Chapter Twelve
The Bronze was exactly how the Slayer remembered it. Pumping with music, jollity and fun while the darkness of the underworld crept through the shadows, greedily observing its prey.
After Liz had left them in an uncomfortable circle in the living room, the situation had loomed more and more dangerously over their heads. Willow had been shaking with fear and that had just astounded Buffy, but she could see why the witch was in crisis. The redhead was being confronted with the worst side of herself after she’d healed and paid penance, and this had to mess with her head. Buffy saw that it was high time that they forged ahead as a group and worked out how to help the warriors of this world.
And so with the impromptu Bronzing.
The three dimensional travellers sat in contemplative silence and watched the buzz of life around them. This scene had been dead to all of them for over a year now and it was more surreal to them than stepping through a dimensional rip had been. Strangely, exiting their world for another hadn’t seemed half as bizarre as standing in a club that had sunk to the bottom of the Hellmouth during their defeat of The First.
“Can you believe this?” asked Willow wistfully, her attention flitting from one Bronze staple to the next. The tall cups of soda, the mix of college and high school kids, the live band and the almost imperceptible demons that stalked the weaker of the room.
“I’m finding it kind of difficult to believe this whole day,” Buffy agreed, her eyes inevitably drawn to the vampire at her side. Her expression was soft as he grinned at her. They so needed to talk. All this gazing and lusty undertones was making her happy, but they weren’t resolving anything and one day soon that might not be such a good thing. “Kind of thought with the defeat of Angel’s apocalypse that we’d get the chance to unwind, you know? Where was our post-apocalypse party?” Buffy pouted. She’d been missing too many of those lately. It sucked being the grown-up Slayer sometimes.
Music wonderfully familiar hit their ears and Buffy froze. Everything inside her warned her that things were about to become even more unsteady, but at least the rush of excitement indicated a good kind of unsteady rather than one of the gasping, wheezing, sucking variety.
“Oh boy.” Willow’s voice revealed all kinds of emotion, but the total eradication of the witch’s previous guilt complex gave Buffy the courage to look to the stage. The sight she saw lifted her heart in ways she couldn’t define. To see a familiar face—even if it was just a replica of the one she’d known in her world—gave her monumental joy.
Willow bounced in her seat like days of old and Buffy couldn’t help but giggle.
“It’s Oz!” they shouted in giddy unison and both began to clap along to the music, leaving Spike scratching his head in confusion.
“What are you birds on about? This music is bloody atrocious,” he grumbled, but then he caught sight of the once familiar guitarist and understanding blossomed. “I guess we’re not in Kansas anymore,” he quipped, earning himself an indulgent smile from his girl and a huffy pout from the witch.
It was so difficult to mentally wander back to the days before the Initiative. Before Adam and Dawn—and Joyce’s death. The ones where Buffy had been trying to make a relationship work with Riley and Willow and Oz were happy, when Spike was free as a bird without any behaviour modification what-so-ever and The Magic Box was undergoing new, more aware ownership. Their past was staring them in the face and for the first time Buffy felt the fierce impact of it. Somewhere in this world her mother lived—and may not be dying any time soon. The impulse to locate her and go there was so strong that it brought a knot of tears to her throat.
But it was a desire that Buffy could never give in to. As much as she needed to see the living and breathing reality of her mother, the woman that existed in this world wasn’t her. Just as Willow should let all the pain of her past go—refusing to allow it to intermingle with the exploits of this world’s Willow—Buffy needed to leave the realities of this world to the rightful characters in this play. Maybe when all was dealt with, a few wise words into the receptive ear of Liz might encourage the girl to seize every chance she had with her mother and cherish it for the limits it would have.
Too soon the music from the Dingoes had mellowed the three out and the girls at least were tapping their feet and nodding their heads in time to the beat. The urgency of the situation that had brought them to the club in the first place had slipped minds momentarily, Buffy and Willow happy to succumb to their memories for an hour.
When the band’s final set was complete, Buffy noticed Oz’s covert glance in their direction and the telltale furrow of his brow that was the single indicator that he was nonplussed at their appearance.
“Oz!” Willow called out over the rising din of the crowd preparing for the next act. It was rare to have two bands playing the one night, but Buffy could see that Willow didn’t mind the Dingoes shorter set. She hadn’t seen Oz since the whole Initiative near-disaster and the eventual decision to explore the relationship possibilities with Tara instead of renewing things with her returned werewolf. And guilt aside, it was obviously a moment that was helping the witch to settle into this world.
Buffy saw the straightening of his spine and the way he looked off after his band mates and knew that he wasn’t as enthusiastic to return Willow’s greetings as the redhead was to give them, but he came to some kind of internal decision and casually walked to their table. Noticing Spike seated with them didn’t result in much more than a quirk of the guitarist’s brow and Buffy smirked. It was so good how certain things never changed. No matter which dimension they happened to be in.
Oz nodded at Buffy, his eyes seeming to say more to her than his lips ever had and Buffy smiled brightly, hoping that it was enough to allay all his concerns. She had the feeling Oz was going to find the news that they’d been zapped over from another dimension a lot easier to swallow than the possibility that his Willow was calling him over in an act of non-hostile celebrations.
“Hey,” he greeted, his voice casual yet reserved as he stood before them, hands stuffed in his jean pockets.
“Hey,” Willow all but gushed. Buffy found the interchange interesting; she’d always thought her friend would be reasonably cool should they cross paths with Oz again. While Willow hadn’t had a partner in her life since Kennedy had hightailed it to Scandinavia—with very few parting tears from anyone—Buffy would never have guessed that having Oz back on the scene might inflame her interest in the man again.
“Um, why don’t you take a seat?” Buffy charged in, the silence stretching between them all beginning to feel uncomfortable.
Oz reacted to the invitation with a quick glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know if—”
“I’m so sorry about the whole Veruca thing,” Willow rushed in, rolling her eyes at herself before she stood and leaned nervously toward Oz. “I know it wasn’t your fault and yay Buffy for the whole turning up on time thing, because that could have ended really badly. You know, with the me and having my throat ripped out or becoming her chew toy or something. And I know that you coming back just as I was getting to know Tara really had to suck with the timing, and being caught by the Initiative—and I’m so sorry that that happened because, well, bye bye wolf-control—” Desperation to have him stay had activated her tongue, and on topics that this Oz knew nothing about and with a bolt of horror, she feared she couldn’t stop.
“Sure. I can stay.” Oz took up a seat and another long minute stretched by with the four of them checking each other out. Then, before Spike could jump in and tell them all to relax before their eyes popped, Oz nodded decisively. “You’re not my Willow and Buffy, are you?”
“Better bloody not be. This blonde bint is taken,” Spike interrupted petulantly. He didn’t know this boy well—or at all if the truth be told—but already he liked the intuitiveness behind the apathetic exterior.
Buffy grinned. This felt like old times—except for the absence of Xander and the not so subtle inclusion of Spike. Still, it brought a nostalgia so strong for her Hellmouth that tears stung her eyes. “How are you, Oz?”
“Oh, you know,” he said as he shrugged. “Same old.”
“So I guess you’re wondering who we are…or…or at least why we’re here?” Willow asked hopefully. This might not be her Oz, but the attraction and happiness he still wrought was obvious to everyone at the table. Buffy decided then and there that as soon as they got back, she’d send out a search party for the wolf—preferably weeks before the full moon.
“I just figured you were Willow and Buffy—and Spike,” he added with a nod at the vampire. “Who has a soul,” he observed quietly, approval evident in the subtle upward shift of the corners of his mouth.
“You can tell that?” Willow asked awed. “Of course you can tell that. You’re super-sensitive guitarist wolf guy. I bet you can tell lots of things,” she babbled nervously.
A fully-fledged smile broke out on Oz’s face. “It’s good to see you again, Will.”
The redhead blushed, but Buffy caught the edge of sadness in her expression before she ducked her head and realised how hard this must be for her friend as well as for herself. At least her mother wasn’t in Sunnydale, making the decision to not interfere all the more clearer. But Oz was right here—at their table—and the differences between their Oz and this one were indistinguishable.
“So if you’re here, things mustn’t be good.”
The slump of Willow’s shoulders immediately told a story of misery, and Buffy felt even worse for her friend. The witch had been brimming in confidence the past year—in a healthy, good way—and this entry into a world so similar and yet completely unlike theirs was doing more damage to Willow’s self-esteem than anything else could have accomplished.
Before they could tell the story of their appearance in this world, or the latest news about the out-of-control Willow and Liz’s apathetic acceptance of her fate, Spike leaned over and kissed Buffy’s cheek, informing them of his choice to go patrolling and hopefully scoping the place out for current evil plots. Buffy smiled indulgently as he left the table, her eyes drawn to the swish of his coat and the power he always exuded when he cut through a crowd. Love shone in her eyes and was obvious to all who cared to look and her focus on the problem at hand was lost for the length of time it took him to disappear from the Bronze.
Buffy flushed under the pointed grins of her friends.
“Have you and Spike had a chance to talk yet?” Willow generously gave up her Oz-inspection time to indulge in best friend duty. Buffy shook her head, her shoulders drooping sadly but hope suddenly sparking to life in her eyes.
“Maybe I should go find him and talk?” she suggested eagerly. As soon as Willow opened her mouth to reply, Buffy was blowing her kisses in the air and grabbing her coat. “Meet you back at the house,” she called and then the Slayer was gone.
“That’s the Buffy I remember from years ago,” Oz reminisced, and then he peered into Willow’s eyes, suddenly overwhelmed to have a Willow he also recognised from more carefree days sitting right in front of him. “So tell me your story.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It was damned inconvenient.
Will paced back and forth in the living room, reeling in the impulse he had to kick the coffee table to splinters every time he passed it or burying his fist in the sheetrock.
They’d all buggered off and left him. While he was used to being alone these days, he’d never thought he’d feel so useless and ignored when in a house meant to be sheltering four others. He’d never thought Bu…Liz would let him out of her sight without a proper explanation on what he was doing here.
Her lack of interest in him was pissing him off. He was fighting depression at her apathy and the best way for him to do it was to get angry. They had a rogue witch on the run who could blast them to ash in a twitch of her evil finger and all his partners in this fight were off shimmying at the Bronze or sleeping off their death wish.
Well, he was tired of it. It was about time someone else took on a little of the concern he’d been ripped apart with for the past few days. He was mentally exhausted and would it bloody kill the ungrateful bint to give him a good look at her?
He was steadfastly ignoring the guilt that rushed through him and screamed ‘Boo’ every time he imagined the revulsion on her face when he revealed who he truly was. Yeah, he was a gutless wanker, but what was a vamp to do in a situation like this? Wasn’t like the Powers That Are Off Their Fucking Nutter handed him a ‘How To’ book about revealing himself to the Slayer.
Well, wasn’t the first time he’d taken his life into his hands. With a stance fuelled by irritation and impatience, Will stomped up the stairs and only momentarily stalled outside Liz’s bedroom door. With a good shove the door cracked against the wall and the Slayer sprung up, clasping her coverings to her breasts.
“Up and at ‘em, Slayer. No time for sleeping when there’s an out of control witch on the loose.” He stepped closer, ignoring the flushed red fury on her face as he realised her shoulders were bare. “Are you naked under there?” he asked hopefully, tilting his head to the side in hopes of angling a better look.
The ‘pissed off’ look suited her, Will decided with a chuckle. No wonder he’d fallen for the brat as soon as he’d laid his demon eyes on her. The girl almost vibrated with energy—even when abruptly torn from sleep—and he just loved what it did for her. The heaving chest, the flashing eyes, that unique slayer musk that made his mouth water. She was a cruel wench, that was for bleeding certain.
“You are seriously risking all your parts by coming in here,” she spat and Will had never seen her look more glorious.
Desire so strong hit him in the gut and almost winded him. This was a dream come true—and he should know, he’d strained through many of them while he’d been getting to know her better through the talisman. All he needed was for the sheet to lower just a little and he’d be a drooling lump of goo and the Slayer wouldn’t have any trouble at all dusting his incoherent ass.
And dusting him would likely get her killed. Now was not the time for this. While he wanted her with everything Satan had ever promised, he had to get his mind out of the gutter and back on the disaster at hand.
“Look, we need to do something, right? I’m going barmy waiting down there for someone to invent a grand plan. We’re sitting ducks unless someone gets some bloody initiative. The other witch is too upset about being the double of our little blessing of insanity to do any good right now. We need to find the witch and we need to obliterate her before she does us. Think you could drag your stunning ass out of that bed and be useful?”
Liz blinked sleepily, sluggishly replaying everything the vampire had just bombarded her with. “Did you just say I have a stunning ass?”
Will snorted. “Like you didn’t bloody well know it. Now I’ll just stand here and wait while you get up.” He leered as she looked about to stand and drop the sheet, but sense clicked in at the most inappropriate times and she threw the nearest thing at his head. Her clock hit the wall behind him and left a dent in the plaster. “Fine, I’ll go. Selfish bint,” he groused, but shut the door behind him and leapt down the staircase, a smile forming on his lips.
At least now he had a buddy to pace with.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Many hugs and kisses to my fantastic betas: Holly, Slackerace and Schehrezade and to YOU, for faithfully reading and reviewing. It means a whole lot of enthusiasm for continuing the fic.