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Chapter 7
The home of Senator Kinsey Washington, DC November 9, 10PM Leaning back into the leather sofa cushions casually, Colonel Frank Simmons lifted his glass into the lamp light, rolled the amber liquid around his snifter, and sipped from the rim deliberately. The woodsy acrid scent of the flames in the fireplace across from him made him slightly ill, but he dared not show it. Simmons was running out of patience. He needed to get out of the tightly enclosed space of the library. However, if he didn’t play the Senator just right, he reminded himself, he could undermine his entire agenda. He had driven directly to the Senator’s home after receiving this latest piece of intelligence on the location of Buffy Summers. They had known that she was off-world, but it wasn’t until earlier that evening that he’d learned exactly where. Now all he had to do was convince Kinsey to assist him in intervening with the President in order to secure the girl immediately. “So,” Robert Kinsey huffed, “she’s on P3X-797? You’d think in the interest of security Hammond and O’Neill would be a little more original. They seem to send all their refugees there… And Travers is petitioning to have her returned to Earth, eh? Does he know where she is?” Simmons set his drink down on the round dark wooden table next to him, and shook his head. “No senator, not yet. All he knows is that she’s been taken off-world, which is why we need to get to the President before Travers informs the enemy. I’ve heard from our informant inside the Watcher’s Counsel that Travers intends to trade her for the hybrids’ cooperation in exterminating as many demons as possible in Sunnydale, and their subsequent evacuation from Earth.” Robert Kinsey nodded distractedly, as the colonel droned on, “Actually, I believe the exact number was 100 demons. It seems Travers has a new Slayer to train and he can’t justify recalling her from the most active Hellmouth on Earth until things die down a little.” Was Travers really that damn dumb, Kinsey wondered? Then, he smiled to himself as he noted that the colonel’s grin didn’t quite reach his dark chocolate eyes when he’d chuckled at his own joke. Simmons’ was practically salivating at the prospect of getting his hands on the Slayer. Apparently, there might be something recoverable in this whole demon hybrid Goa’uld fiasco. If he could control the colonel’s access to the girl, he might just be able to squeeze some additional use out of Simmons’ influence at the Pentagon. “You worry too much, Frank,” Senator Kinsey reassured him affably. “The President doesn’t really care about the Slayer, especially not after I made it clear that there’s another one stationed in California as we speak. Buffy Summers will be back on Earth soon enough. We’ll pick her at the Denver airport, before she leaves Colorado for Los Angeles.” Simmons shifted uncomfortably and protested, “But if we cut a deal with the Russians, we could go get her now. Our team. Their gate…” The senator shook his head in what outwardly appeared to be denial. Inwardly, however, he was taken aback by the colonel’s desperation. Desperation always made idiots of otherwise intelligent men, and this situation was a perfect example. “Frank, you haven’t thought this through. We can’t risk stealing her out from under the SGC overtly, especially not now. If the Slayer is taken from P3X-979 through a gate by our personnel, she won’t go without a fight and if even one operative is spotted by Jackson or the aliens, it’s all over. The only gate our men could return through is the Russian gate, and they’d have to bypass the SGC gate to do it.” Senator Kinsey paused and rolled his eyes to the mantle clock as it chimed. This little tête à tête is over, he thought. “Besides, Chekhov may be for sale, but in the interests of trade with us, he’d want us to guarantee his President plausible deniability. We don’t have that to offer.” Without further warning, Kinsey stood and gestured for the colonel to follow him out. Before they reached the dark paneled doors, he counseled, “Try to be patient. And in the meantime, let me handle the President. Trust me. The man only wants two things. He wants his tax bill to go through and he wants to be re-elected to a second term. He can’t do either without my support. We’ll get the girl…” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Caves Sunnydale, CA November 10 2AM In a bedroom filled with flowers, chocolates, multi-colored geodes, furs, silks, and glittering gold trinkets, the dark-haired Goa’uld hybrid sat on the end of her bed brushing her hair. Her large pedestal bed was covered with red silk linens and eight pillows of various shapes and sizes. Over her bed incense burners hung from the ceiling, filling the room with the scent of patchouli and sandalwood. Behind her, her lover leaned back on two pillows. A large purple silk robe hung from his shoulders and was loosely belted at the waist. His blue eyes followed her movements lovingly as she brushed her long hair from the crown of her head to the waist of her yellow silk nightgown. “What are you thinking, my goddess?” he asked. She glanced back at her lover in irritation. “I’m thinking that these new slaves are worthless. Over an hour ago, I asked that they remove the mess,” she moaned, gesturing to the three dead naked men in a pile beneath her delicate feet. Her lover crept forward, and gently removed the brush from her hand. Setting it down on the bedside table, he lamented, “Yes, they are nothing to the slaves of old, who lived, fought, and died to serve in the house of the goddess of fire.” Gazing at her invitingly, he laid back down and patted the pillow next to him, asking her to join him at the head of the bed. Fluidly she crawled toward him and reclined beside him, wrapping her arms around his chest. “Yes, I have been thinking that as well. Everyone and everything is so dull here. Do you remember the orgiastic revels and the celebrations that went on for days…” “And the virgin sacrifices you inspired, my love?” he murmured against her temple. She nodded slowly. “I cannot believe that I am any less inspiring now. Although, if the productivity of the slaves is any indication, perhaps I’ve lost something in this host that I had in the humans before.” “No my dearest, you cannot believe that,” he quickly reassured her. “If not for the strength of these vampire hosts, we would have no hope of taking the Slayer. Besides, it’s certainly not you. These vampires love nothing; therefore, they are incapable of such devotion. Even today, the ancestors of your worshippers bring flowers and ‘ohelo berries to your mountains and leave them at the edge of the Halema’uma’u caldera to honor you.” “Do they, Lohi’au?” she asked, suddenly flushed with enthusiasm. “They do. I read it on that internet of Trick’s.” Lifting her head, she met his eyes. “I would very much like to see that… You must go and prepare the way for me. Take 40 slaves, and plenty of humans to feed them, to my temple at once.” He pressed a kiss to her brow. “But the temple is buried, my love.” “It was buried,” she seethed. “Now you must order the slaves to dig it out. Take some of the drug and inject it into their human livestock. Then the slaves will happily comply with your every whim.” “But what of your next host?” Lohi’au asked solemnly. She laughed, “I am not concerned with her just yet. When the time is right, we will draw her to us. Until then, you will focus your every thought and effort on alleviating my boredom. You will go to the island and restore my temple.” He tucked her head under his chin and suggested, “Perhaps magic could be employed in order to quicken the unveiling?” “You have been listening to the whisperings of your host again,” she chastised. “Yes. It’s true,” he confessed. “But don’t you feel the call of the demon? The rhapsodic, dark magical transformation that takes place every time we feed?” “The understanding of magic is beyond our grasp, Lohi’au. We have no texts from which to draw the necessary spells…” she murmured against his throat. “I have been told that there is a great wealth of magical knowledge in the possession of the Slayers’ Watcher,” he mentioned casually. Rapidly she sat up and faced him. “Enough knowledge to uncover our Stargate?” she demanded. Lohi’au hedged, “I am unsure, my beauty. The lava that covered it was from the bowels of this world. It was hot enough to bury the gate and render it inactive.” “It was hot,” she interrupted, cuddling up to him again. “It has long since solidified into igneous rock and is brittle like glass. It cannot have destroyed the nahquadah. The Ancient’s mineral is far too dense to have been adversely affected.” A small smile played at the corners of his lips. She was so adorable when she was eager. “We shall see, my Pele. We shall see.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Land of Light November 10, 6 PM The nightmares were back again. She had dreamt of Angel, tormented and in pain, naked on the floor of the mansion, but she had woken this morning surrounded by the familiar, heady scent of Daniel Jackson. Before she opened her eyes, she reached out for consolation, for him. He wasn’t there. Buffy was confused and tired, which always seemed to add to her restlessness, so she ventured into the palace courtyard and settled herself on a stone bench tucked under the overhanging balcony of the second floor. She had been there for hours, thinking about her friends and Sunnydale, hoping that she would hear from Giles soon. She had realized about an hour earlier that she was hungry, but postponed returning to the main part of the palace. She had avoided meals, her workout, and the walk she usually took to the Stargate. She had just wanted to be alone. However, procrastinating really wasn’t working for her. She would have to face Daniel eventually. Sunset was coming and she had decided to go looking for something to eat when she heard footsteps approach from behind. She pretended to ignore them. She knew who it was before he spoke. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. She couldn’t decide which she wanted more. Even as she debated the question, she realized he had seen her. She was out of time. The deep timbre of his voice flowed over her and echoed against the surrounding walls. “Fan of Minoan art and architecture?” he mused aloud. Sighing, she asked, “What is it, Dr. Jackson? What do you want from me? Do you even know?” Daniel stopped less than a foot behind her, clenching his hands into fists. Softly, he inquired, “Hasn’t anyone just wanted to spend time with you without wanting something from you?” “Not lately,” she drawled. Guiltily, he stiffened. Then, he turned around and dropped onto the seat next to her. ”Look Buffy…” “Please stop following me. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to have a discussion. I just want to be…” Daniel didn’t dare look at her for fear that she might see how much he wanted to touch her, to drag her against him, taste her sweetness, slide his hands into her hair… She wore it down today which was rare and reminded him of last night. Unbeknownst to Buffy, he had spent it with her. Until almost sunrise, he had held her, but extricated himself from her before she woke. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had wanted to stay, but he was afraid she would be angry. As the day progressed, guilt set in. Bra’tac had been right. She wouldn’t want him or his reassurance that everything would be alright. She wanted someone else. “Who’s Angel?” he asked suddenly. After he had heard her wake, dress, and leave the room next to his, Daniel sat on his bed and stared at his closed door for almost an hour. He was exhausted. He couldn’t face her. A large part of him felt driven to confess his feelings and let her reject him, just to get it over with. But in the end, he decided against it. It was much better to try and deal with this on his own, he determined firmly. Things were already tenuous between them, and knowing how much he cared for her would only make things harder on Buffy. After gathering his courage, he went down to breakfast. She never arrived. Somehow, she must have known that he was with her during the night. He had tried not to search for her, but toward the end of the day, in an unguarded moment, he acknowledged that it was fruitless to hold himself back. It wasn’t as if Buffy hadn’t been haunting him, ever-present in his thoughts since the night they met. And today, he knew she had been avoiding everyone else in an effort to stay away from him. To his knowledge, she hadn’t eaten at all. Bra’tac had mentioned to him at lunch that she hadn’t met him for training. It was clear that the older man was decidedly put out, but stoically refused to elaborate. As soon as he said Angel’s name, Buffy gasped and leaned away from him, looking back to see if he would meet her gaze. He didn’t. Instead, he seemed to be studying the mural painted in shades of yellow and blue on the wall behind her. “Where did you hear that name? From Giles? Xander?” Finally, Daniel met her eyes. “Last night you had a nightmare. You called out to him.” Buffy nodded absently, “You came into my room. Helped me back into bed?” “Yes,” he confessed, and looked away. “Well, that’s a relief,” she mocked wryly, “I thought you and my pillows were having an affair behind my back…” “Uh… Excuse me?” he asked in a strangled voice. “My bed smelled like you when I woke up this morning,” she said, and a voice in Buffy’s head taunted her, continuing her rambling reflection. It was delicious and terrible and I thought I was losing my grip on reality, she thought. I’m such a coward for not saying this out loud. “Oh… sorry,” he replied and she surveyed his face. He had spoken as if she had rattled off the entire tirade out loud. But she hadn’t. It wasn’t possible. Was it? “My mom used to do that,” she mentioned distractedly. “She’d come in to my room and hold me while I cried, in my early days of slayage. I guess she’s used to it now… It’s been a long time since she’s…” “Who’s Angel,” Daniel repeated more forcefully, still unable to say the name while looking into her eyes, afraid that in the emerald depths her love for his rival would be all too apparent. She sighed and turned her back on him, straddling the white and gold marble seat. “Angel was… Angel was my hero. But he’s gone now… He’s gone and he’s never coming back.” Daniel watched her recoil and pull away. He knew he shouldn’t press, but he had to know what he was up against. “He’s dead?” “Every night before I go to sleep, I pray he’s dead and his soul’s at peace…” she uttered sadly. “If only I could make myself believe that.” “Ah… Damn… Buffy… I’m so sorry,” he swore. She swiveled around again, needing to know if he was telling the truth. “Is there anything you need?” It was clear in his voice and in his eyes that he had experienced something similar and could almost understand. Almost. That scared her to death. She stared at him and stuttered, “Don’t… Can’t… No. There’s nothing, Dr. Jackson.” “Are you sure?” he asked plaintively. For the first time in days, Buffy looked at Daniel and really saw him. She had been so focused on preparing herself for the day she would have to leave the Land of Light, that she had shoved him into the background of her awareness. Ok, lie, she confessed inwardly. She had been avoiding thinking about him since the kiss. She still didn’t want to think about it. He was so close. She could easily reach out with one hand and pull him down to her. Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but she couldn’t hide from herself. She saw and felt that kiss in her mind as if he had been a willing participant. But he wasn’t. He didn’t want her, not like that, no matter how her fantasies toyed with the truth. But she wanted. If she hadn’t felt anything, if the kiss of a week ago didn’t matter like she had told herself, then she wouldn’t be so uneasy now. “Distract me,” she blurted out. “What?” “Distract me. I don’t want to think about this. Make me think of something else,” she demanded almost frantically. “Like what?” “Like the Minoans…” For a moment he was stunned. Then he offered her a half-hearted grin, stood up, and approached the mural, and began to lecture. “Um… Ok. Well, the Minoans are absolutely fascinating as a culture. We don’t have any of their written works intact, not political or religious writings or literature. Nothing. But we have discovered burial sites, palaces, baths, etc. From those, we know that they were a multi-racial people from the island of Crete. Unlike their neighbors, evidence leads us to believe that they were not particularly war-like, but rather survived on their mercantile abilities. From the Minoans, we have learned that Greek civilization began at millennium before the Age of Athens, and nearly 800 years before Homer…” “As you can see,” he continued, gesturing to the dolphins frolicking on the wall, “they were the first to create art for the sake of art. Unlike the Egyptians and Chinese whose art was politically and religiously motivated…” Buffy watched Daniel as he became lost in a subject he was clearly passionate about. He really was so good... such a good man. He was trying so hard to be her friend. If only she could get past wishing that he would just stop flailing around and lean over and kiss her. If only he’d kiss her again, and then kiss her some more. As he launched into a story about King Minos, Buffy realized that her mind was wandering. Suddenly, her stomach growled. She still hadn’t eaten, and her lack of sustenance was making her light headed, limiting her ability to focus. However, she and Daniel seemed to be growing beyond the awkwardness of the past week and she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t listening. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she crossed her legs, leaned forward, and tried to behave nonchalantly. She hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Buffy, are you Ok?” he asked, stopping his impromptu lesson. Slowly and without warning, her stomach erupted again, in a long, loud complaint. “So… the mighty Slayer is human after all,” he teased. “Come on,” he continued, offering her a hand to pull her up, “Let’s go raid the kitchen.” Buffy nodded and accepted his outstretched hand. As they began to walk back across the limestone portico, toward the central part of the palace, Daniel glanced down at their entwined hands. He thought maybe he should let go, but she didn’t seem to notice that they were still joined. He slowed his pace and glanced back to the bench, memorizing the details of their recent breakthrough. He wanted so much to go back there, to live forever in the sweet accord they had reached a few moments before, but he knew that his feelings for her would come between them eventually. Buffy tugged playfully on his hand, “Today Doctor! I’m starved.” Like men hopelessly, stupidly in love throughout history, obediently, Daniel followed. A lady needed to eat, after all. What else could he do? She beckoned. He went. They passed through the doorway and started down the hall toward the kitchen. Buffy caught him watching her out of the corner of her eye. Was he upset that she stopped his story? Maybe he was uncomfortable with her holding his hand. She tried to stay ahead of him, to pull him along as if she were in a hurry so that she could keep touching him. Excuses, she accused inwardly, you’re making excuses to touch him now, and you were doing so well with the avoidance. But she loved his hands. They were warm and strong, real hands, human. And his long elegant fingers made her shiver as wicked thoughts of him touching her in places other than her hand danced through her head. During their explosive kiss in the darkened underground hallway a week before, he had slipped his hands under her shirt and stroked her back. From that simple, electric contact, her mind had become a fantasy factory, manufacturing visions of them together at the most inconvenient moments. She glanced down at the place they were joined and pressed on, all but dragging him through the maze of corridors and stairs leading to the food. Daniel remained quiet, as if he were lost in thought as well. Even now, she could feel his hands on her, clutching, enticing. She shook her head and he looked at her again. “Buffy?” he asked. “Starving,” she explained lamely, as she reached out and pushed the heavy wooden door to the dining hall open. Less than thirty minutes later, Daniel found himself in front of Buffy’s door, absolutely clueless as to how he got there. Buffy rushed in and dropped the basket of fruit and bread onto her bed. With two quick flicks of her thumb, she dropped her sandals to the floor and clambered up until she was standing on the bed. Bending over, she grabbed pillows and tipped them up so that the two of them could recline and eat in relative comfort. He felt like the main course at a Roman banquet. This was too much. Daniel wasn’t prepared to be back in her bed again. On her bed, he corrected and babbled inside his head about how bad an idea this was. But she clearly had no idea how far south his mind had drifted. She wore the traditional dress of the Untouched, a bright red halter top made of raw silk and a long red silk skirt, fashioned somewhat like a pareo. When she finally sat down, the bottom edge of her skirt parted, baring her perfect legs to the knee. “I really don’t think this is a good idea, being alone in here like this. Bra’tac and the others… Maybe we should go downstairs…” he gasped, as he backed into the wall just left of her door frame. “Ponder getting over yourself as of right now, Dr Jackson,” Buffy chastised with a grin. “We’re friends. I’m pretty sure I can resist you, even in all your extreme gorgeousness. Xander and I hang out on my bed all the time.” Daniel’s cheeks flushed slightly, “Extreme what?” “Please. As if you didn’t know,” Buffy countered in mock irritation. “I’m sure all the SGC chicas follow you around like a litter of puppies after a tasty treat…” “No,” he confessed, shaking his head and moving forward. Jerking on the laces, pulling off his boots, and dropping them to the flagstone, he sat down on the edge of the bed. Even as words of denial passed his lips, he knew that his body would follow her slightest whim. “No, they really don’t.” Buffy rearranged the pillows behind her and began piling fruit from the basket onto her bed cover. Smiling softly, she offered, “So you’ve just never noticed them. You’ve been focused on other things. Giles is fairly drool-worthy for an older guy, too, but he lives life with his nose perpetually in a book. Believe me; many, many babes on the faculty give him the come hither. He has no idea… Not that I noticed until Faith brought it up, but after some serious study and reflection, I must confess it’s true. Undeniably, even. You remind me of him sometimes…” Daniel’s elation fell through his body in a shock wave and hit the ground, like a boulder tossed into a clear, placid lake. He reminded her of the man whom she looked to as a surrogate father! Great. Fantastic. Holding up an apple for Daniel to take, with a devastatingly sexy half-smile, she asked, “Want one?” “Sure,” he acquiesced distractedly. His hand reached out in acceptance of her gift, as his eyes darted to the door in search of an excuse to get the hell out of her room. No. Nothing. His mind was blank, he admitted to himself. He was doomed. Humiliation was eminent. Buffy glanced to her window and noticed the position of the sun. Dusk. It meant that she had work to do. Work she wasn’t doing. Work she couldn’t do from ten zillion light years away. But agonizing over it didn’t do any good. Whether she was prepared or not, night was coming. Another night without release. And with the ensuing, relentless darkness, hellish dreams were preparing a full-frontal assault. She could feel them, hiding in the shadows of her mind, waiting for her to close her eyes. At times like this she hated being a Slayer. She hated it so badly. She hated that that sometimes the horror of the violent changes in her beat at her, that sometimes it could break her down and drag tears from her. But not tonight. Not in front of anyone else. Especially not him. Tonight she would do her best to feign normalcy, sliding into the habit she had begun on her first night in the Land of Light. She stood without a word and walked away from the bed as if in a daze. Sinuously, she leaned down and picked something out of the bag sitting on the floor next to the window, exposing most of her lower back to him. She set a box of matches on the sill. Then she bent down again and retrieved one of her hair sticks. He watched, entranced, as slowly her hair rolled and swayed from one shoulder to the other, drawing up, over, and into her hands. She maneuvered the black stick into place, but refused to turn around. “Buffy?” he murmured, as she quickly began lighting candles one by one throughout the room. She didn’t look at him, instead moving gracefully, reverently from one votive to the next. It was like witnessing an ancient ritual, and for a few moments Daniel worshipped her undetected. At last, she returned to the window and lit the last three candles. Then, she braced her hands on either side of the window’s frame, and took a deep breath. Something inside him clicked. His body tightened mechanically, as if it had been waiting all day for another chance to see her skin by candle light. Oh God no, he cursed inwardly, as he stood and ambled over to her, unable to stop himself. He came up behind her suddenly. Although he hadn’t actually touched her, she felt his hands grip her hips and pull her back against him roughly. He was so hard. His long fingers splayed over her stomach and higher, and his lips tasted the place where her shoulder and neck met. She moaned softly and slid her hand behind her where their bodies met. Daniel watched as her head rolled back and her hand moved to rest on her lower back, like someone had taken her by the wrist and forced her hand behind her in a lover’s game of domination. “Buffy, what…” he began, and then stopped as his eyes focused on the right side of her throat. “Huh?” she gasped, whirling around. He had called her name from at least two feet behind her. “The scar,” he said, pointing to the Master’s bite. “What happened?” “Oh!” she exclaimed, lifting her hand to her neck tentatively. Finally shaken out of her daydream, Buffy shrugged and made her way back to the opposite side of the bed from him. “This is nothing, Dr. Jackson. Just a bite… occupational hazard.” Stupid! Stupid! Get a grip, Buff, she chided inwardly. Daniel followed automatically. Obviously, she didn’t want to talk about it, but maybe that’s exactly what she needed to do. She also needed to stop calling him ‘Dr. Jackson’. They’d shared a bed for crying out… So she was comatose at the time, so what? Being in the same bed wrapped around each other carried with it a certain intimacy. Why was she still determined to keep him at bay? “A vampire bite?” he asked as gently as possible, joining her back against the pillows, in the place he was quickly coming to think of as his side of the bed. “It is,” she mentioned dispassionately, as she picked up a cluster of grapes and popped one in her mouth. “Is it new? Why hasn’t it healed?” he demanded, securing her complete attention, “I thought that Slayers had incredible healing abilities.” Looking away she muttered dejectedly, “Some… some wounds never heal.” He decided to change his tactic. Backing off a little, he asked, “Was it a long time ago?” Buffy sighed. She wasn’t getting out of talking about this without a confrontation. She really didn’t want to discuss it, not with him, not yet. But if she got the story of her death out all at once, she reasoned, maybe this crushingly uncomfortable moment would move into the next, then the next, then the next, and eventually, hopefully, she’d overcome this chasm of awkwardness between them. Things had been going so well before. Why did her hormones have to go into overdrive every time he was around? Why did he have to notice the scar? “I died. You know about that, right?” she confirmed starkly. Daniel was taken aback by her abrupt departure from the subject of his inquiry, but he decided to go with it. Buffy seemed to be reaching out to him and he’d be damned if he’d screw it up this time. As if deep in thought, he nodded. “Giles mentioned you had drowned, but that Xander resuscitated you.” “That’s not the whole story,” she confessed, rolling her head back until it touched the delicately curving, carved headboard. Pulling her halter to the side, so he could get a good look at her disfigurement, she began, “It happened almost two years ago. It was foretold in one of Giles’ ancient books that I would die at the hands of a Master vampire.” Slowly, Daniel reached out and touched the ridges marring her perfect skin. She trembled slightly, pulled away from him, and covered it quickly. “Please, it’s bad enough…” she complained. “What’s bad enough?” Buffy glowered at him. “I let him get to me. Mess with my head. I was weak… And now I’ll always carry his mark.” “Weak? Buffy, you walked away from certain death with one battle scar. How… Where does weak enter into this equation?” Buffy shook her head. “I should have…” In silent shock, he gaped at her. This petite woman, this amazing warrior actually believed that she had been inadequate. She thought she had done something wrong. And the people in her life let her go on believing it. Outrage coursed through his blood. “What about Giles? Didn’t he do anything to try and protect you?” Buffy met his gaze, searching his eyes for understanding. “He offered to go… But there was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do to stop the Master from taking over Sunnydale and maybe the world. Except me. It was my job… There was a possibility that if I died trying to kill him, I might be able to take him with me, so I allowed myself to be lead underground to him.” Daniel really didn’t like where the conversation was headed. “But Giles said you drowned…” “I did. The Master bit me. But he only drained enough blood from me to escape this mystical prison he was trapped in,” she explained. “Then he dropped me, passed out, face down in a puddle… Adios. See ya, Slayer.” Daniel shifted uncomfortably, but kept quiet. “Angel and Xander came looking for me. Xander performed CPR and I was revived. Later that night, I killed the Master and we went to the ‘End of School’ dance at the Bronze. The rest is history…” Angel. Angel was there? Why didn’t Angel save her? Had Daniel been there, he assured himself, Xander wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near her mouth. “You danced at the Bronze with Angel?” he mumbled glumly. Foolishly, he thought that their experience together at the club had been unique. It was definitely something special to him. Then, realizing what he had just said, he rushed, “So that’s why the Bronze is so important to you? You celebrate victories there?” She shook her head and tore some bread from a loaf and ate it. “The Bronze is where we’ve spent a ton of time together, Will, Xander, and I. Other people come and go, but the three of us have always been there for each other. We used to meet at the Bronze for a post-slay get-together almost every night.” Then, sadly, she admitted, “Until now…” Shrugging, she confessed thoughtfully, “Maybe we were celebrating survival. I’ve really never considered it.” Daniel shifted restlessly. “You miss them a lot, don’t you?” “Everyday,” she agreed. “Mostly I worry, though. Sunnydale without a Slayer is mucho bad…” “But Faith is there,” Daniel reminded her. “Yeah. Faith is there,” she assented. “Taking over my life… my friends… But it’s my town. I should be the one to go after the hybrids.” He looked at her pointedly, and argued, “If the only threat were the Goa’ulds, I would agree, but that’s not the case. You are the most experienced Slayer in the world. If the rogue element of the NID got a hold of you, you’d be a prisoner, quite possibly for the rest of your life.” “Exaggerating,” she countered wryly. “No. I’m not,” he remarked, holding her gaze steadily. “A few years ago, a small faction of humans more scientifically advanced than us, from a planet called Tollan, found themselves in need of sanctuary. We tried to protect them at SG headquarters, but the NID found out and sent someone to come and retrieve them from us. They had obtained the President’s approval to take the Tollans to a secured, undisclosed location in order to study them and to force them to develop weapons. Luckily, we were able to help them escape, but it easily could have gone the other way.” Buffy poured herself a cup of water from an apricot-colored ceramic carafe on her nightstand and sipped. “So that’s why General Hammond was so big on getting me away…” She glanced at the window. It was very dark. Night had come without her noticing. “That doesn’t spare me from a bad case of the guilties, though.” Daniel followed her line of sight to the window. Realizing that she might be dropping at hint, he tossed his legs over the edge of the bed. “It’s pretty late. I should go and let you get some rest.” Before his toes touched the floor, Buffy’s hand snaked out and grabbed his arm forcefully. “Daniel, no!” Daniel winced in pain, drawing his eyes down to her hand on his arm. Her knuckles were white as she held on for a millisecond too long, then she released him. “What’s this about?” he asked quickly. His forearm still throbbed from her grip, but he didn’t feel the pain. She had called him ‘Daniel’. “Nevermind,” she groaned and rolled out of bed. “Tell me,” he insisted softly, as Buffy crouched down, to unzip the olive canvas duffle full of clothes issued to her by the SGC. Ignoring him, she rifled through the black and olive clothes until she found a large tshirt and tossed it over one shoulder. Before he could ask again, she turned around and began untying her halter top. Halting her hands when she realized that he wasn’t moving, she exhaled, “Go. Just go.” Ever the gentleman, Daniel turned around and looked toward the door. He tensed as he heard the wisp of fabric fall to the floor. “That’s not what you really want. You stopped me. Why don’t you want me to go, honey?” he asked gently. Pleasantly surprised and confused by the endearment, Buffy muttered, “The nightmares. They are so coming back tonight. Sometimes I can sense them…” Swiftly, as she spoke the last few words, she pulled the tshirt over her head and shed the skirt. She was under the covers facing away from him before he turned around again. Sitting down on the bed, he prayed that she wanted him to stay until morning. But he didn’t dare ask. Instead, he wondered aloud, “And you think it might be best if I stay until you fall asleep?” Buffy toyed with the corner of her pillow, but didn’t roll over. “No. I want you to sleep here,” she admitted. “With me. Just sleep. If you’re here… maybe they won’t come.” “Right. Ok. If you’re sure,” he said impassively, but inside joy streaked through his veins. She sat up and pulled the stick out of her hair and shook her head, but still she wouldn’t look at him. This was a very good thing, because if she had, she would have noticed him hardening like a gawky boy of fourteen. Daniel’s eyes feasted on the contours of her body outlined beneath the sheet, as Buffy slipped beneath the covers again, pulling them up to her shoulder. Dazedly he yanked his glasses and shirt off, dropping them on the empty bedside table. The bed lurched and rocked. Buffy’s stomach clenched as she heard him unzip his cargoes and toss them away. Then he laid down and slid his left arm under her neck. She scooted back against him, took his right hand, and placed it on her lower rib cage. The edges of his boxers teased the delicate skin below her bottom as he shifted his legs forward. Buffy bit back a hiss as his thighs scalded the backs of hers. Damn, she moaned inwardly. He was so damn hard. Restlessly, she slid her calf between his. He took a deep steadying breath and exhaled it on the back of her neck. She shivered and pushed back against him gently, her hips rotating of their own volition. He tightened his fingers on her stomach and whispered against her skin, “God… please… don’t…” But how could she not? She needed to move against him. It was urgent. Necessary. Should she pretend he never said ‘don’t’? Could she fake a stretch and get away with it? Probably not. She held her breath and waited. Please, she begged him silently. Daniel. Please. Please touch me. Slide your hand up or-or lower even, just a little bit. Just touch me. He didn’t - the stubborn, contrary, thoughtless jerk. Not that she was ready, she conceded somewhat unwillingly. But her body wanted his. That much was clear. It was very very hard… to resist. She chuckled at her thoughts. But the low, throaty sound was too sexy to have come from her. Wasn’t it? “Shhh,” he chastised gruffly, pressing a kiss against her scar. “Sleep.” She laid awake for a long time, listening to the sound of Daniel breathing. It was comforting to Buffy that he was having just as much trouble falling asleep. Even if his mind didn’t want her, his body definitely did. Vindicated, she began to relax. Finally, as she drifted off, Buffy realized that Daniel had put himself on the right side of the bed. He had taken the defensive position in the room, between her and the door, and covered her back protectively. But even more remarkable than that, she had let him. Previous Chapter Fire and Water...Menu Next Chapter
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