[Reviews - 617]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 6732 times

- Text Size +




I appologize for this one being a bit short, but certain real life issues got in the way, and I had to slow down a bit. Thanks to my girls, and Addie (for the looong conversations and plot bunnies) and also, thanks to everyone else who's taken time out to review. Rana, Shippy, Blondie bear and everyone else that has left a kind word for me. Thank you so very much. Nia

[A/N: the title is an over-used one, I realize that, but it seems to fit, and besides, I can’t seem to come up with something more apt. The original source is the Bible, from the first epistle of Paul to the Corinthians, 13, but its such an odd juxtaposition within the context of this letter, that I suppose it made sense to someone. Anyway, here it is. The quotes are as attributed, and the disclaimers are still in effect, which means I own nothing. But boy if I did . . . ]

Previously: Wesley has arrived from Los Angeles to give them some necessary information only to find out that Buffy has returned at Willow’s hand. This picks up where we left off.

36. Through a glass darkly.

Signs cannot be represented, in a spy’s report, so damningly as words.
Stendhal, The Red and the Black, ch. XXVII

Each friend represents a world in us; a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only in meeting them that a new world is born.
Anais Nin



Willow woke up to find the house empty and pitch dark. She was so tired, exhausted, even her bones ached. Every muscle in her body protested and her eyes were all crusted over. Her mouth felt like little men with fuzzy slippers had left them around her teeth and her belly was screaming for sustenance.

Getting up, she glanced at the clock. Blinking at it in disbelief, she wiped her eyes. No way. It couldn’t possibly be that late. She’d only gone up to take a quick nap while Tara made dinner. She couldn’t possibly have slept nearly four hours.

Nope, stupid clock still said nine twenty-seven. What the heck? Hadn’t anyone tried waking her? Willow wandered out into the hallway, straining for sounds of anyone else being home. The house was eerily silent.

Following the instincts of her grumbling belly, Willow wandered into the kitchen. Tara had propped a note against a prepared plate, telling her nothing more than the other four had gone out and would be back later. There was also a bit about how she’d tried waking her a couple of times, but Willow hadn’t woken up.

Well that’s just . . . phooey, Willow thought, feeling just out of sorts. Lifting the foil off the plate, she scrunched up her nose. Veggies and chicken and good stuff. Wiggling her fingers, Willow got nothing more than a weird tingly feeling, like accidently sticking your finger in a socket or when static electricity hits but nothing else. The plate didn’t even heat up. Trying again, Willow didn’t even get that sensation.

Aggravated at herself now, Willow tried again. Still nothing. Getting short-tempered, she grabbed the plate and nearly flung it into the microwave.

This was not fair. Shouldn’t be drained like this, magic was kind of – self-generating, you either had the power or didn’t. While the microwave whirred behind her, she wondered if maybe trying to, well not so much with the trying as doing, she corrected her thoughts, she had done a lot, moved all the park stuff around, rearranging everything and best of all, making the moon dance in the sky. That had been cool.

Lost in the moment of remembrance, Willow didn’t hear the microwave beep or the phone ring, in fact she didn’t register anything until she heard the tail end of Angel’s message, but by then she was focused on trying to remember exactly what she had done in order to get the moon to move.

Whirling around, Willow nearly stumbled and fell. She was tired and hungry, almost beyond hungry. Her belly felt like it was scraping against her backbone. Suddenly remembering the food in the microwave, Willow made her way over to it. That’s all this was, her body needed food and rest and then, tomorrow she’d be just fine and dandy. Just needed nutrients and rest.

Without thought of taste or temperature, Willow scarfed down the leftovers then trudged back up the stairs. Idly glancing at the clock again, she noted it was nine forty-three as her head hit the pillow.


******************************** ***************************************

For perhaps the third time this evening, Wesley was rendered speechless. It was beginning to become something of a pattern. He thought he had a permanent look of confusion on his features.

The active slayer was holding onto Spike while clutching her sister’s hand. Looking furtively at Giles, Wesley realized this was not a surprise to anyone but him. Best keep his . . . questions to a minimum.

“Don’t think he’d make Sunnyhell his first stop pet” was Spike’s softly worded reassurance.

Giles and Buffy were both shaking their heads, but it was the watcher who spoke first. “He would seek out those he knows are capable of defeating him and restoring his soul. Which puts more than a few of us in harm’s way.”

“But he’s not all evil right?” Dawn’s voice sounded scared, which made sense, because the monks had implanted a memory of Angelus kidnaping her along with Giles.

“No, he held on, though it was a near thing.” Wesley stared down into his glass of scotch. “Not before he allowed Darla and Drusilla to take out half the senior management of Wolfram & Hart.”

“This before or after he nearly burned them to a crisp?” That night came back sharply for both of them, but instead of pulling away, Buffy settled closer into his embrace, letting go her sister’s hand. Leaning forward, Spike whispered something in Buffy’s ear, to which she rolled her eyes and hissed at him, but the whole time she had a soft private little smile.

“So we don’t have to worry about evil ex-boyfriends do we?” Was Tara’s query, pulling everyone’s attention back to the discussion.

“No. We don’t.” Giles took off his glasses, thinking hard. “What we do have to worry about is an invasion of our privacy. I would imagine the shop is the primary location, while in all likelihood they may have limited surveillance on our homes.”

“Haven’t been by the crypt for anything longer than to pick up weapons in weeks, so the place is probably safe, only because its not being used.” Spike shrugged a bit, breaking away from Buffy to pace.

“What about here?” Buffy wasn’t happy with any part of this discussion, nor with Spike moving away.

“I did a sweep earlier, before Wesley got here, everything was clear, except for those.” And he gestured at the two little devices in the water glass. “They appear to be listening devices and I didn’t find a video feed, so I would imagine they haven’t attempted that yet.”

Wesley continued, “hopefully your house is safe, because it is privately owned, but we should assume that Xander’s apartment is wired.”

Spike was muttering under his breath about interfering wankers and his agitation was growing. “How do we keep ‘em from finding out we know before we strike?”

“How do we find all these devices?” Was Buffy’s question.

“Well, I’ve brought some counter-measures with me, not to mention you do have some fairly powerful magics at your disposal.” Wesley leaned forward in his chair and for the first time, everyone noticed the boxes of supplies at his feet and piled beside him. “I’ll teach you how to look for cameras and bugs and how to short circuit the signals for brief periods, so that it all looks accidental.”

“That’s good. But we need to know who is supplyin’ the wankers with the pictures.” Spike stopped pacing, looking at the other two men. “Gotta protect the girls, can’t have them goin’ after Niblet or Glinda, ‘s not right.”

“Hey – girl here!” Buffy pouted at him and Spike scowled playfully at her. Brushing a kiss against her temple, he pulled her close, “beautiful one too, but you can protect yourself, they can’t.”

And he whispered something else in her ear that had her melting against his chest, her eyes suddenly misty.

Silence reigned for a little bit, then Giles said, “what was the other reason you called Wesley?”

“Right” clearing his throat and tearing his eyes away from the two blonds, Wesley stole a glance at Dawn and then spoke. Giles had told him something of the girl’s origins and the implantation of memories by the monks, as a means of enlisting his help should something come to light in the course of his work. Well, it had, but Wesley suddenly realized that this information he brought with him might just change the course of their lives. He didn’t know exactly what was contained in the texts, but he knew enough to know they might be the very same monks that had given the key form after protecting it from Glorificus for centuries.

“Recently some old texts were acquired from a . . . . well a group of monks that all perished recently.”

Everyone’s attention riveted on him. Flushing under the focus of so many eyes, Wesley shifted in his seat.

“Texts?”

“Monks?”

“Acquired how?”

Were all flung in the air, from differing voices and Wesley tried to answer each one.

“The texts, some scrolls, some books and a few private journals of some of the brethren were acquired by Wolfram & Hart just recently. Their rarities collection is quite extensive and they must spend millions.”

“Focus Wesley, back to the subject.” Buffy interrupted him, more than passingly familiar with the bookworm gleam in his eyes. Kind of reminded her of Giles.

“Sorry. Well then.” Shifting his attention back, he continued, “I’m not quite certain how the texts came into the possession of Wolfram & Hart, but they did. And when my contact gloatingly informed me of such, I . . . . liberated them.”

He had the grace to look sheepish until Spike and Giles both laughed out loud. “Means you stole them from underneath their noses.”

“In a manner of speaking . . . . from . . . from one point of view, perhaps.” He was visibly embarrassed, a fact which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t go all missish on us now Wes. Proud of you. Bloody good job. Lifting priceless texts from Evil Inc., must’ve been right fun.” Spike was enjoying both the revelation and the idea of stuffed shirt going all pink panther.

“Stop teasing him. Its not nice.” And it would’ve worked if Buffy hadn’t been laughing softly.

“Um, Buffy, these are my monks?” Dawn was . . . uncomfortable and strangely excited. Maybe, just . . . could these books have the information she needed? It was probably in them somewhere. Just one . . . that’s all she needed, just one of them to have what she was looking for. She was almost afraid to hope, but it had to be there, they must have kept records of something as important as the key, since they were the ones guarding it. Turning wide eyes on her sister and Spike, and then Giles, Dawn tried again.

“They are the ones that . . . right?”

Instead of answering her, Buffy opened her arms to hold her tight. Raising her eyes to Spike over Dawn’s head, Buffy’s held a question and a need.

Knowing how fragile his slayer was, and knowing, too, that this was a hard subject for Dawn, Spike came round the couch and sunk down on his haunches facing the sisters.

“Niblet?” He reached out a hand, brushing away her hair.

“Just tell me its them . . . the ones that made me.”

It was Wesley’s voice, that sounded in the room, though, not Spike’s but it was his arms that she clung too.

“It appears that way.”

Dawn buried her face against Buffy’s shoulder, holding tight onto Spike’s hands.

Her origins were in those texts, she knew it. She just had to find them.





You must login (register) to review.