Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Always remember to breathe; if you don’t breathe your muscles don’t get oxygen, if your muscles don’t get oxygen you falter in a fight.
Wall. A wall damn it! Right or left. Right or left. Come on, this is why you memorized the floor plans, this is why you prepared for days. This is what you do, you can do this. You’ve done this before.
Left! Left, it was left! Keep running, brace against wall, turn, keep running.
Another rule; ears always open, always listening. Footsteps, running, closer. Fuck!
Try this door, try that door, find an open one, slip in. Okay, okay. Now we have to barricade the door, protect ourselves, survi…wait. Wait! What am I doing?! This isn’t right, this isn’t me, I fight, I always fight.
Screw the rules, I don’t run.
Slam!
“Now, now. What did that door ever do to you?” That’s right, that’s who I am, Slayer Summers, Agent Summers, witty, strong, and one helluva fighter, I don’t lose, I never lose…
“I see you haven’t chickened out yet, thought you’d lost your edge when you ran.”
“Well, you know me, always playin’ hard to get.” No, no, no. Voice firm, voice strong, not wavering, not showing emotion.
“You were always a witty one Summers, just like your mother, right up to her pathetic demise.”
A glare, a hiss, a launch. Granted not the smartest of moves, but no one talked that way about her mother. At least she knocked him over, but a swift kick to the stomach sent her sprawling on her back. A hand around her neck was next. Choking, coughing, sputtering, no more oxygen to her muscles, no more-wait! Wait, she wasn’t going to go out this way, not this way…
Ohhhh. Perfect, he’s wearing an earring.
Now there’s an earring in my hand, and his hands are over his ear instead of on my throat. Yep, bet that hurt. But it’s his own damn fault for wearing that stupid earring in the first place.
A punch, a swift kick to the ribs, the satisfying sound they made when one or two snapped under the pressure of her boot, and then another punch…intercepted by a hand, crushing my knuckles together under the pressure of gripping fingers.
Then a backhand to the jaw, sending me in a circle, a combat boot to the back of my knees, sending me to the ground on my back.
Struggling is useless at this point, I know that now, I never should have stayed, I never should have let my cocky side come through and decided to fight. When the team failed to complete their part I should have aborted, I should have run, but I didn’t, and now I would have to pay the consequences.
Somewhere to my right I found the broken end of a knife, just the blade minus the normal wooden or metal handle. The double-edged blade cut into my palm. My eyes fixed to the blood as it trailed down the skin on my arm, I gripped tighter. He followed my gaze when I ceased struggling reaching to grasp my arm, to far-gone to fully comprehend my motions I went with instinct, my body knew what to do. It had been trained since the time I was a mere child, conditioned to react swiftly and with massive amounts of strength to remedy any situation, I was born for this.
So without actually thinking I brought my knee up between his thighs, throwing all my strength into the motion. He let out a screech to shrill to be from a man, and I took that moment to thrust the blade into his chest. He yanked my arm away, blood blinded my eyes, adrenaline rushed through my ears, and then he collapsed against me, a piercing pain shot through my chest, the last bit of my strength was used to shove him off me, revealing the broken edge of the blade embedded into the leather of my tank-top.
Eyes unfocused, not in shock yet, just reaching and pulling the blade out, smearing mixed blood everywhere, heavy breathing, tapering off, and footsteps, echoing footsteps.
“Agent Summers?”
“Summers?!”
“Slayer, Slayer you in here. Oh my God. Check her! Grab the first-aid kit.”
“Her pulse is slow.”
“Is she conscious?”
“Yeah, she’s got her eyes open. Slayer?! Come on, look at me baby. Slayer?!”
Voices, so many voices, and him, always him, always with me.
“I took him with me, not going out without taking him with me…”
“He’s gone baby, he’s dead you got him.”
She sighed in relief, and then everything faded to black.
“It’s policy in a near-death experience that the agent be expelled from the program on a long-term basis, until the stigma from the experience has passed and precautions have been taken to ensure that the mistakes made shall not be repeated and that the agent is fit for a return to the program.”
“And what exactly makes me fit to return?”
“Well, a series of psychiatric evaluations and physical training to ensure you are capable of-”
“Capable! Capable! My capabilities had nothing to do with my failure on that assignment! I had no back-up, the agents weren’t where they were supposed to be, and there is no way that any other agent would have done better than me, any other agent would be dead if they’d been in my position, and they wouldn’t have taken Voller with them like I did.”
“The decision has already been made Miss Summers.”
“Agent! Agent Summers.”
“Yes I’m sorry, Agent Summers, but as I said the decision has already been made, you have been reassigned to the reserve unit of the agency, you will go by the surname of DeVar, and will be living with a family retired from the service, in a town called…Sunnydale.”
“You’re going to be fine.”
“Yeah? Then why do I feel like this is going to be the hardest assignment I’ve ever been on?” She grumbled, throwing a glance to the house once more.
“Because you’ve never been just a normal teenager…And this isn’t an assignment- this is your new life.”
She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need a new life, that her old one was just fine, but knew that her words wouldn’t help, not now, not when they hadn’t before.
“Go, you’ll be fine. The Giles’ are great people, both he and his wife were in the service, and they have a son about your age. But remember, the son doesn’t know anything, and you are not to talk to anyone but Mr. and Mrs. Giles about-”
“I know! I know…I know.”
She adjusted the black bag on her shoulder, turning and walking towards the house. Her feet ceased motion halfway down the stone walkway. She turned and threw a glance over her shoulder. But he just gave her an encouraging smile and ducked into the car. She sighed. So much for her “puppy-dog eyes” attempt to get her back to the agency, apparently it wasn’t going to work. She walked the rest of the way up the stone path, then up the stairs, until she eventually reached the door. A door she was absolutely sure would lead her straight into purgatory. She reached a shaky hand up to the wood, reluctantly placing three hollow raps on it. Then she waited, pushing away the images that protruded into her conscious mind.
She didn’t have long to wait before the door swung open, revealing two smiling faces, and one…well one not smiling face. She felt fairly safe in presuming the two happier of the trio were the aforementioned Mr. and Mrs. Giles, and the glaring teen would have to be their son.
“You must be Buffy DeVar.”
No, I’m not. “Uh, yeah, yeah I am.”
He was still smiling. “Well then, I’m Rupert Giles, you may call me Rupert or just plain Giles, and this is my wife Jenny, and our son William.”
“Da how many times do I have to say it, its Spike now.”
“I refuse to refer to my son like he’s some kind of delinquent, and you could at least say hello to the girl.”
Giles proceeded to berate his son for a moment about proper etiquette for greeting guests, while Jenny smiled apologetically and motioned her inside, shutting the door behind her with a bit more force than was actually necessary. The slam broke both father and son out of their somewhat heated argument, leaving Giles glaring at the boy before William or Spike, whatever his name was, reluctantly stepped forward to shake her hand, she gripped it as usual, before remembering that she wasn’t Slayer Summers anymore, she was just Buffy.
“Quite a grip you got there.” He stated, an unreadable, slightly condescending expression on his features.
“Uh yeah, sorry.” Oh perfect. Way to make a great first impression Summers.
Jenny spoke next, placing a hand on her shoulder to gently usher her upstairs. “Come on dear, I’ll show you to your room, it’s pretty bare, but I’m sure you can find a way to spruce it up.”
She nodded, starting up the stairs distractedly…and missing the second step in her haze.
She grabbed the hand rail as Jenny grabbed her other arm, and she managed to keep most of her balance and remain semi-on her feet. Spike snickered behind her and she glanced back just in time to see Giles smack his hand against the backside of the boys head, effectively shutting him up, but not removing the annoying smirk from his face.
She and Jenny continued up the stairs, her grumbling inwardly at the absence of all her training at a moment when she perhaps needed it more than she ever had before.
And to think, this wasn’t even a life or death situation, it was a boy situation; and for all her finesse with psychopathic killers, she had zero with a normal teenage boy.
Well. This was gonna fun.