Midday, The Misir Bazaar, Istanbul.
It was strange, Willow mused, the direction that her life had taken. If anyone had told her, back then in the misty past of her Sunnydale childhood, that she would find herself, a watcher in her own right, wandering down the unfamiliar streets of this foreign land, she would have thought them insane.
Maybe not ... most probably she would have squeaked in her usual shy way, before quietly sneaking away to disappear inside her shell, too frightened by the prospect of so much responsibility to appreciate the things she had to offer.
That was before Angel turned; before she restored his soul. That was before she learned her craft; before the Initiative, before facing Glory ... before Tara. She had been innocent of the darker temptations of the world, aware of the demons and the evil, but remaining blissfully naïve about their true power; it was before she had violated the sacred boundaries of life and death, before her addiction ... before Warren.
The sun beat down on the streets of this strange city; the inhabitants of this place going about their business with little regard to the heat of the day. Raised voices filled the air around her, flaunting their wares and haggling over prices. Unlike the all-American way of Sunnydale, with prices fixed by the ever present chains of faceless stores, everything was mutable here, and each transaction was unique ... just another interesting facet in the melting pot of life in this place. What was it that Giles had said ... something about mad dogs and Englishmen?
She was near, Willow could tell; yet another activated slayer that required training, nurturing ... and protecting. That was another thing her younger self would have blanched at ... that she was the one responsible for such a thing; that by utilising the power of the Scythe, she could bring such light to the darkness.
Before, she had recoiled at the doppelganger image of herself, shying away from the darkness that she saw within. Angel had tried to spare her the worry, his crude lie soothing her troubled thoughts; convincing her that her Vampire personality bore no resemblance to her own. Now she knew better ... at the deepest level, they really weren't all that different; the demon simply served to bring out the primal core of her being ... those hidden desires that she had always kept buried.
Desires ... now there was something that she could relate to. Kennedy had been her anchor through the hell of the First. She had been seduced ... she had allowed herself to be seduced. From the first moment they had met, Kennedy had wanted her; for what reason, Willow couldn't say. As for what she had wanted ... a distraction maybe, for she was certain it wasn't love. Undeniably, it wasn't a fraction of what she had shared with Tara. No wonder it had faded away ... without the ever-present threat of the First, the need for such distractions didn't seem so pressing after all. Besides, she had work to do.
The slayer was close now, troubled by dreams that she couldn't possibly understand, but unknowing of the destiny she shared with a thousand others ... a thousand points of light, twinkling in the darkness. Willow stepped forward, turning the corner to continue her search.
She stopped, her eyes focusing on one person in particular. He browsed the stalls checking out beads and local artwork as if he were a native, haggling with the stallholders for a reasonable price with that same familiar smile on his face that she had always come to expect from him.
'Hey,' the familiar stranger said, not showing any surprise in his greeting.
'Hey,' the redhead returned, thoughts of slayers forgotten.
She wasn't particularly surprised to see him there. She wasn't old, or blue-haired, but she had been waiting ... somehow, when it came to him, she'd always be waiting.
It was strange, Willow mused, the direction that her life had taken. If anyone had told her, back then in the misty past of her Sunnydale childhood, that she would find herself, a watcher in her own right, wandering down the unfamiliar streets of this foreign land, she would have thought them insane.
Maybe not ... most probably she would have squeaked in her usual shy way, before quietly sneaking away to disappear inside her shell, too frightened by the prospect of so much responsibility to appreciate the things she had to offer.
That was before Angel turned; before she restored his soul. That was before she learned her craft; before the Initiative, before facing Glory ... before Tara. She had been innocent of the darker temptations of the world, aware of the demons and the evil, but remaining blissfully naïve about their true power; it was before she had violated the sacred boundaries of life and death, before her addiction ... before Warren.
The sun beat down on the streets of this strange city; the inhabitants of this place going about their business with little regard to the heat of the day. Raised voices filled the air around her, flaunting their wares and haggling over prices. Unlike the all-American way of Sunnydale, with prices fixed by the ever present chains of faceless stores, everything was mutable here, and each transaction was unique ... just another interesting facet in the melting pot of life in this place. What was it that Giles had said ... something about mad dogs and Englishmen?
She was near, Willow could tell; yet another activated slayer that required training, nurturing ... and protecting. That was another thing her younger self would have blanched at ... that she was the one responsible for such a thing; that by utilising the power of the Scythe, she could bring such light to the darkness.
Before, she had recoiled at the doppelganger image of herself, shying away from the darkness that she saw within. Angel had tried to spare her the worry, his crude lie soothing her troubled thoughts; convincing her that her Vampire personality bore no resemblance to her own. Now she knew better ... at the deepest level, they really weren't all that different; the demon simply served to bring out the primal core of her being ... those hidden desires that she had always kept buried.
Desires ... now there was something that she could relate to. Kennedy had been her anchor through the hell of the First. She had been seduced ... she had allowed herself to be seduced. From the first moment they had met, Kennedy had wanted her; for what reason, Willow couldn't say. As for what she had wanted ... a distraction maybe, for she was certain it wasn't love. Undeniably, it wasn't a fraction of what she had shared with Tara. No wonder it had faded away ... without the ever-present threat of the First, the need for such distractions didn't seem so pressing after all. Besides, she had work to do.
The slayer was close now, troubled by dreams that she couldn't possibly understand, but unknowing of the destiny she shared with a thousand others ... a thousand points of light, twinkling in the darkness. Willow stepped forward, turning the corner to continue her search.
She stopped, her eyes focusing on one person in particular. He browsed the stalls checking out beads and local artwork as if he were a native, haggling with the stallholders for a reasonable price with that same familiar smile on his face that she had always come to expect from him.
'Hey,' the familiar stranger said, not showing any surprise in his greeting.
'Hey,' the redhead returned, thoughts of slayers forgotten.
She wasn't particularly surprised to see him there. She wasn't old, or blue-haired, but she had been waiting ... somehow, when it came to him, she'd always be waiting.