Buffy and Wood walked together down an alley.
Buffy stopped and looked around.
“This isn’t right.”
“I know it doesn’t look promising. But I swear this place is great. Best kept secret in town.” He gestured further down the dark alley. “It’s just right down this way.”
“Well,” Buffy admitted. “It is one of the nicer dark alleys.”
Wood chuckled. “I promise you. It’s just a little bit further.”
“Okay.”
Further up ahead of them something moved. A vampire stepped out. More came from behind. Suddenly Buffy was in a fight.
Three of them came at her. Buffy kicked and punched in poetry of motion. Always moving, always lashing out. When she took a punch she turned around and punched right back, harder. One of the vamps went down. Buffy sprang up, using him as a step to jump at the largest one. Buffy sprang up on his back, like a child hoping after a piggy-back ride. She reached over his shoulder and stabbed a stake down into his chest. She felt his body crumble into ash beneath her and she landed on her feet.
She went directly for the next vampire. Blocked the punch he threw at her. Blocked another punch. Blocked a kick. She found her opening, stabbing straight out from her shoulder and into his heart.
Buffy ducked a flying kick from the next vampire, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the kick after that, the world flashing behind her eyes and her neck taking a sudden jolt as the kick connected with her skull and knocked her from her feet. He came at her as she was trying to get back up, sending another spinning kick at her head. She snapped back away from him, making him miss, making him lose control for a split second. She took that split second to run a stake through his heart.
Buffy looked up at Wood angrily. “You set me up you son-of-a . . .”
Wood stood there fighting with two vampires. She saw a punch and a rather nice looking kick connect with one of the vampires, knocking it off its feet.
“What?”
Wood ducked a high, sloppy kick from the other vampire. Punched it. Hit/threw it against the wall of the alley and staked it through the back. The vampire turned to dust.
The first vampire had regained its feet. Wood kicked it in the head, knocking it down again. The vampire flailed almost blindly to defend itself but Wood stabbed down into its heart and mercilessly watched it die right there in front of him. Stood there and watched it crumble into dust.
He turned and started walking back toward where Buffy still kneeled. Wood flipped the stake over in his hand and dropped it into a holster beneath his coat. He held out a gentlemanly hand and helped Buffy to her feet.
Wood looked at her.
“I guess we should talk.”
Buffy looked at him.
He gestured to a door wit a small green awning just a little further down the alley. “The restaurant’s right there.”
Wood put a hand in the small of her back and led her silently into the restaurant.
“This place is nice,” Buffy said. They were seated at a table in the restaurant with their menus in front of them. “How the hell did you do that?”
Wood chuckled. “I’ve had a little practice. I’ve never took on two at once before but I’ve taken out a vamp here and there, and some demons.”
“So . . .” remarked Buffy, “You’re freelance.”
“Mm . . . freelance, I guess that’s a good way to put it.”
A bright, embarrassed smile. She couldn’t quite manage to make herself meet his eye. “And you know who I am?”
“You’re the slayer.”
“So I’m guessing you don’t work in an office fifteen feet above the hellmouth because you enjoy educational administration.”
“Well I actually do enjoy the work, but I . . . Yeah, you’re right. I maneuvered myself into that school, and that office, just like I maneuvered you there. The hellmouth draws the bad things in close. Now we’re heading for something big, Buffy, really big, and I need to be here when it happens. I want to help.”
Part of Buffy couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. Like he had taken something from her that she thought she had earned. “So . . . So you didn’t hire me for my counciling skills?!”
Wood laughed out loud for a few moments before he saw the look on her face, realized and tried to rectify his mistake. “They’re valuable too.”
“Why didn’t y-you tell me about you?”
“I wasn’t sure about things yet.”
Buffy frowned. “You didn’t think you could trust me?”
“Oh, no. I wasn’t sure I was ready yet. Ready to jump into this fight.”
“And now you are?”
“Now the fight is starting, or it’s starting to start, and I don’t have time to worry anymore. I have to do something.”
“So y-you know who I was before you even came here?!”
“Yes.”
“How? How do you know about slayers?”
“Right. Okay. See, when I was a little boy, my mother was one. The one. The Slayer.”
“Your . . . mother . . . Wow, I . . . I-I didn’t know that any Slayers had children.”
“Well, I don’t know of any others. She was killed when I was four. I-I still remember her but . . . it’s a little . . . fuzzy, you know.”
Buffy looked down, not knowing quite what to say. “Um some-something got her? A demon . . .”
“A vampire. Oh man, I went through this whole avenging son phase in my twenties but I never found him, so now I just dust as many of them as I can find, figure eventually I’ll get him. That’s probably why we got jumped outside. I’m not very popular with the bumpy foreheaded crowd and I bet you aren’t either.”
“No,” Buffy smiled and shook head. “Not most of them.” But that led to thoughts she didn’t want to think about. Thoughts that would make her ashamed to be sitting here across from a man that smiled at her that way. “So do you have any Slayer powers . . . I’m sorry . . . I . . . I’m just so floored I have no idea what to ask.”
“No. No, I don’t have powers. No super strength or mythic responsibilities. I’m just a guy with a few skills because her watcher took me in and raised me.”
So-oo,” Buffy said coquettishly. Looking directly into his eyes. “So you decided to tell me.”
“That’s right.”
“In a darkened . . . romantic . . . little french restaurant.”
“Um . . . yeah . . . not really sure how that happened, but . . . yeah.”
Buffy smiled.
Jonathan stood in the middle of Buffy’s living room as Andrew approached carrying a paper bag. “You find the gun?”
“Yes. It was in Buffy’s underwear drawer. She has nice things.”
“Show me.”
“Well, I didn’t take them but there were thongs and regular underpants . . .”
“Show me the gun!”
“Here.” Andrew held out the bag and Jonathan looked down and saw the gun lying in the bottom of the bag. “Willow tried shooting Kennedy with that.”
“Great,” remarked Jonathan. “Now, there’s gonna be panic and fleeing when you start firing so you’re gonna have to get them trapped someplace like the basement.”
“And we’re killing them because?”
“Because they’re the future of the slayer line. When they’re gone, the line is gone.”
“Ah-huh. Ah-huh. So why not have Spike do it. He’s the one with the trigger?”
“It’s not time for him yet,” Jonathan said, visibly annoyed at Andrew’s lack of anything resembling focus. “You’ll wait for the next time they’re training in the basement. Don’t just rely on a locked door to keep them in. You’ll need more.”
“Okay.” Andrew walked a few steps away. Stopped and leaned on an end-table. “Say, do you have any weaknesses I should know about if I’m gonna work for you, like, um . . . kryptonite, or . . . allergies?”
“What are you asking?”
“Nothing . . . um, are you made out of the evil impulses of humans so that if everyone was unconscious at the same time you would fade away?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions?”
“Yes, well . . . I, uh . . . because I’m evil . . . and I want to do the best I can . . . at that . . . also, I wanna . . . know stuff, like . . . When . . . When do we kill Buffy?”
Jonathan’s gaze sharpened. “Are you wearing a wire?”
Willow lowered her headphones and looked at Anya, Dawn, Kennedy, Amanda and Xander as they stood around her. They were in the basement, sitting together around a table while the remainder of the potentials slept wall-to-wall upstairs.
“What . . .” asked Kennedy. “What’s going on?”
Willows gaze drifted between them nervously.
“You think you can trick the First?” Jonathan backed Andrew against the wall. “You think you can squirm free? I hold you, Andrew. I made you do this . . .” Jonathan had brought the palms of his hands against his chest and now showed them to Andrew soaking in blood. “Jonathan suffered. He was your friend and he trusted you and now he spends eternity in pain because of what you did.”
“No.” Andrew shook his head. “What’s happening to you?”
“This is what you did to him. Took away everything he was and left him like this. You started down a road with that action and you have to keep going.”
“Stop looking like Jonathan. You’re not him. You’re the First and you’re trying to get me to shoot innocent girls but I won’t do it. I’m good now. And when the fight is over I’m going to pay for killing Jonathan.”
Jonathan threatened him with a look. “You’re gonna pay for more than that. You know why?! Because the biggest, baddest First Evil in the world’s angry with you.”
“YOU THINK THIS WAS SMART?”
“I’m hearing something,” Willow said, listening intently to her headphones, pen held ready over a piece of paper.
“YOU THINK YOU CAN TRICK ME, DO YOU?”
Kennedy reached out and pulled the headphones off of Willow’s head. The voice was coming from all around them.
“It’s not in the headphones,” Kennedy told her. “It’s out here.”
“YOU ONLY HEAR WHAT I WANT YOU TO HEAR. YOU ONLY SEE WHAT I WANT YOU TO SEE.”
Dawn’s eyes widened as she saw Jonathan flash into being in the basement. She made a noise. Everyone turned and saw what she saw.
Amanda screamed.
The image of Jonathan seemed to be rotting before their eyes.
“SO MANY DEAD GIRLS! THERE WILL BE SO MANY!”
Jonathan disappeared.
Xander shook his head. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“So we’re thinking it didn’t got too well,” Willow said as everyone stood around in Buffy’s living room. Giles was there now.
“You should have let me do this fast,” said Dawn as she tried to remove the tape that held the transmitter to Andrew’s chest. Andrew was holding up his shirt.
“Oh, no, no. I hate that. Ow.” She ripped some of the tape from the boy’s chest.
Spike stood in the corner with his arms crossed. “You tried to record the ultimate evil. Why? In a complex effort to royally piss it off?”
“Guess we succeeded pretty good, huh?!” quipped Kennedy.
“I never should have gone in wired. Redemption is hard!”
Giles frowned at him. “Back to Spike’s question, why did you try to record it?”
“To study it,” Willow said. “To see if we could figure something out from what it was saying. ‘Cause guys, we have to face it. We know nothing about the First.”
“Well,” said Anya. “We know not to record it. That’s something.”
Spike cut in. He gestured to Andrew, “Why did it appear to this one then? I thought it was supposed to be pulling my strings.”
“It said it wasn’t time for you yet. Ow!” Dawn ripped off another piece of tape. “I’m frightened, and my chest hurts where the tape was.”
Spike and Giles both looked thoughtful. Thinking through what Andrew just said.
“It’s okay, Andrew,” Dawn said. “You did good. You stood up to it. That’s really amazing.”
“Thank you. You’re a peach.”
Dawn smiled.
Anya, “Yeah, um, what did it want you to do anyway?”
“Shoot all the girls.”
Dawn, worriedly, “Shoot girls?”
“Not you. Just the potentials.”
Dawn, “Well, that’s something anyway.” Dawn corrected herself. “Something tragic.”
“This proves my point.” Giles snapped. “This time is crucial. We should be circling the wagons instead of doing something like going out on dates . . . wh-when gunplay is imminent. Willow, call Buffy, get her back here. We need to dispose of the gun a-and figure out our next move.”
“I’ll go get her,” Spike suggested.
Giles, “No, Willow can just call her . . . cell-phone.”
“No.” Willow shook her head
Giles looked at her. “What?”
“I said no.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s no reason to.”
“No reason?!”
“Giles, answer me this. What’s changed since Robin Wood showed up here and picked Buffy up? I mean what has really changed? Is anybody hurt? Is anyone in any more danger than they were when she left.”
Giles removed his glasses. “Willow, I don’t think . . .”
“No. You don’t. When was the last time you remember Buffy going out on a date? And I don’t mean whatever it was that she did with Spike last year. An actual date?”
Giles just stared at her.
“I’ll tell you when. It was Riley. That was three years ago, Giles. Three years. She has lost her mother since then. She has died since then. And you have the nerve to say that she is shirking her responsibility by dating. How dare you. More than anybody else in this room she deserves a little happiness in her life. Just one little shred of contentment. So . . . no, I’m not calling her. Not unless I have to. And if you know what’s good for you you’re not calling her either.”
Willow stormed out of the room.
Kennedy took a moment and chased after her.
Spike quietly left the room. The front door closed softly behind him.
Xander looked around at the faces that remained. “Well, that was interesting.”
Dawn looked at where Spike had been standing a few moments before and then met Giles eyes coldly. “You’re not calling her.”
“Oh, my God,” said Buffy. “Mmm. Oh, my God. That may be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
Oh, come on girl you know that isn’t entirely true. But she couldn’t exactly tell the man she was out on a date with that could she.
“Isn’t it good. They soak the pears in brandy. Here.” Wood used his fork to capture something from his plate. “You need a bite with the sauce.”
He extended his hand across the table to her and Buffy leaned in, opened her mouth and seductively, teasingly, enveloped the bit of food with her mouth. “Mmm.”
“Spike.” The bartender’s eyes were wide. If one knew to look they’d see the sudden tremble of his hands.
“Hey . . . Willy.” Spike’s calm tone was laced over dangerous steel as he sidled up to the bar and took a seat. “Long time, no see. Got used to comin’ in ‘ere n’ findin’ flunkies. Was beginning to think that you wised up, gotten yourself retired. Shoulda known better.”
“Wh-What da ya want?”
“Peace,” said the vampire as he leaned over his lighter and lit the tip of a cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Contentment.” He snapped the lighter closed and slipped it back in the pocket of his jeans. “Maybe a knock-down, drag-out brawl to punctuate my day. Let’s just start with a beer.”
Trying to steady his trembling hands Willy filled a mug from the tap and slid it onto the bar.
“So what’s new?” the vampire asked.
Willy waited a long nervous moment before he seemed to remember that he should respond. “I-I heard you cleared up your head.”
“You heard that, did you?!” Spike met the man with cold eyes, eyes devoid of kindness or mercy. “Yeah,” just a hint of a smile played about Spike’s mouth, “I can feel that . . . your fear . . . the way it’s growing in you . . . beneath your skin . . . the way its spreading all out through your blood as it takes hold . . . to your arms . . . your legs, ‘til they’re unsteady n’ you’re not sure they’ll hold you. You wanna run, don’t you?! But you know you’ll never make it. I can see it in your eyes. I can smell it all over you. Your skin . . . your sweat . . . your . . . bladder . . .”
The vampire made a face. Reached across the bar and caught the bastard by the shirt.
“Let’s cut the chit-chat you little weasel. I’ve been starving for a long time. But I’d just as soon drink the blood of the dead than tap the vein of someone who bloody pisses themselves at the first sign of trouble in their insipid, little lives so let’s make this quick. You keep track of just about every finger anyone has stirring their own bloody piss-pot in this rancid little town and you see it all go down. What I want to know is where the fuck can I find myself a little bit of fight tonight. Whose kettle has come to boil and needs a little stompin’ on before they’ll learn their place? Otherwise, I’m gonna take my frustration out on you right now, one strip of bloody skin at a time.”
Willy’s eyes were wide. Dark and empty. The smell of piss hung around him like a cloud. “Okay, okay . . . I-I may know something. There’s this guy I heard about, lives on the other side of town . . . he, um . . . fancies to make a play for the slayer . . .”
Buffy stood there. Shifted from foot to foot. Her arms were wrapped around her middle awkwardly. When Robin Wood turned and looked at her she forced herself to relax, dropping her hands to her sides. He stood there for a long moment, his eyes on her. She bit her top lip, nerves a flitter in her abdomen, feeling naked and exposed. Her gaze settled to the floor before she stole another quick glance at him, suddenly nervous to meet his eye.
She forced a smile. Looked at the room around her. A couch. A comfortable chair. Shelves filled most of two walls, overrun with an eclectic mix of books. Whatever spaces there were in the room, whether on the shelves or small end-tables near the chair or the couch seemed filled with objects discovered over a lifetime of living in the world. The room was lit with a dim comfortable light. It reminded her of what Giles’ place was like before he decided to abandon her and move back to England. In ways that were too awkward and strange to qualify it felt like coming home.
“It’s nice.”
“Yeah . . . I guess,” said Robin Wood slowly, shrugging off his jacket. “If you’d like to live in the British Museum.”
Buffy chuckled.
Wood laid his jacket over the back of the chair. Tugged at his tie with his fingers and loosened it. He was wearing a white dress shirt.
“I . . . I had a nice time.”
“Me too.”
Buffy’s finger’s absently toyed with the pendant on a thin strand of silver around her neck. She smiled nervously. “It’s been a long time since I’ve actually been out on a date like this. I mean with the food and the conversation and the picking me up at my door.” She looked around at everything around her. “And especially with . . .”
“Long time?” asked Wood, facing her and taking a step forward.
Buffy’s small tongue slipped out and ran over her top lip.
Wood came a little closer. “How long?” he wondered, very close to her.
She looked up at him. He large hand came up and touched her chin, his fingers so soft and gentle on her cheek. She tilted her head fractionally, settled her cheek against his touch. “Seems like another lifetime,” she whispered breathlessly before their lips came together in a soft tentative kiss. Buffy opened her mouth, breathing him in. Her tongue was gentle across his lip before they drifted apart, leaving him looking down into her wide green eyes.
His large hand remained gently cupping one small pert breast through her camisole and blouse. His brown eyes, normally so enigmatic, were burning with desire.
Buffy smiled up at him coyly.
Wood stepped into her, and she into him. He with fistfuls of her blouse. Crushing her lips with his. Mouths opening into each-other. Arms tangled about the other. Buffy gave voice to a small, muffled moan. One of her small, perfect hands ran desperately along to the back of his scalp.
Wood’s mouth left hers, leaving Buffy panting with want as his lips trailed down to the side of her neck. Soft. Delicate. And sending tremors throughout her body as his lips and tongue teased at that sensitive bit of skin near where her pendant hung. Her small mouth was left open in a perpetual gasp. Her head tilted away infinitesimally, inviting each touch. Fire seemed to race across her skin and warmth up her body when he unexpectedly nipped at the angle of her throat.
Buffy moaned aloud.
His gentle hands and fingers were unbuttoning her blouse. His mouth slid lower along her skin. Her breasts straining at the camisole. The first breast came delightfully free and he attacked it with zealous abandon. The unfamiliar warmth, the squeeze and caress of his large hand, the tug of his mouth on her nipple made her knees weak. She felt dizzy and lost. Only Wood kept her from falling.
Wood’s free hand came around, cupping her tight ass through her pants. Holding her to him, against the hardness that was growing beneath his belt-line. Buffy took the hint and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her arms over his shoulders, around his neck. Two awkward steps later Wood had her with her back against the door. His hard cock pressed forward against her through their clothes. Buffy tipped her head back and moaned.
The door opened with a crash, hung there from one hinge for a moment, and then fell completely to the floor, landing with a loud clap. The old man inside looked up, startled, and watched as the angry platinum haired vampire came through the door carrying a sword.
Spike’s eyes widened for a moment at the sight of him.
“Doc!?” Pleasant sounding, as if he had unexpectedly come across an old friend. “Didn’t exactly s’pect it’d be you.” The vampire’s eyes narrowed, long remembered anger burned like cinders behind his blue eyes. “I heard you were dead . . . again.” Spike’s voice was like ice, calm, merciless. “Doesn’t anyone stay dead when you kill ‘em anymore?”
Doc stood up. He picked up a sword that laid beside him and smiled gently back at Spike. “Look who’s talking!”
The two men slowly circled each-other in the room, only neither of them were really men, though sometimes they liked to pretend that they were. They were monsters, hungry for blood and set at each-other in the dark.
“I‘ve been waiting for this a long time,” Spike said almost wistfully. “I owe you for quite a lot. As a personal favor, from me to you, I’ll try not to make it quick. It’s gonna hurt a lot.” His words were tight with venom. “What do ya’ say, Doc . . . how ‘bout you n’ me have a go.”
“I do have a prior appointment.”
“Who is it this time? The First? You might as well send it your regrets . . . You’re not gonna make it.”
“I barely even smell the girl on you anymore,” Doc pointed out. “She turned you loose. Why do you even care?”
“I imagine I owe you for part of that as well.”
Doc smiled, “Finally figured that out, have you?! And they say vampires normally aren’t very intelligent.”
“I always had my suspicions,” Spike pointed out slowly, “but I barely had time to follow through at the time. That soldier boy you set after me nuked my crypt and most of what I could easily get my hands on then so I hardly had the resources. But you can bet that if I had known for certain, you and I would have settled this long ago.”
“Are you sure you want to play this game again?” Doc asked politely. He looked as if he was taking the time to study the reflection of the room off his blade. “I can’t imagine it ended very pleasantly for you the last time we both took the floor.”
“You hurt the girl. She was mine. For that if nothing else I’ll finish the dance. The payment for that will be more painful than you could possibly imagine.”
“Your girlfriend’s not here to pick up the mess this time.”
“I’m just curious . . . do you smell it?” Spike asked. “Something different? Something pure, and dark, and the sense of it cuts you to the quick like a blade. That smell . . . is death. It’s the worst thing you could possibly imagine and it’s coming to collect.”
They fell together on the bed.
Buffy pulled Robin Wood’s shirt up and over his head and tossed it aside, leaving him dark and bare-chested in the faint light. She bent down and started kissing it.
Robin stripped her panties, pulling them down past lithe, muscular legs.
He was kneeling on the mattress beside her. Sitting up, Buffy smiled unsurely at him and began to fumble with his belt-buckle. Popped the button and zipped open his fly. Wood met her eye and held it for a long moment when she touched him. Buffy looked away, but kept up the slow, almost languid motion of her hand. Robin leaned forward and kissed her, her mouth, her neck, her legs naturally wrapping around his waist as he slowly lowered her to the mattress. He reached down between their bodies, positioning himself. Buffy took an expectant breath.
She gasped out loud when he entered her, her eyes opening wide and her mouth making a pretty little o. He filled her with a warm tension, fitting inside her as any man might fit. Remembered and unfamiliar. Carnal lust and a brief unquantified sorrow, as if she’d just surrendered one more shred of her long lamented innocence.
Two bodies moved together in the dark.
Soft inarticulate noises.
No words.
A gentle rhythm.
Spike smiled grimly. “I think I’m gonna enjoy this!”
Doc came at him with the same lightning speed he remembered, like a blur suddenly set into motion. Only this time Spike knew what to expect. He brought his hand up and blocked Doc’s sword almost without a thought, blade catching against blade, before something impacted against the middle of his chest like a freight train loaded with iron. He almost had time enough to see Doc lower his extended leg before something slammed into Spike’s back. Spike fell at the base of the wall for a moment before he got back up. Doc’s lightning kick had near thrown him across the room.
“Maybe not as much as you think!” Doc barely smiled and for the moment he didn’t seem intent on approaching Spike again. He just stood there where he was, carelessly posing with his sword. “I beat you too quickly the last time, a mistake I don’t intend to duplicate.”
“Bloody hell, has everyone seen that movie?!”
“What can I say . . . Love the classics!”
The fight continued.
As the fight went on, even concentrating on defending himself from Doc Spike was having a hard time of it. Doc was stronger it seemed. Faster.
Word that had passed through his lips three years ago flashed through his memory.
I had a plan . . . a good plan. Smart. Carefully laid out. But I got bored. All that watching, waiting. My legs started to cramp.
Spike had to hope he’d do better this time.
His memory of the two previous fights with Doc, while both spectacular failures on his part, gave him his only hope. The one opening he hoped would be all he’d need.
Each hit from Doc’s sword, lightning fast, defended against in the last moment, jarred his shoulder in it’s socket.
And then he saw it, Doc’s hope for a killing blow. An end to the fight. Doc’s long prehensile tongue shot out straight at Spike’s chest. Spike threw himself to one side to avoid it, for the moment off balance, providing Doc with an opening if he could take advantage of it. Before this had resulted in Spike getting thrown from the tower, and eventually in Buffy’s death.
But before, Spike didn’t have a sword.
Spike’s sword came up and around even as he dodged, severing the tongue in one precise movement. The severed piece fell to the floor and wiggled convulsively. Doc screamed. The next swing went at Doc’s arm.
Both his sword and hand fell to the floor between them.
“Actually a Braveheart fan myself.” Spike quipped as he advanced on Doc mercilessly. Doc backed away and stumbled backward to the floor. Blood poured down his chin from his mouth. “ ‘The good Lord says he can get me out of this mess, but he’s pretty sure . . . you’re fucked.’ ”
Spike raised his sword and Doc’s eyes widened in the moment before his head was cleaved off.
“That’s all folks!”
Spike kicked Doc’s head across the floor before picking it up and tossing it into the lit fireplace at the far corner of the room. For a moment the flames turned a sickly green.
Buffy came through the door slowly and entered the room.
Giles looked up from the thick book he was reading. He was sitting in a high-backed chair. Smiling, he laid the book down in his lap.
There was a cup of tea on the end-table to his left. He picked it up and took a careful sip.
“Dawn, could you close the door.”
“I didn’t open it.”
Dawn and Anya sat leaning over a checkerboard. Dawn reached out and moved one of the red pieces twice. Dawn smiled widely at her accomplishment, wiggling victoriously in her chair.
“King me!”
“Why would you want me to do that? You make such a pretty little girl.”
Buffy walked past slowly, shaking her head, and saw Willow and Kennedy trading soft, affectionate kisses on the couch. Kennedy kissed one corner of Willow’s mouth and whispered something softly in her ear that elicited a smile. Willow lowered Kennedy’s body to the couch, herself on top of her. Softly kissed her shoulder.
“Any of you guys want to play checkers with me? Anya’s not playing fair.”
“I think we’re already playing,” Kennedy whispered, making Willow giggle.
There was another chair in the room, nestled up in the corner beneath a dim, comfortable light..
Buffy smiled as she saw that she herself was there, relaxing in the chair, holding a bundled blanket against her chest. Something made a faint noise, like a gurgle. “Shhh,” Buffy whispered, softly, lovingly. “Shhh. Hush, princess.” Buffy smiled down at the tiny child in her arms. She stuck out her tongue at the baby and smiled brightly at the response. A careless smile. A smile Buffy hadn’t thought herself capable of.
Buffy tilted her head and watched herself.
“Mommy loves you, Lil’ bit!”
Buffy felt something inside herself. Disbelief warring with . . . hope. Hope that this might someday be possible. Hope that one day she might have cause to dream about such a thing.
Something cold suddenly crawled across Buffy’s skin as she watched herself. The curtains moved faintly with a breeze. Suddenly the baby began to cry. “No. No, baby, it’s alright. Mommy’s here.” Buffy held the baby up to her shoulder, one hand beneath it, the other hand cradled in the middle of its back, softly resting her cheek against her child’s head. “Mommy’s here and everything’s alright.”
The cold breeze crawled across Buffy’s skin. Buffy looked around before she saw that the breeze seemed to be coming from the archway in the darkened corner, which led to another room beyond. She walked in that direction slowly, deeper into shadow. When she passed through the arch she found herself in a mud-room. The walls of the mud-room were cluttered.
There was also a thick wooden door that seemed to lead outside.
The thick door was held together by iron braces across its back, with square headed iron bolts spread upon their length. It was held shut with an ancient iron latch. Buffy held up her hand, felt the breeze that was coming out of the iron latch.
Buffy searched through the clutter to try to find something she could use to somehow fix it with. She found a sword. Buffy just sat there and looked at the sword for a long moment, scrunching her face just a little, as if trying to figure out what she could ever possibly do with it.
She reached out, wrapped her fingers around the iron doorhandle, and released the latch. The hinges creaked as she pulled the thick door open and stepped outside.
Buffy found herself standing amid the wreckage of a fortress. The remains of half crumbled stone walls remained here and there, like the skeletons of former greatness. The landscape was grey and bleak. The dirt beneath her feet looked like ash. Still holding the sword in her hand, Buffy turned and looked behind her to see another wall, one no less ancient than the others but far more intact, though the mortar that held it together still looked brittle and some parts of the wall seemed on the verge of collapsing. There were places where it appeared that some good sized pieces had already fallen away and formed irregular piles of wreckage at the base of what remained. The door she had come through appeared as a gateway, the stone shaped around the door into an arch that led through the otherwise impassable barrier.
Some small rocks tumbled somewhere in the detritus, followed by the whisper of crumbled mortar tumbling down like sand.
A noise made her turn. A mob stood opposite her. For the moment, neither moved. Faces marked the crowd, faces marked and changed angry feral by the demon within.
Buffy realized they hoped to get past her to the arch beyond.
She alone stood against them.
One girl against the forces of darkness.
As it had ever been.
Buffy straightened. Raised the sword at an angle across her small body. Her face, delicate, cast in shadows. Deep eyes, like pits of steel.
Her voice was grim, playful.
She smiled.
“None shall pass.”
“You don’t really think you can win, do you?” asked one of the faceless mass.
Her smile widened, twitched on the verge of laughter.
“None . . . Shall . . . Pass!”
She stood there in the gateway as the thrall began to close on her. Seeing some motion out of the corner of her eye, her sword came around in a flash of glittering steel cleaving the head from the closest vampire in one smooth swipe. Each movement was like poetry as she moved through the crowd that came at her. She punched, kicked, each series of moves always punctuated in the end by one final sweep of her sword. Dust burned in her eyes.
The faces that swam before her were always familiar, if long forgotten.
The next face was one that she couldn’t help but remember. It had haunted her dreams for years afterwards. Red eyes. Mouth and chin seemed faintly stained with a hint of red. Face mangled beyond repair by age and the power of the demon that had for so long swam beneath. From each dream she had awoke gasping for breath that wouldn’t come fast enough, the taste of something stale lingering in the back of her throat.
The Master.
He came straight at her, quickly, hunched over just a little. Eyes angry and feral, like an animal. Snarling, full of teeth and rage.
Buffy’s sword arced down without mercy. The Master’s body stumbled to one knee, fell to the charred and lifeless earth in a pile of bones.
Vampires. Demons. All fell before her until mangled corpses were like litter and an almost perpetual cloud of dust settled around her feet like a fog.
Buffy snapped a demon’s neck, the sound loud and sharp, and let the body fall where it would. When she looked up, finding herself in an unexpected moment of respite, she saw the next vampire standing there watching her. He too held a sword.
Angelus.
They stood there across from each-other, the Slayer and her former lover.
The faint hint of a smile marked Angelus’s face.
A sweep of a sword, another brought up to counter. The blades slid apart.
The enemies faced each-other.
The swords were almost too fast to watch. The motion, the sounds of the blades striking sharply together, like music. Buffy blocked, leapt over a low strike quickly, spun around and graced him with a roundhouse kick. Her sword came around and Angelus just barely managed bring his up in time to block it. Another kick sent him crashing into part of the crumbling wall, dropping his sword. Buffy’s sword shot straight out, stabbing him straight through the middle of the chest and pinning him to the wall. He looked at her with a mixture of pain, bewilderment and awe. Buffy tugged her sword loose with some crumbling gravel, swept around like she was dancing, leaving nothing but dust settling around earth and stone.
The thing about the dance was, she never get to stop.
Buffy sent Faith crashing into the remnants of a wall. Part of the wall crumbled beneath the impact. The dark-haired girl lay at the base of the crumbled stonework and didn’t get up again.
Mayor Wilkins took the tip of a sword between the eyes. His skin melted into scales and his limbs turned limp. Buffy put one boot on his head and tugged the blade free from bone.
Vampire after vampire exploded into clouds of cindery oblivion, leaving her choking on the air.
Adam deflected a series of sword swipes with the hard, sharp spike sticking out of his wrist and she punched out with her free hand, ripping deep into his chest before her hand finally came free again. Adam stared at her for a moment with empty eyes, then fell down dead right there in front of her. She threw away whatever was wrapped in her fingers and wiped her hand on her pants before she was back in the thick of things again.
Someone was fighting alongside her now. She didn’t know how long he’d been there, with the flash of platinum hair and the black leather flowing behind him like the wind, but he was certainly there now.
A vampire knocked Buffy off her feet, getting the better of her for the briefest moment. Its fangs flashed in her eyes, white and sharp. Buffy’s fingers desperately wrapped around the hilt of her sword where it lay upon the ground, but before she could do anything the vampire exploded into ash that settled down on top of her, revealing the pale man standing behind where the vampire once was, holding a stake.
Spike.
He reached out his hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed the vampire dust off her clothes and his blue eyes looked deep into hers. Her eyes drifted away.
Spike picked up Angel’s sword from the ground and came up to stand beside her. Buffy brushed at the dust on her blouse.
Buffy went into it with Glory when she came with everything she had. Glory gave back just as hard. Blood dripped from a cut high up on Buffy’s forehead near her hairline. A little more came from her nose. Buffy wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.
Meanwhile, Spike fought Doc. Nothing but fists and fury. It was a dance of carnal ferocity, both beautiful and terrible in its execution.
Glory had Buffy down. A kick to the ribs from the hell bitch and Buffy coughed up blood. One hard punch arced down to finish it. Buffy moved, grabbed the arm as it presented itself, and snapped the bones inside like cordwood. Glory fell, cradling her shattered arm. Now it was Buffy who stood over Glory, the hilt of her sword held in both hands and stabbing downward with all her strength, leaving behind nothing but the sad broken body of a man. Buffy kicked dirt over it and stepped away.
With barely a moments respite the next enemy was upon her. They came with relentless certainty. No matter how many Buffy killed or maimed, no matter how much dust or how many corpses there were to see the next ones came on regardless. She impaled demons. Chopped the head off a semi-corporeal wraith that materialized right in front of her. Rendered vampires limb from limb. And still . . . they came.
Too many came.
Buffy found herself being overwhelmed. Vampires. Demons. Things that defied description of any kind. And still . . . she danced.
A short distance away, Spike looked up from the remains of Doc and those of other demons that littered the ground around him, and glanced in Buffy’s direction.
“BUFFY!”
With fear in his eyes, he suddenly began to run straight toward her. She stood fighting a small crowd of enemies. A Turok-han loomed large right in front of her, angry and full of teeth. Buffy brought her sword around, desperation fueling her, and cleaved its head from its neck. More vampires reached for her from her right, getting close enough for one of them to get a handful of her shirt before they died as well.
She felt another vampire closing in and turned, slicing blindly down at a forty-five degree angle, before she even managed to bring her eyes around to watch it die. Spike stopped, the cut she’d managed to make cleaving him from shoulder to hip, deep enough to spill his insides out. He stood there, looking back at her with his deep blue eyes. Eyes just beginning to realize the depth of her betrayal.
Buffy’s eyes widened with the realization of what she’d done.
Spike’s wide eyes darted up over her shoulder, a warning that came too late as a second fire exploded without warning in her gut. She looked down at the tip of a sword poking out of her middle, swathed in her own blood. The burning only grew in intensity as the Turok-han that had come up behind her then ripped its blade free.
“Buffy!” Spike’s last word as he reached for her was only the barest hint of a whisper before he crumbled into dust, his fingers just out of reach . . .
Buffy’s eyes snapped open in the dark. Robin Wood lay sleeping beside her, a deeper shadow in the dark. Unmoving.
Buffy curled up upon herself and began to cry.
author's note: so, let's take a poll. do you hate me? does the mere mention of my name make your blood boil? you ain't seen nothin' yet.
author's response to some criticism: Many fics start from dark places. If they started out all sweetness & light there wouldn't be much any other place it could go. I tried my best to show that this is a dark place. Buffy refused to hold his eye when they were in bed together, said no meaningful words, and when it was all over she had a dream about in some way betraying all that she loved & woke up crying. Is this not a dark place? She surrendered to her friends expectations when it came to finding a normal guy & woke up feeling dirty. I tried to convey the depth of emotion in the scene between Spike & Buffy when they stood in the hallway upstairs in her house, the way she was holding back everything she really feels. I hope I was successful. This is a Spuffy fic because after sinking so low the realization of what has gone successively wrong with Buffy's life will come to light. She will realize the things that are important to her and the things better to cast aside. The fic is about a journey, and like many it starts with Buffy being emotionally in a bad place, be it with Riley or Wood. The important thing is not where she begins, but how she comes out of it. Hate me if you want, but if you care to review please be kind and keep in mind that it is a journey. This is only the beginning ...