The world was ending, but in Sunnydale, when wasn’t there an apocalypse?

But this? This was it.

Buffy wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t, even as she looked out over the portal, knowing that this was the apocalypse for her. For her, this was the end. She would die to save her sister, to save her friends, to save the world, and how could she be bitter about that? She said goodbye to Dawn and tried to let her know how much she loved her… but it seemed cruel that there wasn’t time for more.

She bolted towards the portal, half afraid she’d lose her nerve, and the tower shifted beneath her feet. She wouldn’t fall instead she would jump, swan dive to her death. This was her gift. This was all she had left. Death. The end. She loved them all so much, and this was her gift to them.

She  jumped.

*

On the other side of the country, a slight pale wisp of a girl lay in a hospital bed in long term care.  The room was quiet and empty apart from the three others like her.  There were no visitors, no doctors or any nurses around. It was late and there were no worries about these patients. They were sleeping, had been for a very long time, and would continue to sleep.

And yet…

Life surged into her, for the first time in over four years. Something was housed there now, something that had been missing for a long time. The body twitched, an involuntary reaction to imbued force as the spark began to permeate.  

The mind kick started and she felt like she had dived into darkness. She was falling and there was nothing around her, nothing to hold onto. She kept falling, falling, deeper into the darkness. She could see her hands out in front of her, but nothing else. Sinking, sinking. Nothing.

A flutter of noise and the constant beep, beep, beep of a machine.

A flash, and then, nothing.

*

It was barely 6 AM and the Watcher’s Council was buzzing with activity, men and women rushing back and forth and Kensington wondered, not for the first time, what he had gotten into. Growing up he had thought of the Watcher’s Council as the stronghold against evil, fighting the good fight.

He used to think the Council could do no wrong. How naive. Some of the decisions that were made here chilled him to his bones, and that was to say nothing of the discussions that revolved around slayers. Most Watchers never even met a Chosen One, let alone done anything to help the girls once they’d been called. And a new one had been called.

Buffy Summers was dead. At 9:17 PM Pacific Time she had died while closing a portal to a hell dimension.

Kensington could hear Travers yelling through the thick wooden door to his office, “Find the new one, and find her now! I want all the witches on this!”

Two Watchers raced out of his office, just as quick as you please, brushing past him without a glance.

“KENSINGTON! In here with my tea.”

Travers was angry and  yet gleeful, almost downright giddy at the thought of Buffy Summers’ death. He had never liked the girl, hadn’t liked she was some blond Californian girl with a mind of her own, and he most assuredly had not liked it when she had quit the Council.

Kensington had rather appreciated how the slayer had gotten under his boss’ skin. Buffy was better than her predecessor, Faith Lehane, now that girl had been quite insane, and had ended up in prison. Poor Miss Summers, dead at 20 after spending 5 years as the slayer. She had lasted longer than most of the girls, except, of course, the aforementioned Faith.

He set down Travers’ tea tray gently, “Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” He knew his place here, he knew how to treat this man so as not to get on his bad side, it was just one of the many things he’d not expected to have to learn. God, when had he started this kowtowing?

“Get me the coven from Cleveland on the phone. I need to find our tool before anyone else does.”

Kensington nodded, “Very good, sir. I’ll have them on the phone  in just a moment.”

Tool. Tool indeed.

*

Another waste. How could he possibly raise the Watcher’s Council to greatness when these were the tools he was given? Travers settled back into his chair and wondered what he was being punished for. The Powers must have a morbid sense of humor to do this to him. This girl was the same bad blood as the last slayer.

There was a knock at his door, and then a face, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.

“Come in boy, I haven’t all day,” Travers ordered when the man didn’t say anything. Wyndam-Pryce was a waste, just like the new slayer, why had they asked him to come back to the council? For the life of him, Travers could not remember.

“I’m sending you to the United States to fetch the new slayer.”

The man shifted uncomfortably, “Me?” His voice was more of a squeak. Travers felt badly for his father, to be saddled with this for a son. No matter, he had his uses.

“She’s outside of Philadelphia. Her father has already signed parental rights over to us, you just need to get her and bring her back.”

“Ah. Wonderful. I shall make plans right away.” So eager, so malleable. “Am I to be her Watcher then?”

“If you’d like, though I should warn you, this might not be an easy task. The girl is in a coma,” he said, handing over the file they’d started on her.

Wesley faltered then, “Sir?”

“Go get her and bring her back.”

He would let the junior Wyndam-Pryce deal with this situation for now, and when he failed... well, there were always other options.

*

Wesley checked his watch again. It had been just over 24 hours since Buffy had died. Buffy who had been his slayer once upon a time. Slayers died all the time. Some lasted hours, some weeks, some months, but very few of them lasted years and Buffy had lived five years as the chosen one.

Still, it was hard, losing someone you knew. ‘Even if they were petulant slayers,’ he smiled at the thought. He wouldn’t cry, couldn’t cry. He wasn’t some nancy boy. He was a Watcher, and he was lucky to be assigned to a second slayer, even if she was a coma patient.

Wesley paced in the waiting room. The nurses had been unwilling to let him into see the girl, Eleanor Anne Adams. “Family only,” they had said. He had tried to impress upon them that he was family to no avail. He had shoved the paperwork showing he was her legal guardian at them and they had finally sent him to the waiting room with the promise of a doctor coming to speak to him.

He stole another glance at his watch. How long did they indeed to keep him waiting? Wesley was anxious and impatient. But really, what was the rush? That thought deflated him and he sank into one of the chairs in the waiting room and closed his eyes. It really didn’t matter how hard you tried, sometimes the things you wanted and hoped for would always be out of reach. He closed his eyes, his internal clock was all muddled, maybe if he just rested his eyes...

“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce?”

Wesley jumped from the chair and had to adjust his glasses that had fallen askew. A man in a white coat held a clipboard and it took him a moment to realize that he must have fallen asleep while waiting. It had been an exhausting day.

“Uh, yes. You must be one of the doctors assigned to Eleanor?”

The man nodded, “I’m Dr. Rice. I understand you’re a family member?”

“Yes, I’m her uncle. Eleanor’s father has given me custody. I wanted to see her and speak with someone about transferring her.” Wesley handed over the custody documents to the doctor who frowned at them.

“This is highly irregular. Why would he do this?” Dr. Rice asked as he flipped through the papers.

“I’m sure you can understand that this is a private and delicate matter. It was decided that perhaps Eleanor needed to be placed with someone else.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at that. Reading between the lines, he surmised that this uncle must have been on the mother’s side. Perhaps there had been some sort of a custody battle for the girl. The father never came to visit anyway. Dr. Rice could only remember seeing the man twice in the past four year. He paid the bills, but he left his daughter her to waste away without so much a visit at holidays. He had found it surprising and troubling.  

Perhaps this uncle would do a better job, the girl needed someone who cared, “Even so, I don’t believe it’s a good idea to move Eleanor. Which hospital are you thinking about moving her to? Saint Mary’s is one of the highest rated hospitals in the greater Philadelphia area, I doubt you’ll find better care for your niece elsewhere.”

“The plan is to take her back to England with me.”

Dr. Rice frowned, “Let’s go see Eleanor and we can discuss what is best for her.”

Wesley nodded and followed the doctor down the hall. The walls were white and sterile and the place was uncomfortably quiet. They entered a room  at the end of the hall, and Dr. Rice walked to the back right corner where the girl lay.

Wesley’s first thought was that Eleanor was impossibly thin. She would have been a pretty girl once upon a time with chestnut brown hair and delicate facial features, but now, she looked worn and tired, old and young at the same time. Even if she woke, what kind of slayer could she be? Wesley sank into the chair beside her and took her hand. He trembled and took his glasses off to wipe at his eyes. Poor broken girl. A shell of what she was and would have been.

Dr. Rice coughed and Wesley remembered he wasn’t alone. He placed his glasses back on and looked up at the man.

“Be honest with me, what’s the likelihood that she’ll wake up?”

“The unfortunate reality is that a longer a person is in a coma, the less likely they are to regain consciousness. I’m not telling you that there’s no hope, but, you need to have realistic expectations. You need to be ready to provide long term care for her.”

Wesley nodded and stroked the back of the girl’s hand with his thumb. Why would the Powers make this girl a slayer? Surely they had a plan of some sort. Why choose a girl who was just a sitting duck? Like this, she would make a quick and easy kill for an enterprising vampire.

“Purely anecdotal, but it does seem like patients who have visitors are more likely to regain consciousness. Eleanor hasn’t had many visits in her time. I understand that the accident that placed her here also killed her mother?”

“My sister died in the car accident,” Wesley said and closed his eyes. This was not his niece. It was not his sister who died, and yet, in this moment, it all felt real: the loss, the pain. The story was a lie, but the tears were real. Poor broken girl. What use was it? His slayers always ended up like this, it had to be a bad sign to start their relationship in this way, it didn’t bode well. Nothing in his life seemed to go the way he expected it, or wanted it. Was he crying for himself or her?

The doctor shuffled, feeling like an intruder, “Your paperwork will need to be verified by the hospital administrators, especially if you are serious about moving Eleanor, which I do recommend against. She’s stable here, moving her could cause complications.”

With a deep breath, Wesley said, “I want Eleanor with me, and I cannot stay here.”

“I’ll get started on the paperwork then. We’ll need to make contact with the hospital you’ve chosen in England so we can get Eleanor’s information passed along. This is all going to take some time, maybe even weeks,” he warned.

Wesley reached into his pocket and removed a business card, “I’m staying nearby until this is all gets sorted. I’ll leave when Eleanor leaves.”

The doctor nodded, “We’ll be in touch. In the meantime I’ll let the nurses know you can come and go as you please during visiting hours.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Rice smiled at the man. It was good to see that someone cared, even if it was a strange English uncle.

The doctor left then, leaving Wesley with Eleanor.

He tucked stray hair behind her ears, “Eleanor, I’m Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. You don’t know me, but I’m going to take care of you from now on. We’re going to go to England and hopefully there are some people there who can help you wake up. You need to wake up.”

Wesley felt the tears on his face, “You have to wake up. Travers won’t abide there being two unusable slayers.” He squeezed the girl’s hand. If only sheer force of will made things happen, but that wasn’t the way the world-

The heart rate monitor, which had been beeping steadily in the background, now pulsed. A racing heart.

*

Light flickered and danced on the surface, like a beautifully choreographed dance. Colors and shapes distorted, fell apart and came back together, she had fallen apart too, but now she was back together, just different.

She could hear muffled talking, but she was too deep to hear what they were saying. She was deep below the surface of a vast ocean, and something heavy seemed to be keeping her down. She wasn’t supposed to be here, she needed to reach the surface. If she stayed here, she would drown, drown in the never ending darkness. The threat of being trapped here suddenly felt real, and she pushed towards the light with everything she had.

As she reached the surface, the talking became clearer and she heard two words, unusable slayer. Such a strange thing to hear. The words make no sense, and at the same time, they scared her. The words scared her more than drowning in the darkness. The surface, that place she had been fighting so hard to reach, now seemed dangerous.  She let go, and began to sink into darkness. The light and sounds got fuzzier. Maybe it was safer in the darkness?

Slayer. Me. Unusable me? She laughed at herself. She was unusable. All used up. Unusable-girl.

“Is that me?” she asked herself. Everything felt fuzzy and disconnected to her. All around her she can feel loose ends, and as much as she wanted to grab hold of them, she was too tired, to scared.

She let go, and sank.

*

Wesley sat in the chair beside Eleanor’s bed reading aloud. He had chosen Jane Austen. First there had been Sense and Sensibility, then Emma, and now he was on Pride and Prejudice. He had little knowledge of what an 17-year-old girl would like… or should Eleanor think herself 13 when she woke up? When she woke. Wesley was hopefully, but the spark of hope that he had seen the first time when her heart monitor had raced had not been repeated.

Wesley had taken to spending most of his days here. He read to Eleanor off and on. It made him feel like he was doing something, even if he wasn’t. It was odd how much he had taken to the girl and he wondered if this was how Giles had felt about Buffy.

Marking his place, Wesley closed the book and rubbed his eyes. This whole ordeal was wearisome, and the daily calls with Travers were painful. He wondered how much of what the man said were empty threats, and how much of it were promises. Just last night he had told Wesley, “Wake her up or we’ll need to make sure a new slayer is called.”

Even now, the conversation sent chills down his back. Yes, they needed a slayer to battle the darkness, but what were they if they went around killing helpless girls?

He set the book aside and took one of Eleanor’s hands into his own, “I will do my best to protect you, Eleanor. But I can do that much better if you wake up.”

There was a small tremor then...the smallest of movements. Had it been involuntary? Had she heard him?

“Eleanor?”

Nothing.

“Eleanor, wake up.”

Nothing. It was just his wishful imagination.

Perhaps he needed a night away from the hospital.

*

Wesley was willing to concede that he might be paranoid, but he remembered the joke that just because you’re paranoid didn’t mean that no one was after you. So when he decided to make a phone call to a… well, not old friend, more of an old ally, he did it from a payphone some distance from both the hotel and hospital.

The phone rang three times before someone answered.

“‘lo?”

“Giles?”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Wesley. Uh, Wyndam-Pryce.”

There was a small snort, “I don’t know that many Wesleys. What can I do for you? Are you in the States? I thought you were in England at headquarters.”

“I, uh, how?”

“Caller ID.”

“Ah. Well, I’m actually on assignment in Pennsylvania at the moment. I was rather hoping you might be able to help, a little research.”

There was a moment of silence, “Isn’t that something you’d call the Council for?”

Wesley cleared his throat, “I need someone outside the Council, I’m afraid. I’m probably being ridiculous, but I cannot shake the feeling that going to them is the wrong course of action.”

“Go on then.”

“I’m sorry to bring this up, knowing… uh… you see…” he stammered.

“Out with it,” Giles ordered.

“Well, yes. I’ve been assigned to the new slayer but she’s in a coma, she’s been in a coma for the past four years and Travers… I’m not sure how much he says is… He’s…”

“He’s made some suggestion about the next course of action if she doesn’t wake up?” Giles voice held no hint of surprise. Was this why he had left the Watcher’s Council?

“Uh, yes.”

Wesley heard Giles take a deep breath and in his mind’s eye, he could imagine the other man wiping his glasses in frustration as was his habit to do.

“I’ll see what I can do on my end. I can pull texts from the Magic Box to see if there is anything. I’m due to leave for England tomorrow. If you give me a call back at this time tomorrow I can fill you in on whatever I find. Otherwise I’ll have to contact you once I land.”

“I’d be grateful for whatever help you can offer. I hadn’t realized you were returning to England… Are you also returning to the Council?”

“I am, but I’m no spy for Travers. I do not believe he and I will ever see eye-to-eye, especially in light of recent events.”

“I’m sorry Giles, about...Buffy. I should have said that right away. I know how much you cared about her.”

“Yes, well,” there was a long pause and then, “Call me at this number same time tomorrow.”

*

Giles set the phone back down and nursed his scotch. He was going to be telling the gang tomorrow that he was leaving, well, in a roundabout manner. He had written his goodbye note, and he’d leave it for them to find. He didn’t want to say goodbye. Not again. They knew he was leaving, had been planning to leave for quite some time.

Moreover, he wasn’t much help anyway. Last night’s debacle had shown him that. The big vampire had nearly throttled him and if it hadn’t been for Spike…

Ah, Spike. Though Giles would never admit it out loud, he had noticed quite a change from him over the summer. He had thought vampires incapable of feelings, but perhaps… his grief seemed real enough. Perhaps his love for Buffy had been real as well.

He had told the gang earlier that they needed the world and underworld to believe that Buffy was alive and well, that they needed the Buffy Bot to do a better job. Spike had said that the bot would never be exactly the same. Tara had added that the only real Buffy was Buffy. It was true, Buffy Bot could never replace Buffy. For now at least, the ‘bot kept the most of the demons in check, not unlike how stories of Santa encouraged children to behave. It was painful, looking at the imposter, but necessary.

Truth be told, Spike wasn’t the only one who got ‘the creeps’ from the bot. Perhaps… perhaps the new slayer, if she woke up, could… Well, not replace Buffy, but at least she could keep the Hellmouth under control.

It was another night in the Summers’ house and Spike was slouched on the sofa beside Dawn. She was nibbling on her pizza while telling him about the adventures of Buffy Bot at the Back-to-School Parent’s Meeting. The teachers had apparently liked the bot, logical thing that it was.

“Makes sense, they responded to the bot because a robot is predictable, boring, perfect teacher’s pet. That’s all schools are, you know, just factories spewing out mindless little automatons…”

Dawn raised an eyebrow at him, as if to ask if he knew what he was saying.

He realized this wasn’t the best conversation to be having with the Bit, so he covered with, “Who go onto be very valuable productive members of society, so you should go. Buffy would want you to go.”

“Check! One mindless automaton coming up!” Dawn retorted with a sigh.

“So where is the bot?” Spiked asked, looking around. The thing unnerved him. He couldn’t stand to be around it, what had he ever been thinking having Warren build it? How could the bot ever begin to compare to Buffy? His actions made him sick and it physically hurt to be around the thing.

“Willow has her charging upstairs,” Dawn said, throwing her crust back into the pizza box, “she says she needs to work on the programing again.”

Spike nodded and walked over to the desk to fetch the deck of cards, “So what’ll it be today? Rummy?”

“Willow and Tara said it was going to be an early night, so you don’t have to stay. I’m fine on my own. I’m not even the key anymore, or even if I am I don’t open anything anymore. It’s over, remember?”

“I’m not leaving you here by yourself. So forget it.”

“I’m just saying-”

Spike slammed the deck of cards down hard onto the coffee table, silencing Dawn, “No! I’m not leaving you to get hurt. Not again.”

Not like last time. Not like when I got your sister killed.

*

Willow turned the Urn of Osiris over in her hands, “Wow.”

“I found it on eBay!” Anya said excitedly and she recounted how she found it.  Willow held it, feeling sick and excited all at the same time. She felt alive with power.

“It’s the one. It’s time.”

Xander spoke up, “Are you sure?”

“I am. Tomorrow night, we’ll meet back here,” Willow told the group. Xander and Anya exchanged looks and started babbling about waiting and the time not being right. She didn’t have time to deal with this.

“It’s time we stopped talking. Tomorrow night we’re bringing Buffy back,” she paused and looked up at her best friend, “Guys I need you on board now.”

“It just feels wrong,” Xander said walking over to Willow.

Tara piped up, “It is wrong. It goes against all of the rules of nature and it’s practically impossible to do, but it’s what we agreed to. If you guys are changing your minds-”

“No one is changing their minds, period. I can do this, I promise but not without you,” Willow said. She needed them to be a part of the circle, she wasn’t strong enough to hold the power on her own, otherwise...

“Should we maybe tell Giles?” Anya asked, “It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

“No, one else can know. Not Giles, not Spike, not Dawn. They might not understand.”

“What if something does go wrong?” Tara asked.

Frustrated, Willow said, “I’m telling you it won’t. Buffy didn’t die a natural death, she was killed by mystical energy.” Why wouldn’t they just listen to her?

“Which is why we have a shot,” Tara said, looking at Xander and Anya.

“It means more than that, it means we don’t know where she really  is.”

“We saw her body, Will. We buried it,” Xander said and Anya rubbed his back, comforting her boyfriend.

“Her body, yeah, but her soul? Her essence? That could be somewhere else. She could be trapped in some hell dimensions like Angel was! Suffering eternal torment because she saved us and I’m not going to leave her there! It’s Buffy.”

That was it, that was all it took. Xander looked up at her, “What time do we meet?”

*

It has been nearly two months since Wesley had arrived in the states, and yet the slim girl remained in the coma as she had for the past four years. If being called as the new slayer hadn’t woken her, Wesley wondered if anything would. Perhaps Giles would find something to help, though he was starting to have doubts. It was probably for the best.

Wesley tried to imagine waking up and being told… Eleanor would have a hard enough time coming to grips to with what had happened to her and her mother, let alone the added pressure of being told you were the slayer. It would be too much for anyone to handle, especially someone who had gone to sleep a 13 year old and woken up as 17.

Childhood had slipped by while she slept and being called as the new slayer would keep her from reclaiming that.

Picking up Pride and Prejudice off the side table, Wesley took one of Eleanor’s hands and began to read again. He hadn’t gotten very far when he felt it, the grasp that he had thought he felt days ago. Elation bubbled up inside of him and he stood quickly, the book falling forgotten on the floor.

“Nurse! Nurse!” Wesley yelled, and moved to yell down the hall, but he couldn’t. The grasp on his hand tightened and wouldn’t let go. She was squeezing his hand! He yelled again, monitors going haywire in the background.

A nurse rushed into the room, two others following right behind her, “Sir, please step away.”

Wesley tried, once again, to detach from the girl, but she held tight.

*

Giles watched Anya’s retreating back. He was in the back of the Magic Box training with the Buffy Bot, not that it was getting much of a workout, but he sure was, working with a machine that never got tired, never needed to breath…

“Perhaps Anya is right, I am trying to teach you as if you were a-”

“Human?” the Buffy Bot supplied helpfully.

“Yes,” Giles said and walked over to the water bottles.

“I like your teachings. Every slayer needs her Watcher,” it recited.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I just can’t help but wonder if she would have been better off without me,” Giles said.

“I don’t think that’s true. You were very helpful to her,” the Buffy Bot said.

Giles laughed disparagingly, “Right, I was a perfect Watcher. I did what any good Watcher would do. I got my slayer killed in the line of duty.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” the bot argued.

“Of course not, that’s just how all slayer/watcher relationships end. She’s gone. I did my job.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Why indeed. He would slip the note under the cash register where Anya would find it, hopefully when he was long gone. He wasn’t needed here and the last thing he wanted to do was get another one of these children hurt.

*

The group was circled around Buffy’s grave. It was nearly midnight and Anya was lighting the candles. Willow poured the milk of the mother unto the Urn of Osiris. This would work, it had to work. They needed Buffy, the group couldn’t keep the Hellmouth safe forever, and no matter how much she tinkered with the programing the Buffy Bot just wasn’t good enough.

“Osiris, keeper of the gate. Master of the fate, hear us,” she said and spread the blood onto her forehead and cheeks, “Before time and after. Before knowing and nothing. Accept our offering. Know our prayer.”

Willow could feel the beginning tendrils of magic flow through her. Strength and power. It grabbed her and she could feel lacerations form on her forearms. Magic curled through her, filling up all the empty spaces, she had never felt so full, so complete. She could smell and hear everything for miles. Xander and Tara were talking, but she didn’t focus on them, they didn’t matter, they weren’t important.

“Osiris, here lies the warrior of the people, let her cross over,” she continued and something else, something darker, crawled through her, leaving trails of its essence behind. She coughed, gagged, then fell on her hands and knees as something slithered up her throat. A snake tumbled out of her mouth and onto the grave.

The power lifted her higher and higher, reached a crescendo and then… nothing, the magic just fizzled out.

“No!” Willow screamed as the energy began to dissipate. Her body shook from effort, she had been full of power and magic and then nothing. Nothing. There was nothing to pull into Buffy’s body. Osiris couldn’t reach her, wherever she was. Buffy was gone.

“She’s not there,” she whispered, “She’s not where she’s supposed to be.”

*

Wesley knew it was late in England, but the news is too big not to share immediately. It was Kensington who answered the phone, but he was transferred to Travers instantly.

“What?”

“She’s awake,” Wesley said in a rush, excited.

There was a moment of silence, and then Travers said, “Bring the girl to headquarters as soon as possible. I’ll have a passport created for her.”

“Of course, sir! I’ll-” he stopped when he heard the dial tone.

*

Wesley walked from the payphone back to Eleanor’s room. Nurses were flitting in and out as the girl lay, almost boneless on the bed. He stood back and watched them work, measuring her blood pressure, breathing, heart rate. The girl must have felt like a pincushion with all the blood they had taken.

He heard a nurse whisper miracle. Internally, Wesley wondered. He believed in a higher power and he felt as this was just the beginning. Of what, he wasn’t sure, but the feeling was there, clear and strong.

His eyes moved over the slayer, when he reached her face, he noticed that she was staring at him. Calm steel gray eyes caught his and then the girl smiled, her lips turning up just a hint, before she closed her eyes.

The doctor he had spoken to ages ago, Dr. Rice, Wesley thought, stepped in front of him, obscuring his view, “We’ll give you some time with your niece in a moment, but then I’ll have to ask you to not stay long. As you can imagine, there are a lot of tests we’d like to do, and we will also be moving Eleanor into another room.”

“Of course,” Wesley said with a nod.

“But preliminary tests look good, great even. I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”

“Eleanor is something special.”

It wasn’t too much longer before they left Wesley and the girl alone. Away from prying eyes and ears he took his normal seat beside her and one of her hands in his.

“It’s nice to see you awake, Eleanor.”

“Wes,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Her words surprised him, she knew his name? But his mind caught up quickly, a nurse must have said something to the girl.

He nodded and wondered what she had heard or been told by the nurses. His ruse that he was family could easily collapse if Eleanor called him an imposter. How likely would it be that she would have an uncle that she didn’t know?

“I’m your Uncle Wesley. Do you know what’s happening?”

Eleanor tilted her shoulders upward  in a gesture of maybe and then croaked out, “Slayer.”

Wesley’s eyes shot up, “How?” That was not something she would have overheard from one of the nurses. Had she heard him one of the times when he spoke to her? The girl gave him a small smile.

With a squeeze of her hand, Wesley spoke, “We will leave for England once you are well enough to travel.” She nodded again. He wanted to ask so many questions, but with Eleanor barely able to speak, it would have to wait.

He cleared his throat, “I’ve been reading to you, we are about halfway through Pride and Prejudice, would you like me to read to you? I can’t stay long, but I’m here until they kick me out.” With a nod of agreement from Eleanor, Wesley began, her hand still held tightly in his. She was not his niece, not really, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like she was his. His niece, his slayer, his.

*

Wesley’s voice washed over her, it was calm and steady. She closed her eyes and he stopped, so she gave his hand a little squeeze, reassuring him that she was still listening.

He continued on then and it gave her time to think, and she had a lot to think about.

She had a lot in her mind, two lives worth of thoughts, dreams, experiences, memories... Eleanor’s memories, and Buffy’s memories. It was odd though, there were no feelings, no emotions attached to either set of memories. She could recall, in great detail, the lives of both girls, but it was empty and disconnected, like she had watched both lives on a television.

Buffy was dead and Eleanor had been in a deadly car crash. Buffy’s and Eleanor’s mothers were both dead. Both had practically non-existent fathers, she had no clear memories of Eleanor’s father, aside from seeing him once, when she was very, very young and her mother had never talked about him, wouldn’t even tell Eleanor his name.

Everyone kept calling her Eleanor, but she didn’t feel like Eleanor, but she didn’t exactly feel like Buffy either. This was Eleanor’s body though, of that she was sure. But… If she was neither girl, was she someone new? Was she born the moment she awoke? The moment of Eleanor’s crash? The moment Buffy died?

And Dawn… something seized in her chest, what had happened to Dawn? And Glory? Well, the world was obviously still here, so the apocalypse had been averted, but… she would have to figure out what had happened to Dawn and her friends. Wait. Her friends? Or Buffy’s friends? Did it matter?

But Dawn, oh, Dawn.

The heart monitor chirped alarmingly and Wesley stopped reading. She opened her eyes and Wesley was there, looking worried, “Are you okay?”

No. No she wasn’t. She shook her head no.

Wesley nodded, “I’m sure it’s been a stressful day. Perhaps you need to get some rest.”

She nodded and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling.  

Wesley watched as Eleanor worked with the hospital’s physical therapist. It had been over a month since she had woken up, and she had been doing better, better than expected even, at regaining control of her muscles, slayer healing, he assumed. She could talk more than a syllable at a time now too, not that she did. The girl seemed to be keeping her own council, and while Wesley speculated it had something to do with her mother’s death, Eleanor did not say one way or the other. She had thanked him though, when he’d handed her a journal.

“You have to talk to someone, even if it’s just on paper.”

The doctors had finally given Eleanor the OK to travel. They were due to leave in three days. Wesley watched his slayer on the machines, pushing her limits. She was impressive, nothing seemed to stun her. Not even her destiny. He had expected her to rebel against it, deny it, but she just smiled cryptically like she always did and said, “Not even dying releases you from destiny.”

Wesley had thought it a rather odd thing to say, but he supposed she was right, Faith had died for a few moments during a fight where she had drowned before being resuscitated. It had caused Buffy to be called as the new slayer, but Faith was also still a slayer. Eleanor hadn’t died though, so Wesley couldn’t figure out why she said it. There was a lot he couldn’t figure out about the girl.

Overall, Eleanor had been surprisingly not curious. She didn’t ask questions or challenge him at all. She took everything in stride with that sad smile of hers. Wesley had explained that she had been chosen as the slayer, and while he wasn’t really her uncle, he was her Watcher and that he would look out for her. Eleanor had just nodded, and said, “Okay.”

The only thing she had been even remotely curious about had been Buffy. She had asked how she died and what had happened to her sister.

Eleanor didn’t talk much, but over and over again Wesley found himself surprised at the things she shouldn’t know, but did. “How did you know Buffy had a sister?”

The girl hadn’t answered, only repeated her question, “Someone is taking care of her, right? She has no one right now. It’s hard to have no one.”

Wesley had put a hand on her back, the girl must be referring to her own mother, “I believe her friends have taken custody of the girl.”

Not  for the first time since laying eyes on this girl, Wesley had gotten the feeling there was much more to her. Although her mental maturity should be that of a 13 year old, she acted like someone far, far older. What 13 year old considers the consequences of their actions?  

A thought tingled at the back of Wesley’s brain, “This isn’t a 13 year old girl.” It was silly, of course, not the sort of thing he’d say to anyone else. He argued with himself internally, Eleanor had been through a lot, she had lost her mother, had no other family connections, and she had been in a coma for four years, of course she wasn’t acting like a 13 year old.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not as it seemed with Eleanor, not that he said such to anyone. Was he keeping his speculation to himself, because it was a silly notion or because he no longer knew what kind of a man Travers was?

If only there was someone he could trust…Giles, of course. He hadn’t spoken to the other man since the day before Eleanor had woken, but he was sure Giles would have heard the news from someone else within the Council.

Wesley nodded to himself; he would speak to Giles once they arrived in England.

*

They were sitting on the runway, their plane waiting for its turn to take to the sky. Wesley looked over at Eleanor, who currently had a death grip on her armrests, her eyes were closed tightly, and she was taking long deep breaths.

“Not a fan of flying?” Wesley asked jovially. Eleanor showed so little, it was rather amusing to see her effected by something for once.

She cracked an eye open and scowled, “Planes and I are non-mixy. And cars for that matter. Cars and I are very non-mixy.”

Oh. She had seemed fine in the taxi ride to the airport that Wesley hadn’t given any thought to how she might react on a plane. It made sense, considering what had happened last time she had been in a car.

“It is best not to think about those sorts of things. Maybe it would be better if we spoke to distract you.”

She scoffed, “I don’t think you can distract me from the fact we are about to be very high in the air. The last time I was…”

“The last time you were what?” Wesley prompted. She was forever doing this, starting sentences then just trailing off; it was highly irritating.

“I fell,” she said simply, “I had a bad fall and I suddenly remembered I am now terrified of heights.”

This wasn’t about her mother then, it was something else, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No.”

Wesley shifted in his seat and the plane lurched forward, turning to start down the runway. Eleanor’s left hand moved from the armrest and grabbed his, “The Powers, they wouldn’t go through all the trouble to… to get me here if they were going to let the plane fall, would they?”

“I rather think not. You haven’t mentioned the Powers before, do you have a strong faith in God?”

“I know there’s something bigger out there than me pulling strings. They have plans for me,” she said, then added, “and for you as well, Wesley.” He had been looking out the window (Eleanor had stoutly refused the window seat) but he turned and looked at the girl now. She was looking at him with those calm gray eyes. What did she know?

The engine roared to life, and they began to race down the runway and then the feel of the road below them disappeared, and they were in the air. Eleanor’s grasp on his hand lessened and Wesley gave her a pat, “Relax, it’s going to be a long flight.”

“I know. Then the Council, is that why you cleaned up?” she asked with a smirk.

Wesley stroked his now clean shaven chin. In the weeks since his departure from England, he had let himself go a little. “The stubble wasn’t appropriate.”

“It was a good look for you,” Eleanor teased.

“So I have been told,” he said succinctly.

“Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“I met someone, during my rogue demon hunting days, before I rejoined the council. She liked my scruff, as she called it.”

Eleanor smiled, “And where is this mysterious girlfriend of yours?”

He didn’t answer, but turned his eyes to the window where the world was falling away as they rose into the clouds. The houses and roads below were so small and insignificant. His heart hammered in his chest, but he felt strangely calm and detached. He was not the man he once was.

“Wesley?”

He turned back to his charge, “She’s dead.”

Sarah and their unborn child were dead. When the council had called and asked him back, it had been easy to say yes. His folly had come with a high cost. It had been time to stop acting like a child and come home.

*

Although it was still early, by the time they arrived at Council headquarters it was dark, the short days of late fall were already upon them. The Watcher’s Council was situated in a popular part of London’s business district. The tall building had as many floors below ground as it did above. Some of the deepest levels housed dangerous books, dark scrolls, and other unseemly items.

Eleanor was straining to look out of the taxi, her head zipping back and forth.

“Wow,” she whispered as they stopped in front of headquarters, “This isn’t what I imagined. I always thought the Watcher’s Council would be in some castle out in the middle of nowhere.”

Wesley smiled, “A central location is best. The majority of the building houses offices, libraries, and the like. The upper most floors are set up as training and living quarters for slayers and local potentials we’ve identified.” They climbed out of the taxi while the driver pulled their luggage from the trunk, or boot, as he had called it.

Eleanor followed Wesley into the lobby, her small backpack holding all her worldly possessions, or Eleanor’s. It was way too confusing not knowing who you were, how was she even to know what pronoun to use? The lobby was grandiose with dark hardwood floors, high ceilings, big windows, and lush burgundy velvet furnishing.

An older woman with a tight bun of white hair was sitting at a grand desk, “Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, we’ve been expecting you. The slayer’s quarters have been prepared on the 14th floor.” She handed over a key ring with a few old fashioned brass keys on it.  

“Thank you, Mrs. Whitt. Could you let Travers know that I will be down to speak with him once I get Eleanor settled?”

She nodded, “He’s waiting for you.”

“Yes, of course,” Wesley said, wiping his palms against his jacket then turned to lead Eleanor down the hall to the elevators.

Once they exited on the 14th floor they entered the first door to the right. The living quarters were modest with charming vintage details. There was a small bedroom,  adequate kitchen stocked with food, and substantial living room.  

Eleanor smiled, it was lovely, and it was hers, at least for now.

“Can you think of anything you might need?” Wesley asked.

She held up her backpack, “Clothes. I have a few pairs of sweats and t-shirts, that the hospital gave me, but I pretty much have nothing, and no money. Is there any way I can get paid, some kind of stipend, for the slaying gig?”

“I’ll speak to Travers, as for clothes we can remedy that tomorrow. There is a good bit of shopping downtown. There is also a training room two floors down if feel you up to it, and there is a copy of the slayer manual on the bedroom desk. I will come by tomorrow afternoon and in the meantime I’ll let you get acclimated, jet lag can be terrible sometimes.”

“Sounds good, Uncle Wes,” Eleanor said with a smile. Her Watcher had been melancholy for most of the flight, but his mood had seemed to improve once they landed. She wanted to ask him more about this mysterious girlfriend, but he had looked so sad, that she thought it best to leave the subject alone.

Wesley scowled, he had told her to stop calling him that, but she delighted in teasing him. He shook his head, “Goodnight, Eleanor.”

“Night!”

*

Once Wesley had left, the slayer flopped down on the bed. The last few weeks had been exhausting. It was hard having a body that didn’t work the way you expected it to. Often she would move or try to lift something and had been surprised at how hard everything was. The physical therapist she had been working with back in Philly had been impressed with how hard she had pushed herself. She didn’t want to be weak, she wanted to be strong again. Luckily for her, the slayer powers worked in her favor, and she felt almost like a normal girl, not a slayer, not yet, but soon.

She also hadn’t gotten a single decent night’s sleep since she had woken, ironically. Every night she dreamed she was on Glory’s tower and every night Spike saved her somehow... by stopping Glory or Doc sooner or by keeping Dawn from getting hurt in the first place. Each night was different and yet the same, it was like that movie Groundhog Day, where the guy was just stuck living the same day over and over. Except each night, she didn’t die, she got to live. Spike saved her. The soulless bleacher wonder… And she could see in his eyes the depth of feelings he had for her, for Buffy.

Maybe it would be easier if she knew what it meant, or if she knew who she was… and that was the million dollar question. In the moments right when she woke up, when the residue of her dreams were falling away, she knew, she knew she was Buffy. Her mind was treacherous though, and about that time, she would realize, she wasn’t Buffy. Not really. At least, not completely. There was no denying if she was Buffy, she was a different Buffy than the one that had jumped.

She wondered if there was someone she could get in contact with in Sunnydale to see what was going on… of course who would she call? And what would she say? Wesley had assured her that Dawn was being taken care of, but she wanted to hear that for herself.

She could call Willy… at the very least he could fill her in on Spike.

“I know you’ll never love me. I know I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man,” she recited, thinking about the last time… the last time Buffy had talked to him, before the fight with Glory. She felt something wet on her cheeks and realized she was crying. Her heart ached for Spike, how terrible it must be for him to have lost Buffy, the women he loved. Buffy had always been doubtful that Spike could really love, but she, whoever she was now, was sure that Spike’s love was real. She wondered if Spike kept his promise to take care of Dawn.

She wiped her face; she would have to find a way to ditch Wesley at some point to make the call. She would also need to figure out a way to get some money. Money. Urg. Having nothing and no one was irritating. Hopefully Wesley would figure out how to get the Council to pay her a stipend. They hadn’t paid Buffy, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask, and the situation was different.

She reached down for her bag and put the few items she did have away in the drawers. On the bright side, owning nothing meant she had nothing to unpack. She wondered what happened to all of Eleanor’s things, they were Eleanor’s, not hers.

I worry about Buffy’s friends and Dawn. I want to know what’s happening in Sunnydale. I don’t care about what happened to Eleanor’s things or Eleanor’s friends. Does that mean I’m Buffy? Does it mean I’m not Eleanor?

She rubbed her head, she was giving herself a headache. Dawn. Dawn seemed to be the only thing that truly stuck out, that truly mattered, regardless of who she was or wasn’t.

She walked over to the desk, the slayer manual laying there. Going through the drawers, she found a pen and some paper and began to write a note to Dawn. She would make it sound like Buffy had written it “in case”. Giles when he got back to England then could have mailed it off to Sunnydale. Completely plausible, she told herself.

Once her letter was complete, she tucked into an envelope. She addressed the envelope and then  looked at it, and realized, the handwriting was hers, and it looked like Buffy’s. She smiled, it might not mean anything, but, it might mean everything. She set it aside and climbed into bed, feeling better than she had in a while.

If she was Buffy, then she didn’t belong here. She belonged in Sunnydale.

*

Wesley was standing in front of Travers’ desk, as the man had not given him leave to sit.

“So, give it to me straight, are we going to have trouble with this one?”

“I do not believe so. Eleanor accepted her destiny without question. There were several occasions when I visited that I would find her reading the slayer manual.” Travers frowned, which struck Wesley as odd, wasn’t this all good news?

“Have you noticed anything odd about her? Why would the powers call a girl who was in a coma? And one so old? It’s been decades since a slayer over 15 was called, and this one is nearly 18! We’ll have to start making plans for the cruciamentum.”

“Cruciamentum? She’s… she hasn’t even begun her training, she’s been going through rehabilitation.”

Travers shot him a glare, “Every slayer that reaches her 18th birthday goes through it. You have time to get her ready. In the meantime we’ll be able to see what kind of a slayer we got saddled with.”

Wesley clenched his jaw, “Of course. I will have her ready, in the meantime, she asked if it possible to give her a stipend to allow her to purchase clothes and the like? She has nothing and no one to finance her.”

“What are her other demands?”

“It’s the only thing she’s asked for.”

Travers dismissed him with a hand gesture, “Fine, talk to Kensington.”

*

With the unpleasantness of Travers out of the way, Wesley found his way to Giles’ office. The man’s door was open, so he walked in and was greeted with a smile.

Giles’ motioned to a chair, “Sit! Let’s talk. How are things with Eleanor?” He walked over behind his desk and poured scotch into two glasses.

“Shall we toast?”

Wesley laughed, “To the Powers, may they know what they are doing?”

“Good enough for me,” Giles said, and they clinked their glasses together and drank to it.

After a moment, Wesley said, “Eleanor is doing well, surprisingly well. She’s taken everything in stride. I expected her to rebel against her destiny, to call me a liar, but she just smiles and says ‘Okay’ as if it’s all normal.”

“Buffy wasn’t like that at all. She always wanted to be normal, it took time for her to accept that there was no getting out of her duty… and in the end… well, she did her duty, didn’t she?”

Wesley raised his glass, “To Buffy?”

Giles knocked his glass to his, “To Buffy.”

The pair were quiet then; slayers always died in the line of duty, and her watcher was always left behind. They had both worked with Buffy, and both had come to realize that in spite of her valley girl attitude and appearance, she had been a stellar slayer. They reminisced over stories of how she managed to get herself in and out of so much trouble.  

“So what’s bothering you Wesley?” Giles finally asked.

“I am worried that Eleanor is not as she appears. It seems odd that the Power would select a girl in a coma and aside from the accident report and the scant amount of information I’ve been able to pull up on her mother’s death… there’s very little out there about Eleanor. She had no family, no ties to the world and she’s been too accepting of her new life. She knew my name when she first woke up, at the time I rationalized that it was because she heard someone else say my name, but...She doesn’t act like a 13 year old.”

“For good reason, she’s 17, not 13. Even if she doesn’t have any memories from the past four year, the brain chemistry of a 13 year old to a 17 year old is quite different.”

“Even so, she seems aloof and sad. She acts like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Giles pointed out.

“Yes, but what girl would wake up and just accept it?” Wesley argued.

“What other option does she have? Like you said, she has no family, no friends, no ties, just you.”

“I know, but… I just… Wouldn’t Eleanor have questions about what happened? She hasn’t even once asked about her parents. Her mother is dead, and yet she doesn’t mourn her at all. She hasn’t asked why I have custody of her and what happened to her father. I cannot find a single thing about her father!”

“Travers was able to get custody of the girl, there has to be some paper trail,” Giles pointed out.

“The hospital bills were paid out of a trust that doesn’t connect back to anyone except a law firm out in California, perhaps they’re the ones who brokered the transfer of custody. Eleanor seemed much more concerned with the sister that Buffy left behind than anything else. I’ve never seen a teenage girl so stoic.”

“What do you think is going on then? Since you seem to have so many doubts.”

“I don’t think she’s the same girl who went into the coma.”

“Then who is she?” Giles asked.

“That’s what I need to know,” Wesley replied.

“I’ll see what I can dig up on her background, but maybe she is just dealing with everything by keeping herself aloof from it. Not everyone grieves the same way.”

“Maybe,” Wesley said, but his tone implied that he didn’t agree.

Two months had passed since she first arrived at Council Headquarters and life here had been surprisingly simple. A part of her understood now why the Council didn’t want their slayers to have families or any life outside of slaying, it complicated things. Life here was not complicated, each day was the same: wake, train, lift, study, patrol, sleep, and dream.

She was good at it all too. She enjoyed the training and the lifting, and found a propensity for studying and researching that she had never had before as either Buffy or Eleanor. It was like she had been built for this life, for slaying. She even enjoyed it.

Currently, she was in the training room with Wesley.

“Stop dropping your shoulder!” he yelled, frustrated at having to say the same thing over and over, but she just smiled. She was having fun. Buffy had always treated training like a chore, but since her only concern in the world was training and getting stronger, it was where she found enjoyment.

Her muscles had atrophied during her coma but her strength had come back and then some. Buffy had been appalled when Faith talked how she enjoyed slaying. Buffy hadn’t understood it, but she did. She wanted to be good at this, to be strong. It was all she had.

Nothing made sense, and her only sense of identity was slaying. She had no idea if she was Eleanor, or Buffy, but she knew she was the slayer.

“Excellent,” Wesley said after they finished, “You’ve made amazing progress in such a short time, if I didn’t know better I would have thought you had been training for years.”

Eleanor turned away, trying to keep her smile from showing, “I did take years of ballet. Maybe it’s something left over from that? Discipline, training and all that rot.” The last bit she said in a terrible British accent.

“You never mentioned the ballet before,” he said and tossed a towel at her.

She mopped her face then looped the towel around her neck, “I was really good. I was with a company in Philadelphia. I went on all sorts of trips across the US. It’s what I wanted to do with my life. My mom was a professional ballet dancer before she had me.” It felt weird, talking about Eleanor’s life as though it were her own.

“And now? Do you still want to dance?”

“Slayers don’t have lives and they don’t live very long,” she said coldly, all joy at the memory had drained right out of her. His question made her angry, even if ballet was still her passion, would the Council let her pursue it? No. So why had he even bothered asking?

“So, we going out patrolling tonight?”

Wesley didn’t answer right away, so she turned to look at him. His face was blank, guarded.

Finally, he said, “Early patrol, then we need to try a new meditation technique.”

Cruciamentum then, was it getting close to her birthday already?

*

Wesley made his way to Giles office where the man was waiting. He enter and closed the door behind him, “So, what did you think?”

He had asked Giles to watch their training session this afternoon.

“Her progress is astounding. She has excellent form overall, except she kept dropping her shoulder. Buffy did that all the time. I never did get her to stop. In fact, her style is very reminiscent of Buffy’s…” Giles trailed off at the thought of his slayer.

“Have you managed to dig up anything else on Eleanor? Not sure if it’ll help, but it sounds like she may have danced ballet professionally. She mentioned traveling the states performing.”

“I haven’t found much. I must say, it’s almost as if the Powers just dropped her into that hospital. I found some evidence that her father is alive, but you were correct, the trail of the trust ends with the lawyers. Eleanor’s birth certificate just lists her mother, and her mother was unmarried. It’s like her father didn’t want to have any ties to her.”

“Should we be worried?”

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t see anything malicious in her, but her circumstances… Do you trust her?”

“She’s keeping secrets, but she’s a teenage girl, that’s what they do.”

*

Wesley had gone with Eleanor on patrol in one of the newer graveyards in the city. When they first started going out, he had taken them to the older cemeteries where there were far fewer fresh burials to rise as vampires. There his new slayer hadn’t run into as much trouble, but she had proved herself time and time again so they had moved into more difficult areas.

Eleanor was currently sitting on top of a headstone, swinging her legs back and forth while she watched two new graves.

“Vampires do not rise from every grave,” he told her. To be honest, he was a little bored with waiting and the… disgusting task he had for them later was weighing heavily.

“Trust me, they’re both going to rise.”

“You cannot possibly know that.”

She smiled, and pulled a second stake from her waistband so that she had one in each hand. Several moments passed and she hopped down.

“Eleanor, we really should be-” Wesley stopped as hands began to push through the dirt. Eleanor looked back and him and winked.

The vampire on the left was out of the grave first and Eleanor had dusted him before the second one was even clear of the earth. She twirled and took the second one down with a well-placed kick. The creature stumbled back and she was on him in an instant, thrusting the stake into his chest.

She took both of them out with the ease and practice of someone who has done this before, Wesley thought to himself. He had seen her stake vampires before, of course, but two at once, without a grain of nervousness?

In the hospital she made some comment about not even death would release her from her destiny… could she be a slayer, returned? Brought back from the grave? The thought felt perfect, and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Her knowledge, her skills, her acceptance of her destiny. A reincarnated slayer.

Wesley looked up to see that Eleanor had continued down the path and was tussling with another fledgling. For a moment he thought this one might be giving her some trouble, but then he realized, she’s just playing with him.

*

The walk back to headquarters was quiet. Wesley was normally chatty, asking all sorts of questions, but this time, he left her to her thoughts.

The slaying, the killing, she felt real during the nights. The training had charged her, but this, she smiled, this was good. Not that tonight had been a challenge, but it was better than going an entire night and only facing one fledgling.

Is this why the Powers brought me back? A tool to kill. A tool to the Council. Perhaps even a tool to Wesley.

I wish I mattered because of who I am, not what I am. But who am I? Am I Buffy, or am I her memories? Does  having Buffy’s memories, make me Buffy? Do I have Buffy’s soul, or Eleanor’s? I don’t feel like Eleanor, but is that because of some kind of slayer magic? All Buffy’s memories downloaded into Eleanor? I wish I could ask Willow for help, or Tara, or Giles…

Although she hadn’t seen him, she knew Giles was back with the Watcher’s Council, and she knew he had an office somewhere in the building. She could seek him and out talk to him. She glanced over at Wesley. She wished she could talk to him, but he didn’t know Buffy like Giles did.

*

When they reached headquarters, Wesley followed Eleanor up to section of the training room where tables were set up for research. He sat the crystal in front of Eleanor for the meditation. The poisoning.

“You did a good job tonight, Eleanor. I’m proud of you. You have made remarkable progress and you’ve taken everything in surprisingly well.”

She shrugged, “This is all I have, being the slayer, I might as well be the best I can be.”

“You won’t always live here. Once you’re training is complete we’ll be sent somewhere and maybe… you mentioned ballet… perhaps you could…”

Eleanor put a hand on Wesley’s arm, “That’s sweet of you to say, but neither of us believe that there will be anything in my life aside from slaying.”

Wesley put his hand on hers, “Eleanor…”

She shook her head, “Just tell me what this meditation technique is.”

*

Wesley felt sick as he made his way to Giles. He stopped in the hallway, sure he was about to be ill. His body shook and he sank down to the floor. He felt as though he was betraying his slayer, and he was so sure that she knew what he was going to do and she was letting him. That made it even worse. And her voice… the sound of her voice when she said that slaying was all it would be. The guilt he felt now was unbearable. He was disgusted with himself.

He let himself cry. But was he crying for himself? Or Eleanor? Or Sarah? What would she think of him now?

It was a hard cry, but short lived. Wesley was thankful it was late and that there was no one around to witness his breakdown. He removed a handkerchief from his jacket and cleaned himself up. It was time to talk to Giles.

*

Although the majority of the building was dark and quiet, Giles’ office was still aglow at the end of the hall. Giles was reading when Wesley entered, his head down in a book.

“How did-” he stopped when he looked up and saw his colleague's face, “What happened?”

“Cruciamentum.”

Giles nodded, “You’re in a precarious situation right now. I don’t agree with the practice but Travers does seem to like this slayer more than… others, so I do not believe that-”

“I think Eleanor is a slayer reincarnated,” Wesley said, cutting him off.

“What?”

Wesley began to tick off his reasons on his fingers, “She accepted that she was the slayer without question. She is entirely too good, too talented. She knew exactly where two vampires would rise tonight- that kind of skill takes years to hone. She is unconcerned about anything outside of slaying. And… in the hospital she made some comment that dying wouldn’t release her from her destiny. She has to be a previous slayer reincarnated.”

Giles nodded, “The idea has merit, and would explain a lot, but why? To what end? Why would the Powers bring back a previous slayer instead of calling a new one? And if she is a previous slayer, which one?”

“I wonder if there is a prophecy about some circumstance like this. Maybe a strong slayer was brought back to stop something big?”

“Have you asked Eleanor about any of this?”

“No. I think she likes me well enough, but she seems so disconnected, I just don’t know how she’d respond to this kind of questioning.”

“Well, we can start looking into possible prophesies to see if we can figure out who Eleanor is,” Giles said, then asked, “Do you think Eleanor knows something is amiss? If she is… someone else, would she have reason to think you know?”

“I don’t think so, but I don’t know. She rarely opens up to me, and ever when she does she shuts down afterwards.”

“Let’s see what we dig up, but we may, in fact, need to ask her. She might be as confused as we are.”

Wesley and Eleanor were attempting to train, but it was really just a miserable mess.  The injections that Wesley had been giving her had completely tapped her out. She was cold but sweating and shivering.

Finally, she said, “I’m sorry Wes, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“That’s quite all right, I think that’s enough for the day. Maybe you’ve come down with some sort of flu?”

“Terrible birthday gift,” she responded, “it’s tomorrow.”

“I didn’t realize,” Wesley said, although she knew he was lying.

“Yeah,” she said and plopped down onto the training room floor, “I know it’s silly, but, since we’re finished away, do you think I could walk to the bakery down the street and buy myself a cupcake? It’s stupid, but… well… I’m just…” She started to cry. Stupid tears. She was just so tired, and felt so horrible. It wasn’t even really her birthday, but she felt neglected and overall just yucky. At least this time she knew what was happening and was prepared for it.

Wesley came around and sat beside her, rubbing her back, “I could go and fetch something for you.”

“No, I want to get out, maybe a small walk will make me feel better,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“Of course, I suppose that’s all right then. You know where you’re going? You’ve always had me with you before.”

“I’ll be fine.”

*

Emotional train wreck girl, made her way down the street. It was cold and raining out, which totally matched her dreary mood.  Yes, she was going to buy herself a cupcake, but this was also the first time she didn’t have a chaperone outside of headquarters, and she had a phone call that she had been wanting to make for weeks. She had been able to slip her letter in a mailbox without much trouble, but a phone call wasn’t that easy.

She had always been conscious to scope things out when she and Wesley made their way to and from graveyards and there was a phone box near the bakery.

Dropping money into the machine, she dialed the numbers she knew by heart, she panicked for a moment, remembering the huge time difference, if it was 10 AM here… what time was it in Sunnydale? 2AM?

“What?” asked a voice.

“Willy! My favorite snitch, I need some information.”

“Who is this?”

“You know who it is,” she said in a threatening voice, “Spike still in town?”

“What? Wait? Uh, yeah, I think. I mean, six months ago he was in here all the time getting drunk and killing my other customers. He hasn’t been in much recently, good riddance. He was causing too much trouble, and everyone knew he was making a fuss over the slayer.”

“What about the slayer?”

“Who knows, Spike is still hanging around with her and her friends… say, who did you say this was?”

She slammed the phone back down onto the receiver. Buffy was alive? Wow. She had been so sure she was really Buffy, or well, Buffy’s soul in poor Eleanor.

The slayer shook her head, it just wasn’t possible. She had Buffy’s memories… Buffy died. She was dead. Maybe Willy had meant another slayer? Faith maybe? But the last she had heard Faith was in prison. And if Buffy was still alive, why wouldn’t Giles be with her?

*

Cupcake in hand, she made her way back to headquarters. Eleanor’s favorite flavor had been carrot cake, and Buffy had been a lover of all things chocolate, but in the end she had settled on a vanilla cupcake with caramel icing. She was looking forward to eating it later, but she had something else she had to take care of first.

Mrs. Whitt was at the front desk when she walked in and was happy enough to let her know where Giles’ office was located. She made her way up to the 4th floor and down the hall passing by the offices of other tweed wearing Watchers who raised their heads and watched her as she passed.

The slayer stood, for a moment, outside of her destination, before she gathered her strength to knock. From the other side she heard a muffled, “Come in.”

“Oh- uh- hello,” Giles stood clumsily and quickly deposited what he had been reading in his desk drawer. With a cough he extended his hand, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Slayer,” she said pointing to herself, “Watcher” she said and pointed to him, but she took his hand and shook it.

“A rather succinct way to put it. What can I do for you, Miss Adams?”

She looked Giles over, he seemed much older than she remembered. Where had those lines around his face come from? Was his hair always that gray? Instead of asking she said, “I need to talk to someone I can trust.”

“Oh? And you came to me? Is there a problem with your Watcher?” Giles asked.

She frowned and said nothing. This was supposed to be easy, but now… was this a good idea?

“I’m sorry… I’ll just.. I’m sorry for wasting your time,” she began to move to the door.

“Come in, Eleanor. Perhaps we ought to start out easy then. How is training with Wesley going?”

“Oh, he’s much better this time!” Shit. So much for taking it easy.

“This time?” Giles asked, startled.

“Shit. I…” she sat and hunched over in the chair, hiding her face, “I don’t know who I am but I have all of Buffy’s and all of Eleanor’s memories.”

She heard Giles sit down in his own chair, the leather squeaking as he did so. Long moments passed before she heard the clink of glass and the sound of something being poured.

She risked looking up at the man who had been her… Buffy’s father figure.

Giles was staring at her, his eyes wet with unshed tears, “I believe you should start at the beginning.”

So she did: she told him about waking up and being sure she wasn’t Eleanor, but also being unsure she was Buffy. Memories meant nothing.

“We could play 20 questions, and I’d get all the answers right, because I have all of Buffy’s memories. I remember the first time we met in the library, the ascension, the Initiative…  I also remember Eleanor’s mom and her friends, ballet lessons… but I don’t feel like Eleanor or Buffy, but the only thing that even seems to… spark inside of me, besides the slaying, is worrying about Dawn. I just feel so disconnected. And… is Buffy still alive?”

Giles looked confused, “Why would you ask that?”

“I… I called Willy in Sunnydale, and he said there was still a slayer in town.”

“Ah,” Giles said with a nod, “the Buffy Bot.”

The slayer felt absurdly relieved to hear that, and then she felt ashamed. She wasn’t happy it wasn’t Buffy in Sunnydale, but there was still a large part of her that felt like that’s who she was… and if Buffy had been still alive, then it couldn’t be true.

“Oh… well… I still don’t know who I am. Am I Buffy or do I just have her memories? Is her soul in me? If I have Buffy’s soul, where is Eleanor’s? Is it still here? Have I possessed her? It only feels like there is one of us. Maybe I’m neither girl, maybe I’m some new soul and the Powers just gave me the cliff notes of their lives...How do I figure out who I am?”

Giles drained his drink, poured himself another and drained it as well.

“I know of a ritual that will reveal if you’re possessed, but it can be dangerous, and I don’t recommend it… but finding out if you’re Buffy or someone else is going to be a great deal harder. I think you ought to tell Wesley what you told me. He already knows something is going on-”

“What? How?” she asked, startled.

“You’re far too mature, too strong. He thinks you are a reincarnated slayer and came to me with his concerns.”

She smiled, “You know, I said he was a better Watcher this time. I’m actually pretty proud of him for figuring it out.”

“Wesley is a very intelligent man,” he chastised.

“I know,” she said, a little embarrassed, “I wasn’t trying to hide anything, the last four months have just been very confusing to me.”

“I understand, and I think Wesley will too.”

“Can I just tell him I’m a former slayer then? I don’t have to tell him I might be Buffy do I? At least, until I figure it out?”

“I would tell him as much of the truth as you feel comfortable with, but this isn’t the sort of thing you want to keep secret for too long, from anyone...Except maybe Travers.”

“Thanks, Giles,” she said and stood.

“For what it’s worth, I would not be surprised to find you are indeed Buffy. Your fighting manner is very similar, you even look somewhat like her,” he took off his glasses and polished the lens, “I’m sorry I wasn’t… that I didn’t do a better job of protecting you.”

She tilted her head and smiled, “You were the best watcher I could have ever asked for.”

He smiled and placed the glasses back onto his face, “Thank you for that.”

She turned to leave and remembered, “You know that time Faith possessed me? Tara reads auras and she knew it wasn’t me. Do you think she might be able to tell if I’m… at least possessing Eleanor?”

“I think that is an excellent idea. Speaking of- you do realize tomorrow is your- Eleanor’s birthday, yes?”

She reached into her purse and removed a can of hairspray and a lighter, “Instant torch. Plus I’ve been carrying around stakes and holy water for the last few days too.”

“I always knew you were a smart girl.”

*

Buffy was in a graveyard and there were demons all around her. The odds didn’t look good, but it didn’t matter, this is what she did. She twirled one of her stakes, “So who’s first?”

“Not starting without me, are you luv?”

She smiled at her companion. He looked relaxed in his leather duster with his hands shoved into the pockets, but she could tell his body was primed for a fight, “Of course not, Spike. You ready?”

He lifted an eyebrow suggestively and smirked, “Always ready for you.”

Buffy winked, then they moved forward, working in tandem. They fit together, he on her left, she on his right. He went high, she went low. They danced with the ease of practice; they had done this before. He was her partner, he had her back, and she had his. This was what it was meant to be like.

The unending swarm of demons was suddenly gone, had they killed them all? Spike was there smiling, his tongue curled behind his teeth in a way she found highly arousing, but she would never tell him that. He knew anyway. Spike was on her in an instant, “Rough and tumble get you all wet and ready, luv?”

“Yes,” she hissed as he kissed her neck.

“I’m always ready for you,” she said, echoing his earlier statement.

A hand slid into the waistband of her pants, his fingers skimming the skin just above her panties. He was teasing her and she wanted him so badly, she needed him… instead, he pulled away.

“Soon, luv, soon. You’ve got another battle to fight first. I can’t be there, but I’m waiting.”

“What?” she asked.

Spike smiled at her and stepped away. The ground was shaking then, she stumbled and tried to hold onto something, anything and…someone was shaking her…

And waking her up from a very good dream with Spike… Whoa, awake now! What was that? Way different dream than she was used to having.

Her eyes shot open and Wesley was beside her bed, looking like he was about to puke on her, it completely killed the previous train of thought and brought her to the present.

“Back up, Uncle Wes, what’s wrong?”

He sat on the side of her bed and she noticed his hands were shaking, “Eleanor… I’ve… There are things I’ve had to do in the name of duty, even though I knew they were wrong. I don’t want anything to happen to you, I’m not your uncle, but if I had a niece, if I had had a daughter... I would want her to be like you.”

“Thanks, but couldn’t this have waited until,” she looked at her clock, it was 3 AM, “a more reasonable time of morning?”

“I have to tell you now because in the morning I have to-”

She put a hand over Wesley’s mouth, “Stop. I got this. Go back to bed.”

He frowned, “I don’t think you understand.”

“Wesley,” she said authoritatively, “if you say anything more you’re going to get yourself in trouble. You are my Watcher and I want to keep you as my Watcher. Go to bed. I will see you in the morning.”  

He stood, and walked out of her room as if possessed. He did not look back.

*

Her Cruciamentum was ridiculously easy. Wesley came by her room in the morning saying they had been asked to check out a warehouse. The car ride there with him was uncomfortably silent. Wesley wouldn’t meet her eyes, wouldn’t even look at her.

When they arrived at the location she went in alone and he locked the door behind her. The vampire they had locked in with her was barely older than a fledgling. Her hairspray torch made short work of him; she was almost disappointed. She was also sure, more than ever, that Travers had meant for Buffy to die during her cruciamentum.

Back in the car, Wesley looked both relieved and angry at how quickly she had finished her task, but said nothing.

They drove back towards the city, but he made a sudden turn into a parking lot and quickly bolted out of the car. She sat there for a moment, in shock, before chasing out after him.

Wesley was pacing back and forth at the back of the lot, hands clenched into fists, and she was almost afraid to approach him.

“How?” he snarled when she got close.

She wrung her hands together, “I was a slayer and I died, and I woke up in the hospital with you at my side. I knew about the test, because I went through it before. I was a slayer, and I died saving the world, but that wasn’t good enough, so they brought me back to do it again! That’s how!” She turned away from him, trying not to cry. She didn’t want Wesley mad at her, but what was she supposed to have done? And she was going to tell him, once the Cruciamentum was over.

Wesley tipped her head up, forcing her to look at him, “I’m sorry I yelled, the last week has  been incredibly taxing for me. I didn’t like drugging you, even though it was my duty as a Watcher.”

She nodded and wiped her tears away.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? About being a former slayer?” he asked, hurt lacing his voice.

“I was going to, I swear, I just… everything in my head is all jumbled up and I’m not even sure who I am. I don’t know who I am! I have no sense of identity beside being the slayer. I was a slayer, then I died, and now I’m a slayer again! I’m just so confused…”

Wesley wrapped his arms around her in a hug, “We’ll figure it out together niece.”

“I trust you.”

“I don’t want to lose you. As Watchers we aren’t supposed to become emotionally involved with our charges, but I don’t believe that’s possible. I see you like a daughter, and while I know that slaying is your destiny, I still want to protect you. I’ve… lost people, and I know…”

“I know you lost your girlfriend-”

“Sarah,” Wesley said, “Her name was Sarah. I got her killed, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Eleanor tighten her grasp, “I’m sure whatever it was that happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I was tracking a demon, and then he turned the tables and followed me home. She was pregnant…”

“It wasn’t your fault. You’re a good man, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I trust you with my life.”  

*

The remainder of the drive back to headquarters was much easier. In spite of their somber conversation, Wesley was smiling, and she saw him looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I knew it, about you being a reincarnated slayer? I knew it! And your test! Your torch idea was ingenious.”

She smiled but hid it behind her hair,  it wouldn’t do for him to see how pleased she was.

“You won’t tell, will you?” she asked then, in a serious tone.

“I uh… well, I may have mentioned my concerns to someone already.”

“Just Giles, right? Not Travers?”

Wesley shot her a surprised look, “No, I haven’t and won’t tell Travers. How did you know that I spoke to Giles?”

“I talked to Giles yesterday… Don’t be mad at me for going to him first, I wanted to run an idea past him. He knows a girl in Sunnydale who can see auras and I want her to help me figure out what’s going on. I don’t know who I am. I have memories of Eleanor and another life. I don’t feel like Eleanor anymore. I think she died in the crash and the Powers put me in her shell.”

He took her hand, “I’m not mad, but I do wish you had come to me first. I want you to trust me.”

“I do trust you, you’ve been a wonderful Watcher,” she said, “And I know you’ll help me figure things out… which is why we need to go to Sunnydale.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ll be cleared for field work since you’ve passed your test, but… I don’t know that Travers would okay us going there.”

“Tell him we’re going to Sunnydale to clean up the mess Buffy left, he’ll agree to that.” Sunnydale also meant seeing everyone. She missed them all. Dawn, Buffy’s friends, even Spike… and apparently her subconscious missed him too.

Wesley frowned, “Why would you suggest that?”

“He hated m- my former slayer sister. If you imply Buffy was less than adequate, he’ll eat it up.”

*

Later that evening Wesley relayed to Giles his conversations with Eleanor and Travers. The head of the Council did seem especially gleeful at the idea of his new slayer going to Sunnydale to clean up Buffy’s mess there. Apparently there had been reports coming in that the Hellmouth there was more active than usual.

Now that Eleanor had passed her test, Sunnydale seemed like the perfect place to test her mettle. Even so, Wesley still felt like going to Sunnydale was going to be akin to walking into a hornets’ nest, which is why Giles was making a phone call to the Summers’ residence.

It was Willow’s chirpy voice that answered.

“Willow, it’s Giles. How are things?”

“Oh you know, Hellmouthy. Buffy Bot is going out nightly, but I think the demons are realizing she’s not up to par.”

“Well then, this might come as welcome news, the Council is sending the new slayer to Sunnydale.”

“What? No! We don’t need it. I mean, the Buffy Bot isn’t enough, but we need Buffy, not just some newbie slayer,” Willow whined.

“Buffy is gone. The appointment wouldn’t be permanent, just until the activity of the Hellmouth is brought to a more normal level. Wesley and Eleanor are will be in California next week sometime.”

“We don’t need them,” she said stubbornly.

Giles was surprised at the coldness of the young witch’s tone, “How are things otherwise? Has  Dawn been adjusting? Any word from Mr. Summers?”

“Dawn is fine, we’re all fine. You left us, what does it matter? Why do you even care?”

“Willow, I do care about you all… but… I think it was obvious that you all didn’t need me, and without Buffy…” Giles tried to explain.

“Whatever. I’ll let Dawn know you called,” Willow said and hung up the phone.

‘Well, that did not go well at all,’ Giles thought.

*

Willow paced back and forth in the hallway. Having a slayer and a Watcher here could jeopardize her plans. Too many watchful eyes.

What if they figured out they were trying to raise Buffy? What if they already had figured it out, and that’s why there were coming? No… if Giles knew what she had tried to do, he wouldn’t have called.

She had to take the phone call at face value: the Council knew the Hellmouth was getting unruly and they were sending a slayer to get it under control. Still, this would complicate things. It was easy to keep Spike and Dawn out of the loop, but Wesley and a slayer? Well, Wesley was a joke and the slayer was some new inexperienced child… still, she would have to be careful.

And she would have to figure out what went wrong last time. Willow had looked over the spell text hundreds of times, it should have worked! It was working, right up until the end. Maybe the sacrifice of the doe wasn’t enough… maybe she needed something else. Something bigger? More innocent? Maybe a different spell?

The Magic Box would have some… darker texts… it wouldn’t hurt to see what else was there.

She needed Buffy back and she would figure out how to do it. She had to.