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: Chapter 1 :
Two of Us
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"Thanks for coming back, Buffy. I don't think she likes me."

It was so easy to roll her eyes at Andrew. In the hour that they'd been together that morning, Buffy had already done it about fourteen times. The day before, her first session with Dana, she'd thought her eyes would fall out of their sockets. Andrew didn't notice. "It's probably best that she talks to her own kind. I tried talking to her and she went all Vader on me."

Buffy quickened her pace, causing Andrew to trip in trying to keep up. He really ought to lead, since she didn't have a clue where they kept Dana in the new headquarters.

Picking up on her thoughts, Andrew jogged ahead. "We put her in the padded cells near the training facilities so she couldn't hurt herself anymore."

"Anything new? Procedures.. examinations..?"

"It took about six men to tranquilize her, but yeah, we hooked her up for a while. It was quite preternatural-"

"What?"

They came to a stop at a porthole where Andrew peered into the darkness. "She's probably still vertiginous."

"What'd you find out?"

"Nothing that we don't already know."

Again with the eye-rolling. The Watcher-to-be to unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. Buffy stepped inside and the door heaved shut behind her, left unlocked for Buffy's convenience. Dana hunched in the corner, clad in a straight-jacket and her hair a snarly mess. Her breathing was heavy and slow, her eyes barely open and still - a big contrast to her usual unstable nature.

Debating with herself for a moment, Buffy knelt before Dana, bending her head to look into the girl's eyes. Dana reciprocated, adjusting herself into a better sitting position. There was no trust, Buffy could tell. Not when the image of her entangled with vampires were swimming in Dana's head.

"Dana, do you remember me?" No response. "You know me. You don't remember me, but you know all about me. You've walked in my shoes, haven't you. You've fought my battles; you've fought all of our battles."

"Two of us. The neck..." Dana moved to guard her neck, her restraints preventing her. "Sink the teeth or twist the wrist. Listen for the snap."

Spike's kills again. "I am here to help you. But to help, I have to understand. Make me understand, Dana."

"Link by link, piece by piece."

"Connect to what, Dana?"

She spoke, but her words were foreign to Buffy.
"Please, my little Robin..."

Spike's second...

"For him, I follow, until he is what he was."

Dana's voice raised, childlike and innocent. Her scattered language propered itself, taking on an English accent that bested Giles' in genteelness. She curled her legs beneath her and sat up straight, meeting Buffy's eyes straight on and cocking her head to one side. Ladylike.

"Dana...?"

Dana's head shook, almost giggling. "Grace. My name, madam, is Grace."

"Dana, you're receding into one of your memories. It's meshing with your own reality. It's... it's like a split personality, and it's dragging you further into your-" She couldn't say insanity. Never say 'insanity' to an insane person. "It's taking you farther away from being normal, Dana."

Frowning, Dana's eyes welled with tears of confusion. She writhed against her jacket, then settled back into her irregularly calm demeanor, letting her tears fall.

Her expression matching Dana's, Buffy gave in. "Grace, then, is it?"

Dana nodded politely.

"You were saying, Grace?"

She smiled. "Father never calls me Gracie. William does. Father does not like it."

"William was a friend of yours?" Let me guess... a bloody-awful poet?

Grace nodded again, enthusiastically. "William is my most cherished."


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Dear Casilda,
It was a golden day today. Once the morn rose, I was off to school to study more about mundane things, such as how to concert a household and raise the young ones and so on. We were sent off on our way early today - the chimes had only struck twice - so Constance and I decided upon a pleasant park picnic with our satchels. But oh! We were not to be alone!
---


"I bet I could beat you to that tree!" Constance challenged Grace, skipping backward to taunt her.

"Get you hence!" Grace said, flapping her hand in indifference. "I shan't partake of such childish behavior." Finding a bench, she sat and placed her hands on her knees, mocking the proper and stifling her giggles. "I simply must be a lady so that I may wed."

"Oh you," Constance nearly choked on her own laughter. "You sound like your father, you do!" Her laughing abruptly died as her gaze caught hold of another, swooning slightly. "And if I were to 'get hence,' shall I hence forth with him?"

Whipping her head around, Grace nearly fell from her perch. She joined Constance in her admiration over the fair-haired man sitting alone only a short distance away, his head bowed over a journal and his hand idly scrawling with a short quill. Her cheeks warmed as she rose to her feet, starting towards him.

"Grace!" hissed Constance, patting her knees as if her friend were a puppy. "Grace, no! It isn't polite!"

"Oh, but I know him!" Grace returned, her own voice hushed. She offered her friend one last grin, a mixture of mischief and shyness, as she continued toward the man. Noticing her approach, he set aside his book and stood to meet her.

"Ah, and what have you to be about?" he asked, looking around him. "Have your lessons cut short, then?"

Nodding, Grace looked to sit, waiting for him to gesture to the bench. "Oh yes, just moments ago."

"I see," his smile was pleasantly in jest. "And how might a young lady 'know' a gentleman?"

Placing a hand to her lips to muffle her gasp of embarrassment, Grace scrounged for her excuse. "Kind sir, have you not been in attendance to many of my father's gatherings? I would remember such charm as yours." He looked thoughtful, easing her embarrassment. "William, yes?"

"And you are sweet Gracie, Cecily's younger sister?"

Her heart fluttering at the endearment, Grace nodded and leaned to catch a better glance at his writing. "Might I be so bold as to ask what you write?"

"Oh..." he was quite humble. "It is nothing of importance." Conceding to her hopeful expression, William reopened his journal for her to see. "You see, to pass time in such a disdainful world, I bide by with what little beauty I can offer... alas, no beauty here lay."

Grace's eyes glossed over. "You are a poet! As am I, or am aspiring to be, yet have never found another with such passion!" Looking from his pleased face back to his book, Grace could barely contain herself. "I think you write beautifully... that is, until you get to these certain ones." She pointed to a few scribbles that seemed to refer to a person. "These may need a bit more--"

"Aren't we an edgeless little minx?" William teased, laughing at his own clumsy work. "Though I must agree. Some things are just simpler to write..." He closed his book despite her protests. "Now now, this isn't quite fair."

Grace paled. "I beg your pardon?"

"My soul exposed, while yours away?"

"Ah," she stood. "I am unprepared, dear sir. Might I tie a ribbon on my pinkie for our next meet?"

"Edgeless and presumptuous," he stood and took her hand in a small shake. "Until we meet."

---
The slightest touch, and dare I swoon? Blessed Casilda, I shall look for him after three days' time. Father should be holding a party, then...

Most faithfully yours,
Grace


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To Be continued... Chapter 2: Ne'er Lark Nor Eagle Flew



Author's Note: So how was that, eh? Confused yet? Intrigued much? Maybe just a wee bit? Either way, could'ja comment? Christmas spirit, people! Be generous with the love!

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