Author: Adrian Voss (Adam)
Disclaimer: I own everything. I own the characters, I own the town, I own the whole bloody concept of vampires, witchcraft, and wooden stakes. What are you gonna do about it? Sue me? Give it a try, mate. See if I show up in court. Ha!
Summary: This story takes place almost a week after the end of Season 6. Buffy is dead, Willow is alive, Xander and Anya, Giles and Dawn are too. Spike is still dead, but that's been going on for a while now.
Notes: Feedback is always appreciated. Mailto:adrianvoss@telusplanet.net?subject:Buffy 5.999
______
Part I
Hello there, stranger. Welcome to Sunnydale, California. Looks like you're on your way to bigger and better things than this little burg, though. Oh, don't worry about hiding it; we saw your expression when you first came into town. It's not much to look at, but it's home to a lot of good folks, and it's not a bad little town if you can get past the appearances. What? You don't think a little place like this has anything to offer a big-city fellow such as yourself? You might be surprised, friend. Pray come with us for a while. Don't worry; there's nothing here that could hurt us.
No, we're not from around here, either. We're not surprised you picked up on that so fast, though. You look like a sharp sort of fellow if we ever saw one. We've been here before on many different occasions. Witnessed a lot of important things. Not the sort of thing you'll ever read about in the news rags, though. But, be assured that it's all important, and we know this town pretty well now. We'll take you to the hotspots on the map- And some places that no one even knows about. You've come at a really good time, in fact. There's something you might like to see, if you're brave enough. Will you join us, friend? Excellent. Don't worry, we'll fill you in on the details you might miss-- We wouldn't want you to misunderstand what's going on around us. There's big times ahead.
The night is still in its infancy, and this stretch of road is already deserted. Not an hour ago, we saw people walking all around us, going about their business. But, they're all indoors now. Happened right around the time the sun went down, actually. To be exact.
That's all right, though. It's nice to have free run of the place. Still, with no one else around, we can really feel the isolation here. Can't you? Having no eyes around to do the deed, but still feeling watched is a little creepy. But, enough about that. There's nothing around that could hurt us even if it knew we were here.
We'll draw closer to the ground and stay about eye-level to things-- Give you a more familiar view. On our left, that's Jan Appleby's craft store. She sells homemade nik-naks to the tourists who chance to pass through town on their way to bigger and better places. She's a real great lady-- Always has time for a kind word and a cup of tea with anyone who steps into her shop. We could almost feel bad for her, though. She really is quite inventive with copper wire and that little blowtorch she bought at the Wal- Mart over on fifth street, but her trouble is that not many tourists pass through anymore. Less and less every year since, well, since the highschool burnt down, we suppose. Things have been going downhill ever since. Even Marvin Lester, the town's official lush, would agree with us here. "Things afoot," he has said to anyone who will listen. He usually just tells himself, though. Not many folks even realize he's there, anymore. He's almost as invisible as we are.
Maybe later, time permitting, we'll let the wind take us into her store for a little look-see. You would really be surprised at what she can do. Maybe surprised enough to pick something up for your friends back home. We could do it now, but time is the only enemy that we need worry about. There's so much more we want to show you. It's important that our guests feel welcome, and we want you to stay for a while.
It's really not such a bad little town. To the right, you've got Ted's Hardware Store. The backlit lettering above the door? Ted did that himself. We thought you'd be surprised. The quality is as good as corn, Ted would say to you if he wasn't hiding behind closed doors at home. We could assume that Ted likes his corn. We could also assume, having seen him peer furtivly out his window into the growing darkness, that there is something outside that Ted does not like. We'll leave you to hold your own opinion about corn, but trust us when we say that Ted should be nervous. Some of the shadows he's seen moving in the night aren't exactly shadows.
There are plenty more stores along this road, some closed and condemned, and some thriving. Mostly the former, though. It really is a pity. Like we've said, it's really not such a bad little town.
Ah! We've come upon what is probably the second busiest store in Sunnydale. The signage is hard to read from back here, especially with no lights on. We'll go closer. It's the Magic Box. See the faded chalk drawings outside the door? The rain's washed most of it away, and more's the pity, because it really was something to look at for a while. Suppose it's supposed to mean something? It doesn't even look like english, does it? And there's a little sign in the window, too. Hand-made with a black marker. What's that say? Something about Magick Dayz starting soon? Grand re-opening specials galore? They've been closed since Tuesday, if you're curious. We'll fill you in, since you missed all the commotion a week ago-- You really should have been here for it, though.
There was a storm one night last week. Tuesday, to be exact. The local cable station received a hundred complaints over a ten minute stretch from angry customers. Whatever it was, it disrupted the reception for most of the town.
We'll tell you something else, too. Something you won't hear from the cable company, either. Anyone living within fifteen blocks of the industrial park here in Sunny-D had their televisions blow up! We chanced upon this juicy bit of gossip from the old Peterson widow when she told Myrtle Walker on the telephone. It wasn't evesdropping, though; Not in the strictest sense of the word. We just happened to be passing through the lines on our way to visit someone's grave to pay our respects.
There must have been lightning, too, because the fire department received more calls than the nightshift operator, poor Denise Chambers, could handle. We can't blame her, though. She only took the job because she's trying to put herself through college, and because she wanted to meet-- and possibly date-- a fireman. We heard that she quit the next day, and went to work at the Double Meat Palace. Not sure where she went after that, though. No one has seen her for a few days now. Maybe she's moved off to bigger and better things now, too.
Did you see that? That man on the other side of the intersection? We'll move closer for you. There. Do you seem him now? What do you suppose possesses a man to run that fast? He's running from something, don't you think? Why else would he keep looking behind him, as though he's afraid he's being followed. You, like us, have probably noticed his clothes by now. That was a suit jacket with a big tear down the back that you saw. And my, wasn't he dirty-looking?
What's that you say? It looks as though he's been rolling in the dirt? Well, yes, now that you mention it, that's certainly what it looked like. You probably didn't recognize him, but that's Shamus. Bill and Diane Runke's boy? Maybe you read something about him in the local paper when you blew into town. You would have if you happen to make the obituaries required reading, that is. We can assure you that in this town, good ol' Sunnydale, California, the obituaries are definitly the only news that you need worry about these days.
You're confused. We can see it in your eyes. Don't worry, sonny, it'll all become clear in a few minutes. We were waiting for Shamus to come by, actually. Don't look so surprised. We already told you that we were here to see something and that something has now begun. Shamus, the dead man with the fleet foot, was just the curtain call.
So, up we go. Above the street, above the buildings, above everything until the whole town is spread out to us like a buffet table. We laugh at this, but in an uneasy, humorless way. It was an inside joke, and one that you will understand soon enough. We'll warn you now, though. Once you're on the inside, you may never be able to find the door again.
We're drifting over the town, heading East, to be exact. We're going to a cemetary. No, not that one there, or even that one over on our left. The cemetary we're heading for lies dead ahead. Surely you can see it now; the big dark spot in the center of town. There aren't any lights in this cemetary, you see. There were, but over time they've all been broken by, well, the *who* isn't nearly as important as the why.
You can feel the lonliness in this place. The gloom and darkness surrounds us as we dip back to the ground, dancing between the leaves of the old oak that enshroud the mossy ground from the sky. Even during the brightest moment of the day, the sun does not touch the Earth in this place. We look up, hoping perhaps to see the moon, or a star. Anything to remind us that we have not stepped off the face of the Earth and into some other world. But all we see are branches, criss-crossing each other above our heads. You might think that if we could shiver at this isolation, we would. Be assured, dear friend, we would indeed.
A brook bubbles out of sight, and our world is otherwise silent. We are not alone here, though. You didn't see him there, kneeling over that gravestone? That's all right. It is quite dark. But, can you now make him out, holding his head in his hands? Your eyes are adjusting nicely to the darkness, yes? We should take a moment to pity him, perhaps. To venture out on a night such as this to kneel at a grave speaks of great sadness. His glasses hang from his fingers as he rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand.
We have the power to look into his mind, and we use it when it suits us. We want to know for whom this man mourns. Still yourself, and listen with us. This man has a secret.
But, wait, it isn't mouring this man is doing; it's groaning. In fact, we can hear him mumble to himself.
"This really is becoming tiresome," he grimaces. His soothing accent is one that we instantly recognize. His name is Rupert. Rupert Giles, to be exact, and he owns the Magic Shop. That in itself lends a note of skeptisim to the scene. The owner of a magic store sitting becide a grave in the darkness and secrecy of the night. Our minds conjure images of black magic and evil spells which rob men of their senses and women of their bodies. But rest assured that we have not stumbled upon something Dark. In fact, just the opposite is true.
But, we've distracted you from our surroundings, haven't we? What business could Giles possibly have in this place at this time of night?
"Giles! Little help!"
Ah! We've missed someone else, it seems. A young man, powerfully built with untamed black hair falls backward toward us. The young man is Xander Harris, a carpenter and unlikely friend to Rupert. We might ask what a distinguished older gentlemen would have in common with our new acquantance here, but before our words form a sentence, the reason storms into view. It's a man, but there is something wrong with him-- Something, we dare quote Marvin, *is afoot.*
The man is dressed in a fashion that you may notice has long passed out of style. But it's not his bellbottoms and flowered shirt that has caught your attention, has it? It must be the bumpy ridges on the man's brow that make him resemble a gargoyle or Hollywood monster. No, it isn't makeup, nor are those yellow contacts he's wearing. And his teeth! They're so long and pointed. What's that you say, friend? Yes, that's what he is. No, no, you may as well forget everything you've ever read of them. Forget Dracula, forget Lestat and Louis, forget Count Chocula, too. You've just met your first vampire. Welcome to Sunnydale.
Part II
Giles raises his head and we see the start of a nasty bruise forming on his temple. His glasses are on and he is on his feet in an instant. A wooden stake appears from within his tweed jacket. This has the look of a practiced manouver.
The disco vampire lunges at Xander just as the young man regained his footing, and the two tumble back to the ground. The vampire punches at Xander with savage ferocity, snarling like an animal. To his credit, Xander defends himself quite well; the vampire only lands a single punch to his nose.
"Still waiting here," the young man breathes through clenched teeth. His beefy arms are shaking with the effort to hold the vampire's gnashing teeth away from his neck.
Giles rushes forward with his stake raised for the kill. With animalistic reflexes, the vampire lashes out with one arm and knocks the stake out of Giles' grasp. This does nothing to stop the older man's forward momentium, however.
"Oh dear." Giles falls into the vampire and the two roll over each other several times before coming to rest several feet away in a writhing, snarling heap of tweed and pastel flowers.
Taking momentary advantage of the vampire, Giles coils his legs and kicks out at the vampire's solarplexes, pushing the undead creature backward toward the waiting Xander.
A thin trail of blood runs from the young man's nose, and his breathing is heavy, but he does not look remotely finished yet. His jaw set, he lashes out with his fist as the vampire stumbles toward him, hitting the creature in the kidney. The vampire snarls wildly in surprise and throws out his arm, glancing a blow off Xander's cheek, opening up another small well of blood only centemeters from the man's right eye.
Xander pulls backward after the fact, but he does not retreat. Giles is back on his feet again, another stake held tightly in a white-knuckled fist. The vampire turns back to face the older man, sizing him up and casting a not-so-casual glance at the wooden stake.
The carpenter lunges forward (we might assume this was an act of deliberate bravery on the young man's part, and we would not be wrong) and wraps his muscled arms around the vampire, catching it by surprise.
"Yes, yes! That's it, now hold him!" Giles flexes his fingers briefly with his staking arm and steps quickly forward, cocking his arm back for the death blow. The stake must penetrate the heart of the vampire to kill it. Giles knows this, and thusly so do we. "Forgot about me, did you? Let this be a lesson to you. I'm not so easily knocked unconscious as I was, er, l- last night." Can you hear the accent in his voice? That, friend, is the sound of the dignified British. Doesn't it speak of libraries and aristocricy to you?
"Giles, less talking, more dusting!" Xander is starting to lose his grip. He had locked one hand around the other wrist, but the vampire's thrashing has forced him to let go. A tendon in Xander's neck is bulging out as he struggles to bind the vampire.
"Yes, right." The moment gone, Giles drives the stake into the vampire's chest without ceremony. Powerful stab and quick retreat with little followthrough. He taught *her* how to do it like that once.
Xander may not have noticed the sudden tensing around the older man's eyes at that thought, but we have. It's our duty to notice these things, and our responsibility to wonder who *she* was that he should inwardly grimmace at the thought of her. We catch sight through his mind of blonde hair, and then even that is gone.
The vampire siezes up and an inhuman scream errupts forth from it. From our position just over Giles' shoulder, it seems to us that the scream came not from its mouth. From our position, the scream came from the vampire's entire being. A cry of protest, perhaps. We may never know, and that's not why we're here.
In time with the scream, the vampire's body seems to collapse in on itself, dying and rotting and turning to dust in the space of a heartbeat. At the last moment, it explodes outward in a sparse cloud. We are alone now with Xander and Giles.
With nothing left to squeeze, Xander's hands clap together, seeming to boom in the silence. He looks embarass-- What's that? Yes, it did turn into dust. That's what vampires do when they die. If you stay in town for a while longer, you'll see that it's much more convienent that way. Yes, it might seem like a movie to you, dear friend, but we assure you that it is real. If it were a movie, one might expect to see a hero emerge from the darkness, would one not? But, this is real life, and the hero that our new acquantances would turn to is lying in a grave not ten minute's walk from where we stand.
Xander's expression of embarassment turns into one of surprised anxiety as he lets out a powerful sneeze, almost doubling over. Giles pays him little mind as he wipes off his glasses with a frown.
"I'm allergic," Xander says, dabbing at his nose with his sleeze. Another sneeze interrupts this. "Is that possible? To be allergic to vamp dust?"
"Yes, yes, lot's of fun." Giles is glancing around the cemetary, his eyes narrowed in the darkness. We're tempted to wonder if perhaps he can sense our presence, but of course that would be impossible. "Where did Willow and Anya get off to, I wonder?"
Xander's bemusing worried expression turns instantly to concern. His bushy eyebrows furrow as he too glances around the cemetary. "Aun? Will? Come out, come out, where ever you--"
We hear sounds of a struggle behind a line of chest-high bushes. Xander and Giles heard it too. The older man takes a firm grip on the wooden stake and cat-steps toward the bushes. Xander pulls his own stake from the back pocket of his jeans. We're tempted to fly higher so we may see the source of the grunts and groans we hear, but for now we'll stay with Xander and Giles. Our interests lie with them, not with the sounds surrounding us.
As Giles moves to peek over the top of the bushes, a vampire leaps over the bushes, her boot connecting with the top of Giles' head painfully. Giles falls backward to the ground and the vampire's leap turns into a forward roll. She hits the ground with hardly a stagger and begins to dash away from us.
There is so much activity here, we hardly know who to watch. Xander steps into the woman's path and plants his feet. Giles sits up, wincing, and begins to stand.
"Infernita," says an omonously feminine voice from the other side of the bushes. We bend the rules slightly to reposition ourselves behind Giles' eyes. We feel them open wide as they focus on the dark form of a thin red- headed woman beyond the bushes. A light as bright as the sun flashes from the center of her sillouette, and two pinpricks appear where her eyes would be; both lights are glowing crimson. Using borrowed eyes, we are blinded by this light, but we feel Giles throw himself to one side and hear his voice in our minds.
"Xander, get down!"
We slip out of Giles by way of his ears, and take in the scene. Time slows down for us. The vampire is still running, Xander is diving out of her path, and Giles is craning his neck to see Xander. Through the bushes, a football sized ball of fire is coming into view, burning the leaves as it passes. Satisfied that we are seeing all there is to see, we command time to continue unbidden. Xander hits the ground like a roll of wet carpet, the vampire sprints away, and the ball of fire surges forward over Giles' head. It passes through us and we feel the intense heat. Hardly a breath later, the fireball has reached the fleeing vampire, catching her in the small of the back. She is thrown forward into the air, and is gone before she lands. Her clothes caught fire first, but it was her body itself that produced the brightest light. Even that only lasted for a moment before there was simply nothing left to burn. All that remained of the woman were a few tattered scraps of smoldering clothing, and even these die as we watch patiently.
"What the devil?" Giles is back on his feet. His frown is impossibly deep and disspointment is plainly etched onto his face. "Willow, was that you?"
"I hit her!" Willow, the young, striking redheaded witch comes forward from around the bushes. She is staring at the tatters of clothing left behind by the now vanquished vampire and smiling. We can almost feel her desire to clap to herself.
"Yes. Congratulations also on not hitting Xander. Good work!" The petite girl on the heels of Willow is Anya. She's engaged to Xander, and has what you might call a checkered past. Perceptive as you are, you couldn't have guessed that Anya used to be a demon. You can't tell just by looking at her tiny frame and kind eyes, but Anyanka here was a Vengence Demon. She spent a thousand years handing out steaming mugs of, well, anything she wanted to the people-- Men, to be exact-- who deserved it. She gave up her powers (She lost them, actually, but that's a totally different story. Although it's quite interesting, it has no importance to us now) and has, over the last few years, turned into quite the woman. She's still got a tendancy to-- how do you youngsters say it?-- 'Put her foot into her mouth,' but she's got a good heart, this one. We might be tempted to scoff at her mannerisms, but pray listen when she talks. Anya has a way of getting to the root of a problem, and we'd do well to steer clear of her when she's angry.
"I'm the man," Willow nods. The battle to keep from clapping is lost. We catch the unimpressed glance Giles shoots her, and despite her glee, Willow sees it too; Her final clap is less than enthusiastic.
"Yes, quite, um, m-manly." Giles frown seems etched to his expressive face as he runs his hand over his palate. We could and should think that he is checking himself for burns. "But, we really must discuss the magic's you're using, Willow. Conjuring the elements like that is, very dangerous."
"Oh pooh! That was nothing. H-Hardly anything-- Less than something." Willow's earlier confidence does it's own disapearing act under the heavy gaze of her elder. She doesn't think to mention that it was Giles who attracted her to magic in the first place. "I-It's no different than a spell to light a candle. Just bigger."
"And moving," Xander adds quietly from behind his hand. He's not the smartest among them, but he knows when to stay out of an argument. He'll make a good husband, we're sure.
"Now, if you want really big, you should see what Tara and I have been working on! It's something--" Willow pauses. For a moment there, her excitement was almost tangable to us, but a stern, disapproving look from Giles put a stop to that. But, surely you noticed the way her eyes lit up when she said Tara's name? Willow is, as you might say, playing for the other team as of late. You just keep watching Willow and you'll see what we see. Magic is Willow's obsession, but next to Tara, it's nothing but an occasional hobby. "--S-Something that has no relevance at all to what we're talking about, um, at all. H-Hey, look at us! We won!"
"At the absolute least, let's work on our warnings then, shall we?" Giles has given the redhead a temporary reprive, it seems. We see the fatherly glint in his eye. After all, it was though his guidance that she dipped her foot into the world of magic. He can't help but feel proud of her, despite the inherant danger involved in what--
"Where is the other vampire?" Anya again, with her dictonary english. We say this because it really does sound like she's reading directly from a book on grammer. "Xander, did you kill two vampires? Perhaps you are The Man, also."
"I was here, too, you know." Giles adds, irritated. "Completely conscious the whole time, thank you very much."
"We just saw the one, Aun. What'd he look like?"
"Like an undead blood-sucker," Anya shrugs at her fiancee. "I did not get a good look on account of being knocked onto my backside. I'm confident he was both undead and a vampire, though."
"*Our,*" Xander adds, glancing around the cemetary.
Anya frowns at him, confused.
"Our backside-- Backsides? Whatever, you know what I mean."
Anya's frown doesn't change. We're tempted to laugh at this. A common occurance, and one that we never fail to smile upon.
"In sickness and Hellmouthes, remember? What's mine is yours, and all that? Marriage? The ring I gave you before the world, uh, didn't end?"
Ah! Yes, we thought you might pick up on that part. Remember the storm we mentioned earlier? It wasn't actually a storm at all. In fact, it was a portal between dimentions that, for a heart-achingly long moment threatened to destroy this world. These four were there, plus two others that we haven't met yet. There was yet another, too, but she is someone who will wait until we're ready for the introduction. Trust us, she isn't going anywhere.
"Ah!" Anya understands now, and that in itself is priceless. Her expression is one of total understanding. We might assume, had we not heard the conversation, that the former demon had just realized that the secrets of the universe lie in something as commonplace as a penny. The expression passes in an instant as a darker thought furrows her brow, creating worry lines across her forehead. "But, Xander, your belongings are tacky, a-and mostly owned by the bank. Aside from your body, my things are nicer, and much more expensive. I believe that you need to sign the pre-nuptual agreement like we discussed."
Xander's typical amused expression turns to embarassment. "Could we, uh, not talk about this now, Aun? Please?"
"Did you see this other vampire, Willow?" True to form, Giles has been cleaning his glasses and doing his best to look as though he has heard nothing of Xander and Anya's exchange.
"No, I didn't," Willow frowns. She tried not to listen, but has, and concern is plainly evident on her face. The slight smile might throw most off the track, but we can see through that, can't we? "B-But with that first one being all, um, *grr,* I wasn't exactly looking for more."
"I suppose we can assume that he's run off, then. I'm sure we'll see him again at some--"
"Oh!" Anya interrupts him. "There he is."
Giles looks weary. "Well, I didn't mean just now."
Willow raises her hands and cups her palms together. Another ball of magical fire appears, growing from a pinprick of crimson to the size of a baseball. We notice that her eyes have darkened suddenly into pools of tar. "Where? I can't see--"
So distracted by the magics weilded by Willow, we do not see who threw the vampire over the top of a gravestone at the top of the hill behind us. We turn in time to see him spin through the air, a wooden stake embedded in his heart. He hits the ground with a snarl and begins to roll toward us. By the time he reaches Xander's foot, the vampire is nothing but a trail of dust and a crudely-carved stake.
Xander bends to pick up the stake and inspects it with a lopsided smile. "What do you think, suicide?
Willow whispers an incantation and the ball of fire dissipates with a snap. She smiles proudly at her friends. "Must have seen us coming. Even without Buffy, we're--"
"--A pack of groupies without a band to follow." An English accent sounds across the cemetary. Unlike Giles', this one feels darker, more sarcastic, and inspires thoughts of bareknuckled fighters rather than libraries. This, friend, is Spike.
We can see him now, stepping out from behind the grave at the top of the hill. He pauses to light a cigarette with a Zippo that looks to have seen better days. Dressed in a black shirt and black pants, and wearing a leather duster, Spike, formerly William the Bloody, is the very picture of rebellion. His hair is bleached, and with a cigarette dangling from his pouty lips, we might be reminded of a younger, dirtier, and much more dangerous James Dean. He's got good reason to look so menacing, though. Spike is a vampire. So why aren't our new acquantances rushing to stake him? Funny you should ask that. Spike hasn't been having a good year. The last few years have been hard on him, actually. It all started with the military, believe it or not. It was an experiment, and Spike was the guinia pig. A short trip into an operating room later, and Hostile 17 (military jargon for 'not one of the good guys') found himself unable to hurt people. Yes, you can smile without worry. What could be more ironic than a vampire who cannot hurt the very things he needs to survive? Wait, don't answer that yet. There's more. Now, Spike, bitter enemy to pretty much everyone, had no choice but to turn to the people he hated most. Please remember that we are not here to judge him, or anyone else. That must be absolutely clear before we continue. He spent more than a year with them, hating every nail- biting moment of it, but then the inexcusable happened. Spike fell in love with the one person he shouldn't have. He fell in love with the girl sworn into destiny to rid the world of vampires. No, you haven't met her yet. We'll get to her soon enough. Please don't expect much; She hasn't been much of a conversationalist lately.
"What are you doing here, Spike?" Xander steps forward, planting his feet as though expecting a fight. None of them have seen the vampire for a week-- Not since the storm. Not since the Slayer, Buffy, left them.
"Losing a bet, Harris. Got a few pounds on one of you dying the first week out of the gate. Bloody dissapointed in all of you so far."
"So sorry you're not satisfied, Spike, I really am." We don't have to be mindreaders to know that he isn't happy. Even from our vantage point, we can feel the wrath Xander is putting off. It's like musk. And if we can smell it, try to imagine what Spike must smell. Verbal abuse is all he gets to enjoy these days, and getting a rise out of Xander is quickly becoming one of his favorite hobbies. "Why don't you just get the hell out of here. We're doing fine without you, or your mouth."
"Yeah, I can see that," Spike taps at his nose and eyes Xander carefully. His sardonic smile grows when Xander wipes the drying blood from under his nose with his sleeve. "Real fine."
"Perhaps if you were to help us patrol? L-Like you used to?" Anya is only trying to be helpful. We can see that, but we doubt that Xander looks at it in the same way. Judging from the look of disgust on his face, it appears we were correct. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because we don't want *his* help, Aun! We can't. . ." He trails off and sighs. Perhaps he realizes that he's said too much already. You weren't there at the end, but Spike was right there becide them, fighting with them. Xander knows this, somewhere deep inside. We know that he does. It's just-- He hurts so much to think about her.
"Well? Go ahead, Harris, you sodding poof. Out with it!" Spike's jaw just clenched. Do you notice how different his eyes look now, too? For Xander's sake, it's a good thing Spike has that chip. Not so long ago, Xander would already be dead. 'No,' Spike corrects himself. 'He'd be wishin' he was dead.'
"Xander, please don't--" There is no smile on Willow's face now. Even with the chip, Spike is still dangerous, and she knows it well enough. A dog with a muzzle can still claw your eyes out.
"Pipe down a minute, Red. The git has something he wants to say." Spike hushes her with hardly a glance. He turns back to glare at Xander. "Don't you?"
"We can't count on you. All right, Spike? Is that what you want to hear? We gave you a chance-- *She* gave you a chance, and look where--"
Spike hits Xander across the chin. This is no glancing blow. Xander drops the stake and falls backward. Spike quickly raises a hand to his temple and staggers, hissing through clenched teeth at the pain in his brain. We can easily imagine sparks from the chip, angry and blue, lancing through the vampire's head.
"Xander!" Anya drops to her knees over her dazed man. The young carpenter's eyes are glassy and his mouth droops slightly from the shock. Still, he's lucky Spike didn't break his jaw. "Are you all right?"
"Bloody worth it," Spike mutters to himself, blinking to clear his mind of the pain. He bends to retrieve his stake, stumbling slightly as he reaches.
"Spike, enough of this!" Giles has stepped forward now. He has a stake in his hand, but does not raise it against the vampire. "It would be best i-if you left."
"Very intimidating, Watcher," Spike intones, pantamiming a shiver. "Got better things to do anyway." He turns and starts away from us. Our eyes are drawn to his cocky swagger. If we couldn't see into his mind as easily as we can watch him walk away, we might be fooled by him. For a vampire with no soul, Spike has a surprisingly large amount of emotion surging beneith his pale skin. "Got a few days left in the week, Harris. Get yourself offed and I'll split the take with your widow."
"Spike, wait!" Willow takes a hesitant step after the vampire, who is already out of sight. "What'd you do that for you big, um--" She punches Xander in the chest. It wasn't too hard-- Probably not as hard as he deserved, but hard enough for him to get the point.
"Ow!" Xander covers his chest with his arms. "Willow?" The blow from his best friend hurt more than any punch Spike could throw.
"That's the most we've seen Spike since Glory, a-and you had to go putting your blame on him for what happened. A-And that's not fair, Xander Harris."
Glory, if you're curious, was the reason that portal opened up over the industrial sector of town. A Hell God from another demension, Glory was only trying to find her way home. Since you weren't there and didn't see the things she did, you might be tempted to feel sorry for her. After all, what's wrong with wanting to go home? But rest assured, friend, Glory did some unspeakable things to the people that we're watching over. Did you notice the slight limp in Spike's gait when he walked away? How did she open the portal? Who closed it? Those are very important questions, but ones that will have to wait. Remember Lester's motto, 'there's things afoot,' so we can't spend the rest of the night jawing over what happened yesterday. For now, pray let us turn back to the events unfolding before us, and trust that everything will be clear before long.
"Come on, Will. He's Spike. He loves getting kicked around a little. Becides, we don't--"
"No, Xander." Willow's voice is strong and determined. If you'd met her five years ago, you would never guess that the woman standing over Xander with her arms crossed under her chest was the same girl. "No buts. Not now. It wasn't Spike's fault, you know. He tried to save her, too, right along with you and me and everyone else. We all tried, and we all. . . We all screwed up. I-If you need to blame someone, blame Glory, or the Hellmouth, o-or some other, um, evil demon-thing. But stop blaming Spike, or anyone else who tried. T-That won't bring her back."
You're starting to get the bigger picture now, aren't you? They closed the portal that threatened to destroy the world, but at what cost?
With Anya's help, Xander makes it back to his feet. He reaches out for Willow and his fingers brush down her shoulder by way of appology as she steps away from him.
"I know. But not yet. I'm too mad at you right now. I'll see you tomorrow, a-and we'll be all right." She takes another step backward, making a little more progress in the direction that Spike left in.
"You're not going after him, are you?" Xander seems incredulous.
"Willow, surely you don't intend--" Giles steps into the conversation again.
"I'm going to find Spike." Her tone leaves little room to argue. "I'm going to find him, and I-I don't know what then. And I'm going to stop by Buffy's gra-- You know-- To say goodnight."
"A-Alright," Giles nods slowly. He knows like the rest of them that there's no use arguing with the redhead once she's got an idea into her head. "But please be careful."
"I will," Willow takes two more steps away, eager to find the vampire. "Let Tara know I'll be late tonight?"
"Of course," Giles nods again. "Shall I tell her to wait up for you?"
Willow smiles and her eyes twinkle. "Tell her that her Princess Pookie will be home to tuck her in-- I probably won't find Spike anyway."
"P-Princess Pookie?" The frown on Giles' face only proves his English descent.
"Or whatever, Giles. Just tell her I won't be late, please." She turns and leaves us behind her. There's more to tell here, so we'll catch up with her in a moment.
"Princess Pookie," Giles mutters to himself. It sounds so strange coming from his lips, perhaps moreso to him than to us.
We follow close over Xander's shoulder as the trio start back toward the entrance to the cemetary. It's not a long walk, and it's warm enough that none seem to be in a terrible hurry.
"Hey, uh, was Willow really serious about what she said?" Xander breaks the silence first.
"I truly shudder to think." Giles frowns to himself.
"No, I mean about Spike. Was she right?"
"Oh! Well, I, uh-- That is to say, I--" A flush of red grows from beneath Giles' collar.
"No. Spike cannot be trusted," Anya says thoughtfully, but with resolve. "You should have staked him-- Before he hit you, of course." She eyes his bruising chin carefully before continuing. "Thank goodness you don't scar easily."
Xander stares back at Anya, a look of relived surprise on his face. Becide us, Giles looks just as surprised, but too polite to let the expression remain on his face. He clears his throat quietly.
"What?" Anya notice their looks. "Am I not being supportive enough? My book claims that men have low self-esteem and require their egos rubbed." She fixed Xander with an eager-to-please expression. "Was I not rubbing hard enough?"
"God, I love you, Anya." This is true, and we are not surprised. Although we've known her a long time now, her honesty catches us completely unprepared each time we meet again. Xander loves her for more than this, but we don't have the time to sort through the chaos of his mind to get those answers. For now, we must trust what we can see in his eyes. "But, I want the truth. Was she right?"
Anya frowns in thought for a moment, considering. Then, "yes, Willow was correct. You were quite rude."
Xander stops in his tracks and we inadvertantly pass through him. We notice him shiver, unaware of our presence, before fixing his fiancee with a surprised, hurt gaze. "You didn't have to stop rubbing alltogether, Aun. I mean, geeze, a little rubbing never killed anyone, you know."
Disclaimer: I own everything. I own the characters, I own the town, I own the whole bloody concept of vampires, witchcraft, and wooden stakes. What are you gonna do about it? Sue me? Give it a try, mate. See if I show up in court. Ha!
Summary: This story takes place almost a week after the end of Season 6. Buffy is dead, Willow is alive, Xander and Anya, Giles and Dawn are too. Spike is still dead, but that's been going on for a while now.
Notes: Feedback is always appreciated. Mailto:adrianvoss@telusplanet.net?subject:Buffy 5.999
______
Part I
Hello there, stranger. Welcome to Sunnydale, California. Looks like you're on your way to bigger and better things than this little burg, though. Oh, don't worry about hiding it; we saw your expression when you first came into town. It's not much to look at, but it's home to a lot of good folks, and it's not a bad little town if you can get past the appearances. What? You don't think a little place like this has anything to offer a big-city fellow such as yourself? You might be surprised, friend. Pray come with us for a while. Don't worry; there's nothing here that could hurt us.
No, we're not from around here, either. We're not surprised you picked up on that so fast, though. You look like a sharp sort of fellow if we ever saw one. We've been here before on many different occasions. Witnessed a lot of important things. Not the sort of thing you'll ever read about in the news rags, though. But, be assured that it's all important, and we know this town pretty well now. We'll take you to the hotspots on the map- And some places that no one even knows about. You've come at a really good time, in fact. There's something you might like to see, if you're brave enough. Will you join us, friend? Excellent. Don't worry, we'll fill you in on the details you might miss-- We wouldn't want you to misunderstand what's going on around us. There's big times ahead.
The night is still in its infancy, and this stretch of road is already deserted. Not an hour ago, we saw people walking all around us, going about their business. But, they're all indoors now. Happened right around the time the sun went down, actually. To be exact.
That's all right, though. It's nice to have free run of the place. Still, with no one else around, we can really feel the isolation here. Can't you? Having no eyes around to do the deed, but still feeling watched is a little creepy. But, enough about that. There's nothing around that could hurt us even if it knew we were here.
We'll draw closer to the ground and stay about eye-level to things-- Give you a more familiar view. On our left, that's Jan Appleby's craft store. She sells homemade nik-naks to the tourists who chance to pass through town on their way to bigger and better places. She's a real great lady-- Always has time for a kind word and a cup of tea with anyone who steps into her shop. We could almost feel bad for her, though. She really is quite inventive with copper wire and that little blowtorch she bought at the Wal- Mart over on fifth street, but her trouble is that not many tourists pass through anymore. Less and less every year since, well, since the highschool burnt down, we suppose. Things have been going downhill ever since. Even Marvin Lester, the town's official lush, would agree with us here. "Things afoot," he has said to anyone who will listen. He usually just tells himself, though. Not many folks even realize he's there, anymore. He's almost as invisible as we are.
Maybe later, time permitting, we'll let the wind take us into her store for a little look-see. You would really be surprised at what she can do. Maybe surprised enough to pick something up for your friends back home. We could do it now, but time is the only enemy that we need worry about. There's so much more we want to show you. It's important that our guests feel welcome, and we want you to stay for a while.
It's really not such a bad little town. To the right, you've got Ted's Hardware Store. The backlit lettering above the door? Ted did that himself. We thought you'd be surprised. The quality is as good as corn, Ted would say to you if he wasn't hiding behind closed doors at home. We could assume that Ted likes his corn. We could also assume, having seen him peer furtivly out his window into the growing darkness, that there is something outside that Ted does not like. We'll leave you to hold your own opinion about corn, but trust us when we say that Ted should be nervous. Some of the shadows he's seen moving in the night aren't exactly shadows.
There are plenty more stores along this road, some closed and condemned, and some thriving. Mostly the former, though. It really is a pity. Like we've said, it's really not such a bad little town.
Ah! We've come upon what is probably the second busiest store in Sunnydale. The signage is hard to read from back here, especially with no lights on. We'll go closer. It's the Magic Box. See the faded chalk drawings outside the door? The rain's washed most of it away, and more's the pity, because it really was something to look at for a while. Suppose it's supposed to mean something? It doesn't even look like english, does it? And there's a little sign in the window, too. Hand-made with a black marker. What's that say? Something about Magick Dayz starting soon? Grand re-opening specials galore? They've been closed since Tuesday, if you're curious. We'll fill you in, since you missed all the commotion a week ago-- You really should have been here for it, though.
There was a storm one night last week. Tuesday, to be exact. The local cable station received a hundred complaints over a ten minute stretch from angry customers. Whatever it was, it disrupted the reception for most of the town.
We'll tell you something else, too. Something you won't hear from the cable company, either. Anyone living within fifteen blocks of the industrial park here in Sunny-D had their televisions blow up! We chanced upon this juicy bit of gossip from the old Peterson widow when she told Myrtle Walker on the telephone. It wasn't evesdropping, though; Not in the strictest sense of the word. We just happened to be passing through the lines on our way to visit someone's grave to pay our respects.
There must have been lightning, too, because the fire department received more calls than the nightshift operator, poor Denise Chambers, could handle. We can't blame her, though. She only took the job because she's trying to put herself through college, and because she wanted to meet-- and possibly date-- a fireman. We heard that she quit the next day, and went to work at the Double Meat Palace. Not sure where she went after that, though. No one has seen her for a few days now. Maybe she's moved off to bigger and better things now, too.
Did you see that? That man on the other side of the intersection? We'll move closer for you. There. Do you seem him now? What do you suppose possesses a man to run that fast? He's running from something, don't you think? Why else would he keep looking behind him, as though he's afraid he's being followed. You, like us, have probably noticed his clothes by now. That was a suit jacket with a big tear down the back that you saw. And my, wasn't he dirty-looking?
What's that you say? It looks as though he's been rolling in the dirt? Well, yes, now that you mention it, that's certainly what it looked like. You probably didn't recognize him, but that's Shamus. Bill and Diane Runke's boy? Maybe you read something about him in the local paper when you blew into town. You would have if you happen to make the obituaries required reading, that is. We can assure you that in this town, good ol' Sunnydale, California, the obituaries are definitly the only news that you need worry about these days.
You're confused. We can see it in your eyes. Don't worry, sonny, it'll all become clear in a few minutes. We were waiting for Shamus to come by, actually. Don't look so surprised. We already told you that we were here to see something and that something has now begun. Shamus, the dead man with the fleet foot, was just the curtain call.
So, up we go. Above the street, above the buildings, above everything until the whole town is spread out to us like a buffet table. We laugh at this, but in an uneasy, humorless way. It was an inside joke, and one that you will understand soon enough. We'll warn you now, though. Once you're on the inside, you may never be able to find the door again.
We're drifting over the town, heading East, to be exact. We're going to a cemetary. No, not that one there, or even that one over on our left. The cemetary we're heading for lies dead ahead. Surely you can see it now; the big dark spot in the center of town. There aren't any lights in this cemetary, you see. There were, but over time they've all been broken by, well, the *who* isn't nearly as important as the why.
You can feel the lonliness in this place. The gloom and darkness surrounds us as we dip back to the ground, dancing between the leaves of the old oak that enshroud the mossy ground from the sky. Even during the brightest moment of the day, the sun does not touch the Earth in this place. We look up, hoping perhaps to see the moon, or a star. Anything to remind us that we have not stepped off the face of the Earth and into some other world. But all we see are branches, criss-crossing each other above our heads. You might think that if we could shiver at this isolation, we would. Be assured, dear friend, we would indeed.
A brook bubbles out of sight, and our world is otherwise silent. We are not alone here, though. You didn't see him there, kneeling over that gravestone? That's all right. It is quite dark. But, can you now make him out, holding his head in his hands? Your eyes are adjusting nicely to the darkness, yes? We should take a moment to pity him, perhaps. To venture out on a night such as this to kneel at a grave speaks of great sadness. His glasses hang from his fingers as he rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand.
We have the power to look into his mind, and we use it when it suits us. We want to know for whom this man mourns. Still yourself, and listen with us. This man has a secret.
But, wait, it isn't mouring this man is doing; it's groaning. In fact, we can hear him mumble to himself.
"This really is becoming tiresome," he grimaces. His soothing accent is one that we instantly recognize. His name is Rupert. Rupert Giles, to be exact, and he owns the Magic Shop. That in itself lends a note of skeptisim to the scene. The owner of a magic store sitting becide a grave in the darkness and secrecy of the night. Our minds conjure images of black magic and evil spells which rob men of their senses and women of their bodies. But rest assured that we have not stumbled upon something Dark. In fact, just the opposite is true.
But, we've distracted you from our surroundings, haven't we? What business could Giles possibly have in this place at this time of night?
"Giles! Little help!"
Ah! We've missed someone else, it seems. A young man, powerfully built with untamed black hair falls backward toward us. The young man is Xander Harris, a carpenter and unlikely friend to Rupert. We might ask what a distinguished older gentlemen would have in common with our new acquantance here, but before our words form a sentence, the reason storms into view. It's a man, but there is something wrong with him-- Something, we dare quote Marvin, *is afoot.*
The man is dressed in a fashion that you may notice has long passed out of style. But it's not his bellbottoms and flowered shirt that has caught your attention, has it? It must be the bumpy ridges on the man's brow that make him resemble a gargoyle or Hollywood monster. No, it isn't makeup, nor are those yellow contacts he's wearing. And his teeth! They're so long and pointed. What's that you say, friend? Yes, that's what he is. No, no, you may as well forget everything you've ever read of them. Forget Dracula, forget Lestat and Louis, forget Count Chocula, too. You've just met your first vampire. Welcome to Sunnydale.
Part II
Giles raises his head and we see the start of a nasty bruise forming on his temple. His glasses are on and he is on his feet in an instant. A wooden stake appears from within his tweed jacket. This has the look of a practiced manouver.
The disco vampire lunges at Xander just as the young man regained his footing, and the two tumble back to the ground. The vampire punches at Xander with savage ferocity, snarling like an animal. To his credit, Xander defends himself quite well; the vampire only lands a single punch to his nose.
"Still waiting here," the young man breathes through clenched teeth. His beefy arms are shaking with the effort to hold the vampire's gnashing teeth away from his neck.
Giles rushes forward with his stake raised for the kill. With animalistic reflexes, the vampire lashes out with one arm and knocks the stake out of Giles' grasp. This does nothing to stop the older man's forward momentium, however.
"Oh dear." Giles falls into the vampire and the two roll over each other several times before coming to rest several feet away in a writhing, snarling heap of tweed and pastel flowers.
Taking momentary advantage of the vampire, Giles coils his legs and kicks out at the vampire's solarplexes, pushing the undead creature backward toward the waiting Xander.
A thin trail of blood runs from the young man's nose, and his breathing is heavy, but he does not look remotely finished yet. His jaw set, he lashes out with his fist as the vampire stumbles toward him, hitting the creature in the kidney. The vampire snarls wildly in surprise and throws out his arm, glancing a blow off Xander's cheek, opening up another small well of blood only centemeters from the man's right eye.
Xander pulls backward after the fact, but he does not retreat. Giles is back on his feet again, another stake held tightly in a white-knuckled fist. The vampire turns back to face the older man, sizing him up and casting a not-so-casual glance at the wooden stake.
The carpenter lunges forward (we might assume this was an act of deliberate bravery on the young man's part, and we would not be wrong) and wraps his muscled arms around the vampire, catching it by surprise.
"Yes, yes! That's it, now hold him!" Giles flexes his fingers briefly with his staking arm and steps quickly forward, cocking his arm back for the death blow. The stake must penetrate the heart of the vampire to kill it. Giles knows this, and thusly so do we. "Forgot about me, did you? Let this be a lesson to you. I'm not so easily knocked unconscious as I was, er, l- last night." Can you hear the accent in his voice? That, friend, is the sound of the dignified British. Doesn't it speak of libraries and aristocricy to you?
"Giles, less talking, more dusting!" Xander is starting to lose his grip. He had locked one hand around the other wrist, but the vampire's thrashing has forced him to let go. A tendon in Xander's neck is bulging out as he struggles to bind the vampire.
"Yes, right." The moment gone, Giles drives the stake into the vampire's chest without ceremony. Powerful stab and quick retreat with little followthrough. He taught *her* how to do it like that once.
Xander may not have noticed the sudden tensing around the older man's eyes at that thought, but we have. It's our duty to notice these things, and our responsibility to wonder who *she* was that he should inwardly grimmace at the thought of her. We catch sight through his mind of blonde hair, and then even that is gone.
The vampire siezes up and an inhuman scream errupts forth from it. From our position just over Giles' shoulder, it seems to us that the scream came not from its mouth. From our position, the scream came from the vampire's entire being. A cry of protest, perhaps. We may never know, and that's not why we're here.
In time with the scream, the vampire's body seems to collapse in on itself, dying and rotting and turning to dust in the space of a heartbeat. At the last moment, it explodes outward in a sparse cloud. We are alone now with Xander and Giles.
With nothing left to squeeze, Xander's hands clap together, seeming to boom in the silence. He looks embarass-- What's that? Yes, it did turn into dust. That's what vampires do when they die. If you stay in town for a while longer, you'll see that it's much more convienent that way. Yes, it might seem like a movie to you, dear friend, but we assure you that it is real. If it were a movie, one might expect to see a hero emerge from the darkness, would one not? But, this is real life, and the hero that our new acquantances would turn to is lying in a grave not ten minute's walk from where we stand.
Xander's expression of embarassment turns into one of surprised anxiety as he lets out a powerful sneeze, almost doubling over. Giles pays him little mind as he wipes off his glasses with a frown.
"I'm allergic," Xander says, dabbing at his nose with his sleeze. Another sneeze interrupts this. "Is that possible? To be allergic to vamp dust?"
"Yes, yes, lot's of fun." Giles is glancing around the cemetary, his eyes narrowed in the darkness. We're tempted to wonder if perhaps he can sense our presence, but of course that would be impossible. "Where did Willow and Anya get off to, I wonder?"
Xander's bemusing worried expression turns instantly to concern. His bushy eyebrows furrow as he too glances around the cemetary. "Aun? Will? Come out, come out, where ever you--"
We hear sounds of a struggle behind a line of chest-high bushes. Xander and Giles heard it too. The older man takes a firm grip on the wooden stake and cat-steps toward the bushes. Xander pulls his own stake from the back pocket of his jeans. We're tempted to fly higher so we may see the source of the grunts and groans we hear, but for now we'll stay with Xander and Giles. Our interests lie with them, not with the sounds surrounding us.
As Giles moves to peek over the top of the bushes, a vampire leaps over the bushes, her boot connecting with the top of Giles' head painfully. Giles falls backward to the ground and the vampire's leap turns into a forward roll. She hits the ground with hardly a stagger and begins to dash away from us.
There is so much activity here, we hardly know who to watch. Xander steps into the woman's path and plants his feet. Giles sits up, wincing, and begins to stand.
"Infernita," says an omonously feminine voice from the other side of the bushes. We bend the rules slightly to reposition ourselves behind Giles' eyes. We feel them open wide as they focus on the dark form of a thin red- headed woman beyond the bushes. A light as bright as the sun flashes from the center of her sillouette, and two pinpricks appear where her eyes would be; both lights are glowing crimson. Using borrowed eyes, we are blinded by this light, but we feel Giles throw himself to one side and hear his voice in our minds.
"Xander, get down!"
We slip out of Giles by way of his ears, and take in the scene. Time slows down for us. The vampire is still running, Xander is diving out of her path, and Giles is craning his neck to see Xander. Through the bushes, a football sized ball of fire is coming into view, burning the leaves as it passes. Satisfied that we are seeing all there is to see, we command time to continue unbidden. Xander hits the ground like a roll of wet carpet, the vampire sprints away, and the ball of fire surges forward over Giles' head. It passes through us and we feel the intense heat. Hardly a breath later, the fireball has reached the fleeing vampire, catching her in the small of the back. She is thrown forward into the air, and is gone before she lands. Her clothes caught fire first, but it was her body itself that produced the brightest light. Even that only lasted for a moment before there was simply nothing left to burn. All that remained of the woman were a few tattered scraps of smoldering clothing, and even these die as we watch patiently.
"What the devil?" Giles is back on his feet. His frown is impossibly deep and disspointment is plainly etched onto his face. "Willow, was that you?"
"I hit her!" Willow, the young, striking redheaded witch comes forward from around the bushes. She is staring at the tatters of clothing left behind by the now vanquished vampire and smiling. We can almost feel her desire to clap to herself.
"Yes. Congratulations also on not hitting Xander. Good work!" The petite girl on the heels of Willow is Anya. She's engaged to Xander, and has what you might call a checkered past. Perceptive as you are, you couldn't have guessed that Anya used to be a demon. You can't tell just by looking at her tiny frame and kind eyes, but Anyanka here was a Vengence Demon. She spent a thousand years handing out steaming mugs of, well, anything she wanted to the people-- Men, to be exact-- who deserved it. She gave up her powers (She lost them, actually, but that's a totally different story. Although it's quite interesting, it has no importance to us now) and has, over the last few years, turned into quite the woman. She's still got a tendancy to-- how do you youngsters say it?-- 'Put her foot into her mouth,' but she's got a good heart, this one. We might be tempted to scoff at her mannerisms, but pray listen when she talks. Anya has a way of getting to the root of a problem, and we'd do well to steer clear of her when she's angry.
"I'm the man," Willow nods. The battle to keep from clapping is lost. We catch the unimpressed glance Giles shoots her, and despite her glee, Willow sees it too; Her final clap is less than enthusiastic.
"Yes, quite, um, m-manly." Giles frown seems etched to his expressive face as he runs his hand over his palate. We could and should think that he is checking himself for burns. "But, we really must discuss the magic's you're using, Willow. Conjuring the elements like that is, very dangerous."
"Oh pooh! That was nothing. H-Hardly anything-- Less than something." Willow's earlier confidence does it's own disapearing act under the heavy gaze of her elder. She doesn't think to mention that it was Giles who attracted her to magic in the first place. "I-It's no different than a spell to light a candle. Just bigger."
"And moving," Xander adds quietly from behind his hand. He's not the smartest among them, but he knows when to stay out of an argument. He'll make a good husband, we're sure.
"Now, if you want really big, you should see what Tara and I have been working on! It's something--" Willow pauses. For a moment there, her excitement was almost tangable to us, but a stern, disapproving look from Giles put a stop to that. But, surely you noticed the way her eyes lit up when she said Tara's name? Willow is, as you might say, playing for the other team as of late. You just keep watching Willow and you'll see what we see. Magic is Willow's obsession, but next to Tara, it's nothing but an occasional hobby. "--S-Something that has no relevance at all to what we're talking about, um, at all. H-Hey, look at us! We won!"
"At the absolute least, let's work on our warnings then, shall we?" Giles has given the redhead a temporary reprive, it seems. We see the fatherly glint in his eye. After all, it was though his guidance that she dipped her foot into the world of magic. He can't help but feel proud of her, despite the inherant danger involved in what--
"Where is the other vampire?" Anya again, with her dictonary english. We say this because it really does sound like she's reading directly from a book on grammer. "Xander, did you kill two vampires? Perhaps you are The Man, also."
"I was here, too, you know." Giles adds, irritated. "Completely conscious the whole time, thank you very much."
"We just saw the one, Aun. What'd he look like?"
"Like an undead blood-sucker," Anya shrugs at her fiancee. "I did not get a good look on account of being knocked onto my backside. I'm confident he was both undead and a vampire, though."
"*Our,*" Xander adds, glancing around the cemetary.
Anya frowns at him, confused.
"Our backside-- Backsides? Whatever, you know what I mean."
Anya's frown doesn't change. We're tempted to laugh at this. A common occurance, and one that we never fail to smile upon.
"In sickness and Hellmouthes, remember? What's mine is yours, and all that? Marriage? The ring I gave you before the world, uh, didn't end?"
Ah! Yes, we thought you might pick up on that part. Remember the storm we mentioned earlier? It wasn't actually a storm at all. In fact, it was a portal between dimentions that, for a heart-achingly long moment threatened to destroy this world. These four were there, plus two others that we haven't met yet. There was yet another, too, but she is someone who will wait until we're ready for the introduction. Trust us, she isn't going anywhere.
"Ah!" Anya understands now, and that in itself is priceless. Her expression is one of total understanding. We might assume, had we not heard the conversation, that the former demon had just realized that the secrets of the universe lie in something as commonplace as a penny. The expression passes in an instant as a darker thought furrows her brow, creating worry lines across her forehead. "But, Xander, your belongings are tacky, a-and mostly owned by the bank. Aside from your body, my things are nicer, and much more expensive. I believe that you need to sign the pre-nuptual agreement like we discussed."
Xander's typical amused expression turns to embarassment. "Could we, uh, not talk about this now, Aun? Please?"
"Did you see this other vampire, Willow?" True to form, Giles has been cleaning his glasses and doing his best to look as though he has heard nothing of Xander and Anya's exchange.
"No, I didn't," Willow frowns. She tried not to listen, but has, and concern is plainly evident on her face. The slight smile might throw most off the track, but we can see through that, can't we? "B-But with that first one being all, um, *grr,* I wasn't exactly looking for more."
"I suppose we can assume that he's run off, then. I'm sure we'll see him again at some--"
"Oh!" Anya interrupts him. "There he is."
Giles looks weary. "Well, I didn't mean just now."
Willow raises her hands and cups her palms together. Another ball of magical fire appears, growing from a pinprick of crimson to the size of a baseball. We notice that her eyes have darkened suddenly into pools of tar. "Where? I can't see--"
So distracted by the magics weilded by Willow, we do not see who threw the vampire over the top of a gravestone at the top of the hill behind us. We turn in time to see him spin through the air, a wooden stake embedded in his heart. He hits the ground with a snarl and begins to roll toward us. By the time he reaches Xander's foot, the vampire is nothing but a trail of dust and a crudely-carved stake.
Xander bends to pick up the stake and inspects it with a lopsided smile. "What do you think, suicide?
Willow whispers an incantation and the ball of fire dissipates with a snap. She smiles proudly at her friends. "Must have seen us coming. Even without Buffy, we're--"
"--A pack of groupies without a band to follow." An English accent sounds across the cemetary. Unlike Giles', this one feels darker, more sarcastic, and inspires thoughts of bareknuckled fighters rather than libraries. This, friend, is Spike.
We can see him now, stepping out from behind the grave at the top of the hill. He pauses to light a cigarette with a Zippo that looks to have seen better days. Dressed in a black shirt and black pants, and wearing a leather duster, Spike, formerly William the Bloody, is the very picture of rebellion. His hair is bleached, and with a cigarette dangling from his pouty lips, we might be reminded of a younger, dirtier, and much more dangerous James Dean. He's got good reason to look so menacing, though. Spike is a vampire. So why aren't our new acquantances rushing to stake him? Funny you should ask that. Spike hasn't been having a good year. The last few years have been hard on him, actually. It all started with the military, believe it or not. It was an experiment, and Spike was the guinia pig. A short trip into an operating room later, and Hostile 17 (military jargon for 'not one of the good guys') found himself unable to hurt people. Yes, you can smile without worry. What could be more ironic than a vampire who cannot hurt the very things he needs to survive? Wait, don't answer that yet. There's more. Now, Spike, bitter enemy to pretty much everyone, had no choice but to turn to the people he hated most. Please remember that we are not here to judge him, or anyone else. That must be absolutely clear before we continue. He spent more than a year with them, hating every nail- biting moment of it, but then the inexcusable happened. Spike fell in love with the one person he shouldn't have. He fell in love with the girl sworn into destiny to rid the world of vampires. No, you haven't met her yet. We'll get to her soon enough. Please don't expect much; She hasn't been much of a conversationalist lately.
"What are you doing here, Spike?" Xander steps forward, planting his feet as though expecting a fight. None of them have seen the vampire for a week-- Not since the storm. Not since the Slayer, Buffy, left them.
"Losing a bet, Harris. Got a few pounds on one of you dying the first week out of the gate. Bloody dissapointed in all of you so far."
"So sorry you're not satisfied, Spike, I really am." We don't have to be mindreaders to know that he isn't happy. Even from our vantage point, we can feel the wrath Xander is putting off. It's like musk. And if we can smell it, try to imagine what Spike must smell. Verbal abuse is all he gets to enjoy these days, and getting a rise out of Xander is quickly becoming one of his favorite hobbies. "Why don't you just get the hell out of here. We're doing fine without you, or your mouth."
"Yeah, I can see that," Spike taps at his nose and eyes Xander carefully. His sardonic smile grows when Xander wipes the drying blood from under his nose with his sleeve. "Real fine."
"Perhaps if you were to help us patrol? L-Like you used to?" Anya is only trying to be helpful. We can see that, but we doubt that Xander looks at it in the same way. Judging from the look of disgust on his face, it appears we were correct. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because we don't want *his* help, Aun! We can't. . ." He trails off and sighs. Perhaps he realizes that he's said too much already. You weren't there at the end, but Spike was right there becide them, fighting with them. Xander knows this, somewhere deep inside. We know that he does. It's just-- He hurts so much to think about her.
"Well? Go ahead, Harris, you sodding poof. Out with it!" Spike's jaw just clenched. Do you notice how different his eyes look now, too? For Xander's sake, it's a good thing Spike has that chip. Not so long ago, Xander would already be dead. 'No,' Spike corrects himself. 'He'd be wishin' he was dead.'
"Xander, please don't--" There is no smile on Willow's face now. Even with the chip, Spike is still dangerous, and she knows it well enough. A dog with a muzzle can still claw your eyes out.
"Pipe down a minute, Red. The git has something he wants to say." Spike hushes her with hardly a glance. He turns back to glare at Xander. "Don't you?"
"We can't count on you. All right, Spike? Is that what you want to hear? We gave you a chance-- *She* gave you a chance, and look where--"
Spike hits Xander across the chin. This is no glancing blow. Xander drops the stake and falls backward. Spike quickly raises a hand to his temple and staggers, hissing through clenched teeth at the pain in his brain. We can easily imagine sparks from the chip, angry and blue, lancing through the vampire's head.
"Xander!" Anya drops to her knees over her dazed man. The young carpenter's eyes are glassy and his mouth droops slightly from the shock. Still, he's lucky Spike didn't break his jaw. "Are you all right?"
"Bloody worth it," Spike mutters to himself, blinking to clear his mind of the pain. He bends to retrieve his stake, stumbling slightly as he reaches.
"Spike, enough of this!" Giles has stepped forward now. He has a stake in his hand, but does not raise it against the vampire. "It would be best i-if you left."
"Very intimidating, Watcher," Spike intones, pantamiming a shiver. "Got better things to do anyway." He turns and starts away from us. Our eyes are drawn to his cocky swagger. If we couldn't see into his mind as easily as we can watch him walk away, we might be fooled by him. For a vampire with no soul, Spike has a surprisingly large amount of emotion surging beneith his pale skin. "Got a few days left in the week, Harris. Get yourself offed and I'll split the take with your widow."
"Spike, wait!" Willow takes a hesitant step after the vampire, who is already out of sight. "What'd you do that for you big, um--" She punches Xander in the chest. It wasn't too hard-- Probably not as hard as he deserved, but hard enough for him to get the point.
"Ow!" Xander covers his chest with his arms. "Willow?" The blow from his best friend hurt more than any punch Spike could throw.
"That's the most we've seen Spike since Glory, a-and you had to go putting your blame on him for what happened. A-And that's not fair, Xander Harris."
Glory, if you're curious, was the reason that portal opened up over the industrial sector of town. A Hell God from another demension, Glory was only trying to find her way home. Since you weren't there and didn't see the things she did, you might be tempted to feel sorry for her. After all, what's wrong with wanting to go home? But rest assured, friend, Glory did some unspeakable things to the people that we're watching over. Did you notice the slight limp in Spike's gait when he walked away? How did she open the portal? Who closed it? Those are very important questions, but ones that will have to wait. Remember Lester's motto, 'there's things afoot,' so we can't spend the rest of the night jawing over what happened yesterday. For now, pray let us turn back to the events unfolding before us, and trust that everything will be clear before long.
"Come on, Will. He's Spike. He loves getting kicked around a little. Becides, we don't--"
"No, Xander." Willow's voice is strong and determined. If you'd met her five years ago, you would never guess that the woman standing over Xander with her arms crossed under her chest was the same girl. "No buts. Not now. It wasn't Spike's fault, you know. He tried to save her, too, right along with you and me and everyone else. We all tried, and we all. . . We all screwed up. I-If you need to blame someone, blame Glory, or the Hellmouth, o-or some other, um, evil demon-thing. But stop blaming Spike, or anyone else who tried. T-That won't bring her back."
You're starting to get the bigger picture now, aren't you? They closed the portal that threatened to destroy the world, but at what cost?
With Anya's help, Xander makes it back to his feet. He reaches out for Willow and his fingers brush down her shoulder by way of appology as she steps away from him.
"I know. But not yet. I'm too mad at you right now. I'll see you tomorrow, a-and we'll be all right." She takes another step backward, making a little more progress in the direction that Spike left in.
"You're not going after him, are you?" Xander seems incredulous.
"Willow, surely you don't intend--" Giles steps into the conversation again.
"I'm going to find Spike." Her tone leaves little room to argue. "I'm going to find him, and I-I don't know what then. And I'm going to stop by Buffy's gra-- You know-- To say goodnight."
"A-Alright," Giles nods slowly. He knows like the rest of them that there's no use arguing with the redhead once she's got an idea into her head. "But please be careful."
"I will," Willow takes two more steps away, eager to find the vampire. "Let Tara know I'll be late tonight?"
"Of course," Giles nods again. "Shall I tell her to wait up for you?"
Willow smiles and her eyes twinkle. "Tell her that her Princess Pookie will be home to tuck her in-- I probably won't find Spike anyway."
"P-Princess Pookie?" The frown on Giles' face only proves his English descent.
"Or whatever, Giles. Just tell her I won't be late, please." She turns and leaves us behind her. There's more to tell here, so we'll catch up with her in a moment.
"Princess Pookie," Giles mutters to himself. It sounds so strange coming from his lips, perhaps moreso to him than to us.
We follow close over Xander's shoulder as the trio start back toward the entrance to the cemetary. It's not a long walk, and it's warm enough that none seem to be in a terrible hurry.
"Hey, uh, was Willow really serious about what she said?" Xander breaks the silence first.
"I truly shudder to think." Giles frowns to himself.
"No, I mean about Spike. Was she right?"
"Oh! Well, I, uh-- That is to say, I--" A flush of red grows from beneath Giles' collar.
"No. Spike cannot be trusted," Anya says thoughtfully, but with resolve. "You should have staked him-- Before he hit you, of course." She eyes his bruising chin carefully before continuing. "Thank goodness you don't scar easily."
Xander stares back at Anya, a look of relived surprise on his face. Becide us, Giles looks just as surprised, but too polite to let the expression remain on his face. He clears his throat quietly.
"What?" Anya notice their looks. "Am I not being supportive enough? My book claims that men have low self-esteem and require their egos rubbed." She fixed Xander with an eager-to-please expression. "Was I not rubbing hard enough?"
"God, I love you, Anya." This is true, and we are not surprised. Although we've known her a long time now, her honesty catches us completely unprepared each time we meet again. Xander loves her for more than this, but we don't have the time to sort through the chaos of his mind to get those answers. For now, we must trust what we can see in his eyes. "But, I want the truth. Was she right?"
Anya frowns in thought for a moment, considering. Then, "yes, Willow was correct. You were quite rude."
Xander stops in his tracks and we inadvertantly pass through him. We notice him shiver, unaware of our presence, before fixing his fiancee with a surprised, hurt gaze. "You didn't have to stop rubbing alltogether, Aun. I mean, geeze, a little rubbing never killed anyone, you know."