifty!” Willow giggled.
*****************************************************************
Faith was in full combat mode when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Buffy go down. She spun immediately and Buffy handed the scythe off to her. Newly energized, Faith hacked and stabbed, taking out dozens of Turok-Han.
Faith felt like the running back carrying the ball, as the scythe seemed to draw Turok-Han to her. They were so close, she had no room to maneuver, so she tossed the scythe to Rona as she felt herself being tackled from all sides.
As she went down in the heap, still fighting with fists, feet and a normal stake, she was momentarily blinded by the first ray of light from Spike’s amulet.
She found herself thinking about the Mayor’s assistant. “Damn,” she thought, “I don’t even remember his name. I was never as good a slayer as Buffy. I was too impulsive, my reflexes weren’t good enough—she’d have been able to stop in time. I wish that just that once, I’d been as good as her—that I could have stopped before killing that guy.”
Faith
Faith was in the Zone—that fluid, unthinking space of movement and passion that was a better high than any drug. Some people got there during sex. For Faith, it was slaying that did it. Sex was recreational—it was slaying that really made her come alive. B didn’t seem to get that; she treated it like a job. Always thinking and planning instead of feeling and reacting!
“FAITH!”
Faith froze as B’s voice penetrated the Zone. Her stake was poised right over the heart of a whimpering, terrified human . . . had actually pierced the skin.
Her suddenly nerveless fingers dropped the stake and she ran. She heard B’s footsteps trying to catch up. Faith ran harder, until she couldn’t run any more. She bent over, clutching her stomach and threw up. She was at the dry heaves stage by the time B caught up to her.
“Faith! You almost killed a human!”
That was B . . . sanctimonious as usual.
“But I didn’t, did I?”
Faith was on the defensive again. Why did B always make her feel like such a fuck-up? Like she couldn’t do anything right?
“Know what, B? This isn’t working out with the two of us! We both know it. Sunnydale is your town. Think I’ll get my stuff together and head out. Lot’s of room for a slayer in LA.”
~*~
Faith had been tracking Marcus for two days; ever since she’d heard he was in town. Usually didn’t matter to her—
one vamp was the same as the next. And there was always a next. But occasionally she got one that was fucking famous. Like Russell Winters. He specialized in lost and lonely girls—those who had come to town looking for fame and fortune, or who came cause they had nothin’ left where they came from. He played with them. Gave them hope. Let them think they’d found something besides an ugly death.
Faith’s grin was more of a snarl. Well, he’d got more than he bargained for when he came on to her! The lost and lonely ones were still prey to drugs, pimps and random alley attacks, but at least Russell Winters was out of the picture.
But now there was Marcus. Faith clenched her fists. She wanted him bad. The perverted fucker was a baby killer! Specialized in children and got off on pain and torture.
Faith leaned her shoulders against a brick wall and lit a cigarette as she waited for her informant. She was really gonna enjoy taking Marcus out. And she’d make sure she inflicted as much pain and torture on him as she possibly could in the process.
~*~
The chains clinked to the floor as the dust settled. Faith flashed a feral grin and replaced Marcus’ “instruments” back in their case. She walked down the hall and opened the small door cut into the wall at the end. She shoved the case in and heard it drop four floors to the incinerator in the basement. An orange glow told her the incinerator was currently . . . incinerating. Good!
The last six hours had taken a lot out of her and she felt old and tired and jaded. When did she lose the joy in slaying? That rush that was like nothing else and always lead to her feeling hungry and horny? Hadn’t felt that in awhile. Maybe it was LA. This place was enough to suck the joy out of anyone.
She let herself back into her apartment and set the five locks on the steel door she had installed herself. She turned on the cold water in the kitchen sink and let it run, hoping it wouldn’t be real brown and full of sediment tonight. Who knew what crap was leaching out of the old pipes in this dump. While the water ran, she opened the loaf of bread and took out two slices. She slapped on some peanut butter and then held a glass under the faucet. An early dinner and then bed, she decided. She was really too tired to patrol.
~*~
Faith took a long shower and put special care into her appearance for tonight. Word on the street was that William the Bloody was looking for her. Faith grinned evilly. He’d apparently had a job planned for Marcus and was royally pissed that Faith had gotten to Marcus first. Well, if Spike wanted her, she’d be more than happy to oblige. He was now at the top of her “To Do” list, since Angelus had become B’s pet vampire and was apparently out of the running.
She pulled on black leather pants that fit like a second skin, and held up two halter tops. The black suede with fringe was nice. She liked the way the fringe followed her every movement. But for tonight . . . the red leather bustier, she decided. She added two coats of lipstick one shade darker than the leather top. She smudged on some black eyeliner, but decided to pass on the mascara. She’d never yet found a brand that didn’t flake, and she wasn’t about to take any unnecessary chances going up against the vamp that had two slayer notches in his belt. She shoved her feet into her Doc Martens, and picked up the tiny sample bottle of “Obsession”. Might as well go all out.
~*~
Faith was dancing with her usual wild abandon, when she felt electricity tingle through her body. She glanced around the club without appearing to do so. There he was. Platinum blonde hair, long leather duster, watching her intently. His eyes seemed to be neon blue. Nobody could have eyes that color! He moved with a deceptively languid, fluid grace. Damn, he was sexy! Why didn’t any of the Watcher’s reports mention how fuckin’ hot he was?
He seemed to flow around the dance floor watching her from every angle. She turned to keep him in her line of sight and finally met his eyes and licked her lips. A slow smile formed on his face and he stood absolutely still, then slowly clapped his hands together four times in tribute.
She undulated over to him, stopping just a little too close to make sure he was aware she was invading his personal space. She tilted her head, looking up at him through her lashes.
“Spike.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Slayer.” He dipped his head slightly until their lips were only inches apart and he whispered, “Can I buy you a drink?”
Faith threw back her head and laughed. “Sure. Why not?”
They found a table with no trouble. All it took was a look from each of them and the current occupants of their desired seating felt an urgent desire to be elsewhere. Knees touching under the small table, they felt the chemistry build as they sipped their drinks and they both knew the only killing that would be done tonight would involve “the little death”.
~*~
Spike left later that night, saying he had some business to take care of in Sunnydale, but she knew he’d be back. And then they’d see what they would see. In the meantime . . . there was plenty of action on the streets of LA.
******************************************************************************************
In the cavern below, the battle with the Turok-Han raged, but the civilians had their own battles. The Bringers attacked in force. Giles had forgotten about the Bringers. He had been watching for Turok-Han escaping from the basement, but the Bringers could move about above ground. He and Robin were being kept busy, when he saw Robin falter. He was attempting to go to his aid when he felt the earth rumble and brilliant shafts of light seemed to shoot out in all directions. For some reason, Giles found himself thinking of the past. He deeply regretted several things he had done, but especially the youthful stupidity that had caused him to get involved with that bloody cult of Eygon. If only he had never met Ethan and hadn’t gotten involved with Dark Magicks . . .
Giles
Rupert Giles restlessly paced Victoria Station, waiting for the train that would take him home. It was done. The papers were all signed and there wasn’t a bloody thing his father and grandmother could do about it. He was of age; but he was still dreading his father’s disappointment and Grandmother’s icy disdain when he told them he’d left university and joined the RAF.
His grandmother, especially, had planned for him to follow in her footsteps and become a Watcher. She’d had his whole bloody life mapped out, regardless of what he wanted. Sod that! He was going to be a fighter pilot! He was to begin training in a fortnight and that was the end of that!
~*~
Buffy stormed into the house and up to her room. She couldn’t believe it! She’d thought that when Merrick was killed and they moved to Sunnydale, she’d be done with the slaying gig, but it had started all over again, and things were a lot worse here.
She’d thought Merrick was kind of a creepy old man and he gave her a wiggins, but she’d take him back in a heartbeat if it meant getting rid of the Wicked Witch of the West! That woman had a stick up her butt so far, it was coming out of the top of her head!
She hadn’t expected to be part of the in-crowd like she had been in LA—the slaying gig pretty much took care of that, what with nights spent in cemeteries instead of hanging out at dance clubs or on the phone, but she thought she’d at least have some friends. She’d been here a month and hadn’t made a single friend. She’d barely even had a chance to talk to anyone. Gwendolyn Post (Mrs.) had seen to that!
Mrs. Post was such a slave driver. Work, work work . . . train, train, train . . . slay, slay, slay! That’s all she did anymore. And Mrs. Post was never satisfied. “Again,” she’d say, no matter how well Buffy had performed the maneuvers or the exercise or whatever . . . it was always “Again”.
Mrs. Post had gotten information about something called “The Harvest” coming up, and she expected Buffy to be ready for it.
*But I’m just so tired,* Buffy thought. And she guessed she was kinda depressed. Is this all there was to life? Train and fight and train some more until you eventually lost and died? The average life expectancy for a slayer was about a year, Mrs. Post had told her, so it was important to train as hard as possible in the hopes of extending that life span by months, or even a second year. The longer a slayer could stay active, the more cost effective it was for everyone. *What does it matter, anyway?* Buffy thought. No matter how many vampires she killed, there’d always be more.
~*~
Buffy arrived at Mrs. Post’s apartment at 6am sharp, as she did every day. They trained for 1½ hours, then school; lunch time was spent studying the Watcher’s Diaries, afternoon classes, tea, more training, home for dinner, homework, then patrol. Her life really sucked! How did she get into this anyway? She had never asked to be “chosen”!
Mrs. Post let her in, but for once, they didn’t jump right into warm-up stretching. Instead, Mrs. Post asked (well, “ordered” is more like it!) her to sit down and then brought out a tea tray from the kitchen. An older woman came out of the bedroom (hmmm . . . is that why she always insists on the “Mrs.” Post?) and joined them.
Oh, joy! The older lady was a representative of the Council. Just what she needed—more watchers! She was already being watched 24/7!
The woman, Mrs. Giles, had a personality so icy she made Mrs. Post seem downright warm and friendly by comparison. Buffy sighed. She had tried to do the small talk thing while the ritual tea was being served and drunk. She asked Mrs. Giles how she liked her job and was informed that being a Watcher was not a job, it was a sacred calling. Asking about her family didn’t help either. Mrs. Giles had a son who was “adequate” and a grandson who had “initially appeared promising” but was “ultimately unsatisfactory” because he “declined to follow her guidance” (imagine that!) and instead of becoming a sacred Watcher, had become an RAF pilot and was killed in The Falklands. Geez! The woman was more upset about the poor guy’s “defiance” than his death. What was wrong with these people?
~*~
Mrs. Giles hung up the telephone and turned to Mrs. Post with a smile of satisfaction.
“I’ve just spoken with Quentin Travers. He informs me that the new slayer is one we had identified in infancy. She has been thoroughly trained and grounded in the principles of slaying by Mr. Zabuto. I’m sure she’ll prove to be much more satisfactory. It’s always difficult when an unknown potential is called. Thankfully, they never last too long.”
Mrs. Post nodded. “Mr. Zabuto has been informed of the urgency of the situation, I trust?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Mrs. Giles. “He’s putting the girl on the next flight. Quentin expressed some concern for our safety, and that of the populace at large, of course, since the Master was able to harvest enough power to rise, but I’m certain all will be well as soon as we have a properly trained slayer available.”
“I did my best,” Mrs. Post murmured.
“Yes, dear, I’m sure you did,” said Mrs. Giles as she poured another cup of tea.
*****************************************************************************************
Spike felt the power continue to surge through him. He was being consumed from the inside out. The pain was incredible, but overarching the pain was joy. Joy that he’d finally managed to do something right! The rays of light incinerating the ubervamps were powered by his soul. Who’da’thought?
A voice seemed to be whispering to him from the amulet. The voice seemed to be giving him a choice . . . a chance to change the past, to do something differently. If he could pick only one thing, what would he change?
Spike thought back over his long existence. Growing up in a loving home, he had wanted for nothing. He had been given food, shelter, clothing, a good education and love . . . the only thing missing from his life was excitement, and he had found that when he died.
He thought of Dru approaching him in the alley. What had she seen in him? He had been such a prat . . . what did she see that made her decide to make him a companion rather than a meal?
He thought back over the twenty years they had run with Angelus and Darla as part of the Fanged Four, and then the following decades when he and Dru had traveled the globe together.
He remembered his first sight of Buffy, dancing in the Bronze and all that had come after. Hot chocolate with Joyce. Bonding with Dawn. Interactions with Rupert. Xander. Willow. Tara. Anya. And even Andrew. But most of all, Buffy.
Buffy was fire and ice. She could take him to the heights of bliss and the depths of despair. She was transcendence and degradation. She was everything the world had to offer all rolled up into one tiny, perfect package. Buffy.
Spike threw back his head and laughed as the fire consumed him.
What would he change? Not a bloody thing!
The End
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