Chapter Two - May 2014 (eleven years post Sunnydale turning into a giant hole)

hey now, the well run dry
pages of the book on fire
read the writing… on the wall…

"Buffy, come on!"

"No, I have to go!"

"This magnanimous glass of beer in my hand completely disagrees."

Buffy Summers rolled her eyes. "I've been here for four hours, Barney. Four. Hours. And look, I'm leaving a happy Ted in my place."

"Bah! Ted's boring. I can't do anything with Ted anymore. He's all…" Barney Stinson made a face at their table mate who watched him with a patiently amused smile on his face. "Well, you've broken him. What kind of best friend ditches the honorable position of wing man? I mean really."

"Uh, you mean after the last time when you said I had a life-threatening and completely non-transferrable disease and I was all alone in the world but for my childhood best friend who also happens to be my doctor?" Ted Mosby cut in. Buffy raised her eyebrows, turning to face Barney who rolled his eyes. "And proceeded to try to hook me up with one of those girls after saying we both needed 'shoulders' to lean on because the whole disease thing was really taking a toll?"

"Oh really?" Buffy said. "And why am I just now hearing about this? And by the way, smooth - non-transferrable disease? Really?"

"Please, it didn't work anyway. And it was your fault, Summers, because you weren't there as my darling sister who only cares about the welfare of her brother… and the people who occupy his bed. Or his couch." Barney's smile grew. "Or a bathroom sink or the back of a taxi cab."

Buffy snorted, remembering the one and only time she had played his sister in the gross play he called life and how it had ended. Oh yeah, that had been fun. Enter sarcasm. "And that's my cue to leave."

"God, you two are so dull. With your coupley-face and you stupid coupley-happiness and your… stupid dullness."

"Uh-huh," Buffy said, turning to face Ted. She cocked her head. "So he tried to hook you up with a girl again, huh?"

"And it ended with me telling her about my beautiful and super committed live-in girlfriend," Ted finished, smiling. "Dry cleaning?"

"Dry cleaning," Buffy said with a nod. "Gotta get my power suit."

"At least she suits up," Barney said in a low voice, glancing around the bar, perusing the banquet. They ignored him.

"We'll be here later; Marshall and Lily are coming in a bit."

Buffy smiled. It seemed everyone's life schedules had been busier than they normally were and they hadn't had the group together for a while. She hadn't seen Lily or Marshall in actual conversation-having ways. She had seen them in a few other senses. She winced as her thoughts led her to what her roomies were most likely doing upstairs before shuddering at the memories of the many times she had walked in on them as they christened the couch… and then Ted's desk… the windowsill… the tub… the floor… and then the kitchen again.

"Right. I'll be back here then."

"Ah!" Barney suddenly said, raising his arm as Robin Scherbatsky stopped a few feet away, looking weary as she shook out her drenched umbrella. Buffy stood up after a quick peck from Ted. "Robin is here to save the day. Wing Woman checking in!"

"They're all yours," Buffy said with a smile before heading to the exit.

"Oh goody," Robin replied, sliding in next to Ted.

It was raining cats and dogs and rats and possums when Buffy stepped out of MacLaren's. The drops were the size of the cars parked outside her building as she held a newspaper above her head and started sprinting. It always took weather like this to remind her why she didn't need to feel guilty about getting newspapers just to read the horoscopes. Hello, perfect faux umbrellas, especially since she hadn't bothered to get a new one since she left her last one on the subway.

Despite the weather, she wasn't the only one out - she dodged around the people and the obstacles that littered every Manhattan street like the sidewalk was the nuisance.

Her emergency dry cleaning run was of the necessary, despite the weather. She needed that damn suit because it was her lucky suit and her boss had made it extra clear that the meeting tomorrow was "imperative" to land this "ultra important" client. Thus the lucky suit was being called into action.

Buffy was finally starting to get what her mom had been talking about when it came to the artists she hosted and the money she brought them and the weird and somehow creepy joy of facilitating someone else's joy when their artwork sold. It never failed to amaze her how easy it was to fill those Joyce Summers shoes, to pretend like this had been her life goal all along…

Buffy shoved that thought away as she jogged down the street. She wasn't filling those shoes. They were her shoes, although very much so molded a la Joyce Summers... And they were comfy. And in her head, they were the shiny leather boots she had seen the other day that she had already started mentally saving up for.

The dry cleaner was only a couple of blocks away and she was getting soaked to the bone as cars whipped through the streets, splashing water out of the potholes like geysers. She sighed in exasperation at herself as two empty taxis drove by.

Stopping to catch her breath and to shake out her newspaper, Buffy ducked into an alley, standing beneath an overhang.

"Rain, rain, go away," she mumbled, peeking out to glance at the sky. It looked like an endless black hole of miserable water coming at her. Thank you, spring weather, for visiting at the most inopportune times. Now turn off that overly considerate rain knob and stop…

Buffy took a deep breath, shoving her purse higher on her shoulder, ready to finish her trek when she felt a tight, uncomfortable cramping in the pit of her stomach, but it registered too late.

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion as her instincts started screaming one thing, her mind doing another and her heart responding to both. She felt a catch in her breath as she stepped out into the rain; alarms started screaming at the back of her mind… the newspaper was already leveled above her head to help cascade the New York weather from doing too much damage when they hit.

She was too slow - she didn't react when a pair of hands grabbed her upper arm and yanked her back with so much force, she felt like the tendons in her shoulder were ripping apart.

God, how many years had it been since she had had to brace for an attack like this? How long had it been since her body had reacted on instinct, knowing that she could easily go with the motion while spinning around to shove her fist into whoever dared to attack her?

Too long.

It had been too long and Buffy's mind blanked as the searing pain ripped through her upper body. The hands tugged her back, her feet losing grip on the ground and her world suddenly tilted.

She had been living in Manhattan for three years now - longer than that in New York when her shabby Brooklyn apartment was included on the list - and she had never been attacked. She had never worried about being attacked because she was the Slayer. Or she had been. She couldn't even remember the last time she had let herself have a decent training session… hell, the last time she had even gone for a run.

Because after a while, she thought she hadn't needed to.

Buffy cried out in pain as gravity slammed her into the wet concrete. The vampire didn't pause as he dragged her further into the inky darkness of the alley. Her back and shoulders roared in protest as he yanked her along, her weight catching on the gutted holes of the alley floor, her nose filling with the rank piss-covered walls and moldy garbage. Every distress signal in her head shot to life, her body flooding with adrenaline as the vamp dragged her into the shadows, moving quickly. She felt her jeans grating on the ground, her back getting scraped until it felt like it was on fire.

But the worse pain was in her stomach - it was cramping like someone was twisting a whisk inside her abdomen.

There were more of them. A lot more.

It was the wrong kind of adrenaline rocking through her body as she opened her mouth to scream. It was cut off when one of the vampires kicked her in the face, his shoe landing solidly in the center of her nose. White hot pain exploded in her head, blood started gushing from her nose; Buffy choked as it started to run down the back of her throat. She felt a clawed hand curl into her wet hair and tug her head back as the others crowded around her, hands grabbing her flailing limbs, holding her down.

Panic burst inside her body like a bomb, obliterating any pain as it instantly started screeching the instinct to run through her system. Her mind scrambled to come to terms with what was happening as they positioned themselves around her. The panic was like a black noxious cloud covering her body, dulling everything else but the need to scream until her vocal cords ripped. She couldn't think, couldn't concentrate; she couldn't move but to struggle against the hands clamped on her body.

Her mouth was open but all she could hear was a thick white noise, the sound of her blood rushing through her body, the sound of someone's cries…

She felt the gentle spatter of the raindrops ricocheting off the ground; she felt fetid breath on her skin as they chuckled, exchanging words she couldn't hear. They tugged up her sleeves and pulled her sweater down to expose her throat. Her eyes blinked against the rain as she tried to see her attackers, the hot blood oozing from her face feeling painful against her clammy skin.

Just as breathing started getting harder, her lungs contracting painfully in time with her panic, she felt two more pairs of hands scratching at the inside of her thighs, fighting through her wet denim to expose the sensitive and plentiful veins at the juncture of her legs and an agonizing shot of fear speared through her chest.

Like an open wound, she felt every inch of her skin being violated. The sound of denim tearing ripped through the air as one of them took a deep, needy breath at the scent of her blood… and she suddenly felt something snap inside.

Like a crack in her mind, Buffy let go, let the panic fill her to the point of bursting as the vampires ducked down to take their fill.

Her body did the rest.

With a shout, a commanding rush surged through her limbs as instinct took over and she jerked her legs free with surprising strength, slamming her knees into two faces simultaneously. A howl of pain echoed through the alleyway as Buffy yanked one arm free and slammed her fist into another face, squirming her body to get out, to get off the ground and back onto an even playing field.


It wasn't until later that I realized what I was feeling in that moment was power. Pure, unadulterated power, something I wasn't controlling… it just took over me. It was intoxicating. It had been so long since I'd let myself go, since I had let myself do what I was born to do, since I had defended myself against such evil. It was like I had been living in this gauze-covered world and suddenly everything was clear and distinct.

It felt good.

It felt right.

Which, you know, had the potential to clash with the whole "normal life" thing, but that's really spoiling the story.


Breaking the hold on her upper body, Buffy rolled to her feet. Her head throbbed from the hard kick she had received, the blood flowing in a gush from both nostrils. She mopped it up, looking down in detached wonder as the red stained her sweater, as the blood on her hand washed away in small splats from the heavy rain before looking up at the five vampires before her. The fear and panic was gone, almost like it had never been there.

In its place was a fast-growing anger as she felt the tears in her jeans at her inner thighs and the scratches on her neck from tugging her shirt down… She felt her intestines cramping painfully at the thought of what they had almost gotten. What she had almost let them have.

One of the vampires laughed, the rain making his ghastly face glisten, accenting the heavy shadows under his brow and cheekbones. "We've got a slippery one, fellas." The other vampires chuckled along with him as he stepped forward, the clear leader. "But wouldn't you know it, we just got back into town. Haven't had a decent meal in a few days… So you won't get far."

Where once upon a time, she would have had a quippy response, Buffy just stared at them, her lungs expanding rapidly. Gritting her teeth, she licked her lips, tasting the metallic tinge leaking from her nose. She chanced a quick glance around and saw they had her surrounded, cornered against a wall and a dumpster that looked like it had grown as tall as the buildings around it.

And luck was just making her its plaything as there were no handy pieces of sharpened wood lying about.

A spike of anxiety struck her chest, but Buffy pushed it down. The desire to get out and take a moment to breath - to let the shock wash over her and let her realize she wasn't just some ordinary woman on the streets of Manhattan - was overwhelming but she didn't have any other choice. She could only do one thing if she wanted to get out of this alley alive.

Fight.

"Try running," the leader taunted, his voice rasping between his fangs and the rain. Brushing wet hair from her face, Buffy clenched her fists, raising them up, not liking her odds.

It had been years - years - since she had last sparred with a punching bag, much less a dead flesh and blood creature. The familiar power of her lineage was scorching through her body, but she also felt weak. Out of practice. Like she had shoved that part of her life so far down and out of the way that it had been left to rust in the dust...

"Oh yeah, that's good." The vampire chortled. "Struggling makes the blood spicier."

Buffy's eyes danced to his lackeys as they threw in a few comments. Despite the rain, she could see their drool at the prospect of a meal. The meal being her blood. A roar of rebellion and strength seared her stomach and Buffy clenched her fists tighter. She was a Slayer. A rusty Slayer, but also the longest living in Slayer history.


I might as well name this story "How Buffy Lived Under A Rock Named Denial and How That Rock Blew Up In Buffy's Face."

What was really interesting was how I managed to escape all those years in New York without meeting even one vampire in the dark, but that's getting off topic… and don't even get me started on the guilt factor of living there for so long and not slaying anything, we'll get to that. It was like the oatmeal raisin cookie part of myself went into hibernation and was now suddenly getting burned alive.

Or, you know when you wake up from a nap and it feels like the entire universe is wrong? Do vampires nap? I guess you wouldn't know quite yet, being new and all. But it felt like my universe had done a complete one-eighty. Total mind screw.


They attacked, swarming around her and with a tremble in her limbs, Buffy met them.


It was bloody and it was awful. I didn't have a stake. I was throwing punches like I didn't know how to aim and I would have died about ten different times if I didn't have that special something that moves you for you… if that makes sense. You know, Slayer instinct. You'd get an idea if you were going anywhere tonight.

I almost broke three fingers, I cracked a rib and one of them nearly shattered my left knee. It was exhausting and painful and I was freaking out the entire time. It was a lot like my first night of slaying: terrifying.


Buffy felt something in her spine crack when one of the vamps slammed her against the corner of the dumpster. A pained cry fell from her lips as she collapsed to the ground. Fighting to get a breath in, she pushed through the searing pain in her back to swing her leg out and knock two of them off their feet.

She was losing. Badly. And shame and foolishness were starting to win the battle inside her chest as she realized she hadn't left her home prepared for something just like this since long before she had even moved to Manhattan.

She was going to die.

Clamoring to her feet, Buffy elbowed one and shoved her foot back to catch the one trying to take her out from behind. Sweeping around, she nailed him in the face with her foot, watching with a quick glimpse of satisfaction his fall to the ground. It was short lived though when a heavy fist landed on her chin, rocking her head to the side and making her lose her balance again.

Flashes of her life flew before her eyes as she rolled to her knees, crawling achingly slow to the wall to get leverage to stand. Her body shook as she saw Ted the first time she'd met him thanks to Barney's game of "Have You Met Ted?" and then both of them in bed sharing a joke before seeing him shove an ice cream cone in her face.

She saw her boss, Marinna, high-fiving her after she successfully helped at her first art showing. She saw herself with all her friends at MacLaren's, sharing a laugh and a plate of hot wings before she saw Dawn's face. Her mom's… And then Willow's. Xander. Giles. Faith. Spike. Angel. Riley… hell, she even saw all the new Slayers. The ones she had left in the hands of Faith for training... Double hell, she even freaking saw Andrew.

It was all washing down the drain, drowning in the blood, grime and dirty water falling on her as she climbed to her feet. She didn't have any weapons, nothing to dissuade the vamps from coming at her. She had already broken one wrist, two noses and knocked one of them out but it wasn't enough. She'd had enough openings for the kill but nothing to kill with.


Also known as I was really screwed.


A fierce bark of anger lit up in Buffy's mind as the attacks continued. She felt a kidney hit just as she landed a double-fisted hit to one vamp's head. She grabbed one's leg and flipped him away while another tried to get leverage with her sweater but she was too fast. Her knee connected with a nose as one ripped some hair from her scalp.

One grabbed her from behind and slammed her into the wall, her head ricocheting off the brick. And just like that, a hive of bees took residence inside her skull as her brain whipped through the pudding it felt like, her eyes suddenly feeling so heavy they might as well have been tied to bricks themselves. She absently felt her arms being held against the wall as the leader ducked in. Buffy kicked her leg out, catching his shin. He grunted, grabbing her limbs and using his body to nail her to the wall.

"Get off," Buffy bit out through gritted teeth, wrenching her arms, the muscles in her shoulders burning. She slipped a wrist free, scratching at anything she could find before the leader slammed her wrist back into the wall, digging her bony wrist against the rough brick. She gasped in pain.

"I don't think so, sweetie," he breathed, his breath dancing across her face. Buffy felt bile rising in the back of her throat at what the rank breath promised, the breath of a thousand other victims having slid down his gullet. He inhaled deeply. "The rain is making you smell… so, so delicious."

Buffy closed her eyes, something hot and panicked burning through her limbs. She was ready to shove her forehead into his nose, not ready to give up or fail even if it meant a five second window to run…

But then the weight of the leader was gone.

Buffy inhaled sharply at the sudden loss, breathing in the dead dust, making her cough. It stuck to her skin as the one on her right suddenly burst into dust as well and she fell to the ground as her third captor turned to whoever had come to her aid.

Wiping her eyes, Buffy saw a man wearing a soaking leather jacket move quickly and silently as two of the vamps advanced. She didn't pause to wonder who he was, what he was doing there and how he knew how to handle a stake so well… Instead, she jumped to her feet, ignoring the shrieking pain in her body as she tackled one of them from behind.

And then it was a blur.

She remembered yelling for a stake countless times, demanding one. She heard someone asking her what the hell she was doing before her vampire gained the upper hand on her and that same someone cursing. And then a stake appeared in her hand and suddenly she was straddling the vamp and she was shoving the sharp wood through his chest plate.

The ease of pushing the wood through the flesh and muscle, cracking it through the bone and into his heart was delicious in her hands; her body moved on muscle memory as a rush of images bombarded her mind of doing this exact thing, hundreds and hundreds of times over. A burst of euphoria exploded in her chest when the vampire turned to dust beneath her and she landed on the hard wet concrete with a loud smack. She turned to look over her shoulder as the last two were dusted.

The man was wiping his hands off on his jacket as he came towards her. She still sat crouched on the ground, the adrenaline from the fight roaring through her body, feeling like she was going to keel over. He was soaking wet as he reached her, holding out his hand.

"You okay?"

She could barely hear him over the static in her head. Buffy stared at the offer, breathing hard. Her eyelids were heavy from the rain still cascading down like a waterfall. Her mind was firing blanks, trying to think past how much she was starting to shake, as she tried to put two and two together.

Vampire attack. Vampire attack. Vampire attack.

Before the mystery guy could ask again, she lifted her shaking hand and placed it in his, using his strength to help lift her back to her feet. She didn't move or say anything and he shook his head.

"Christ," he mumbled under his breath before he tugged her into a covered doorway, the same place the vampires had held her down. She stared at the ground absently as the guy pulled something from his back pocket. "Look at me."

Moving like a robot, Buffy did as he said. A handsome, worn face stared back at her. He had a bruised eye from where a vampire had hit him and a cut lip. He was squinting at her, trying to see something she couldn't as the pain finally started registering. She closed her eyes in a wince. She didn't see the handkerchief in his hand until he pressed it against her temple and then her nose.

"Hey, keep those eyes open," he ordered, his face set in a hard frown. Buffy did as he said, staring at his nose, vaguely noting the way the rain water emphasized the freckles that littered the skin there before realizing why she could see them at all.

They were standing near a streetlight.

God, had she almost died that close to civilization? People continued to move about like nothing in the world was wrong. Like she hadn't almost died just three feet away. Like she hadn't spent who the hell knows how long fighting and nobody came… until…

The handkerchief swiped against her chin again and Buffy felt it mopping up her congealing blood. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," she managed, her voice a croak. Looking down at her sweater, she saw a large tear across her chest, smudges from the dirt-laced ground. Shifting her feet, she felt the tears in her jeans at her inner thighs again and a rush of horror flooded her body.


I didn't really want to do anything but throw up everything I'd ever eaten. I was in total shock. I was having a hard time understanding how I had let any of it happen in the first place.

I knew. I had always known what went bump in the night and I had turned my back on it. Pretended like it didn't exist, like it had never existed.

And it came back with a vengeance to rival white pants on Labor Day.


"Mind explaining how you know how to kill vampires?" the stranger asked, his eyes narrowed. Buffy met his stare, her own blank and her face slack. It didn't occur to her how silly it was that some random human guy was asking her how she knew how to slay vampires…

She was just... there. She felt empty. Like a wisp of wind could blow right past them and she would get swept up in the breeze, disappearing forever...

She didn't reply; she stepped away. Shaking her head to the tune of her thoughts, she looked around, her mind filling in the blank spots on the ground with what had just happened - right over there, she had cracked one of the vampire's heads against a trash can and right there, she had felt every bone in her hand turn to liquid lava as another vamp had twisted her around - before she found her purse.

Buffy didn't think as she grabbed it, ignoring a popping twinge in her elbow. She headed towards the mouth of the alley, ignoring her savior, feeling like the rain was filling the inside of her skull, clouding her brain's ability to work.

"Hey!" he barked.

The mystery man's stare drilled a hole in her back and she looked over her shoulder, catching his eye where he stood, the bloody handkerchief still in his hands as he studied her. For a split second, Buffy felt like everything rumbling around inside her head was visible for him to see. He was looking at her like he knew everything going on inside and he understood, but he was also… pitying her.

Where she should have felt something in reaction - maybe a rush of anger or some humor - she felt nothing.

She was numb.

An eternity passed. Their gazes stayed locked, secrets that had no business being near her anymore passing between them as the numbing in her chest started thawing, something in his gaze making everything feel too real… Suddenly the air felt too heavy to breath, the rain felt like little spikes slamming into her overly sensitive skin, the wounds she had won felt like fire dancing across her body… until a taxi roared by, shooting water from the street onto the sidewalk, startling her.

One more glance at him as he took a step towards her and she turned away and ran.


I ran until I got home. I ran upstairs. It took me five minutes to get my hands calm enough to open the door, I kept dropping the damn keys. I shoved it closed behind me so hard I'm pretty sure I cracked the jamb.

I'll never forget what stared back at me in the mirror that night. I was destroyed. Covered in blood. My nose was already swelling, my eyes getting black like a homicidal raccoon's. A large scratch was already drying on my temple and my jaw was bruised straight to hell. I was a mess and my body felt worse.

I couldn't comprehend how I had gone from one thing - drinking beer, laughing and running in the rain so carefree - into something so completely different; I had stepped into death without any warning.

I took a shower, I cleaned it all off; I threw away my clothes and turned off all the lights. I just sat in bed, curled up so tight in the comforter I was suffocating. I couldn't stop shaking, no matter how hard I tried to level my breathing or still my own skin. It was on its own rollercoaster from hell and I couldn't get it back to the land of calm.

I don't think I had ever been so terrified in my life. Which always wigs me when I think about it that way because I've been up against things so much worse, so much more worthy of the terror.

I had always been this person, this person who had never not had the luxury of knowing I could handle anything anyone threw my way... but that night? I had failed. I had almost died.

Which, for someone who has died a few times, shouldn't have freaked me out as much as it did. But I was. To the nth degree.

Just like with the power thing, it took me a long time to realize what was happening. I was totally wigged, but I was also so jazzed I felt like I couldn't breathe.

I had felt alive that night. So alive, in such a dark and primordial way - something stronger than anything I had ever felt before - that it was freaking me the heck out. It was more intense than anything I'd felt in my slaying career and I'm sure it's easy to assume the why of that - burying things under mounds of denial has a way of dulling things…

My phone almost rattled off the table from text messages and phone calls, but I ignored them. I heard everyone coming in a few hours later. I kept still when Ted checked on me. I listened to them for a while before he came back to bed. I was wide awake when he got in, curling around me with a deep sigh. I remember he squeezed my waist and I almost dug my nails through my hand from the pain in my ribs. He whispered my name, but I didn't say anything. Eventually he fell asleep.

I didn't.

Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw that man in the alleyway's eyes. I didn't see the vampires, I didn't feel the way my own blood choked me, I didn't relive the fear that my life was almost over… I saw him watching me, seeing something that I hadn't seen in a long time.

And it scared me.


The sky was still dark outside the next morning as Buffy lifted Ted's arm away from her. Twisting around, she gently set it down in her empty spot, adjusting the blankets around him. He didn't budge, his mouth open in a snore and for a second, Buffy just stared at him, feeling a strange disconnection.

Not strange, really. It was a familiar sensation, one she hadn't felt in so long, it was close to being foreign again. She hadn't felt it since Sunnydale, since the night everyone had turned her out and she had wandered around aimlessly until Spike found her.

Part of being the Slayer was disconnecting from the harsh crap to make rational decisions, the kind of decisions that a normal person wouldn't want to make. Something nobody but Spike had been able to understand… or the mystery guy in the alley apparently although she was beginning to wonder if she had really seen everything she thought she had.

He had just looked like he… knew what was going on inside her head.

The disconnect was saving her from the feeling of wiggins. Somewhere in the middle of the night, with Ted wrapped around her and her mind back in that alley, the disconnect had come and she had felt the most satisfying level of calm take her.

Buffy made her way to the bathroom, shutting the door before she snapped on the light to check the damage. The swelling was already gone. The cut on her temple had closed and was coming close to being a little pink line. The only tell-tale sign anything major had happened was the sallow color in the corners of her eyes, where the bruises were working on fading.

Buffy took a deep breath, feeling only a faint twinge in her side. She lifted her leg, twisting her knee and only felt a little grinding in her knee cap.

Alright, so the Slayer healing still worked.

Check in the column of positive things learned, she supposed.

Bracing herself on the sink, Buffy stared at herself. She looked tired. She looked sad. She looked... hollow. She looked like she used to look in her last few years in Sunnydale. Like someone waging a serious internal battle and drowning.

Or someone who had just gotten the biggest punch in the face from sassy Life.

But this hollowness was her fault, wasn't it? She had let herself go, let herself believe she could live a life that didn't involve anything that went bump in the night. Her life in New York was sunshine and roses, a world where the meaning of life involved a lot of coffee, art, beer and laughter. Not darkness, blood and stakes. Not pain and bruises in the morning after ramming your fist into dead or scaly flesh all night.

Not the life of a Slayer. That wasn't her anymore…

So what about last night? What about the five vampires that would have killed her, a faceless person in Manhattan, a faceless Slayer who had let her abilities go lax until they felt like they were non-existent?

Her mind was in revolt. Turning on the faucet to ice cold, she ducked down, splashing her face until it was numb.

No. No, last night had been a freak accident. Something that, yes, theoretically she should have been prepared for, but wasn't. Next time, that wouldn't happen. She still had her weapons chest sitting around somewhere, she'd just start keeping a stake in her purse at all times again. Back to the "new age defense weapon" shtick.

For the just in case.

For the random freak accidents.

Just for the what-if's, nothing more.

And the man who had saved her? What about him…

Wasn't he just evidence that she didn't need to take up the mantle again?

The world still had protectors out there… her time of servitude had passed.


Do I sound like I was in denial?

Because I totally was.

I went to work sans lucky power suit that morning and we still landed the new client. I swept everything under the rug. Like it hadn't happened. Like I hadn't spent the entire night shivering so badly from the huge chasm of despair and self-questioning that had suddenly opened up between my lives.

But I'm just spoiling the story for you again now, so let's move on.

I told Ted that I had tripped on my way to the dry cleaner's and fell pretty hard and that I just went to bed. That I didn't want to worry anyone.

That I was fine.

Dandy. Normal. Sane. Healthy... or whatever.

Guess how long that lasted? About one week.

Unfortunately for my sanity it wasn't something as obvious as me recognizing what I really wanted and going out and doing the Slayer Lambada. No, it started out easy and ignorable: dreams. Part of the slaying gig is the dreams - the prophetic ones, the scary ones, the blah-blah-vampire-blah-blah-blood-blah-blah ones...

But like I said, ignorable, right?

It wasn't until I saw him again that the sunshine and roses started turning into black goopy piles of something not-rose-like.

Because something had happened that night. Something I couldn't explain. I didn't want to explain it. Something I had spent a considerable amount of time and energy completely ignoring, and winning at the game of You No Existy.

It was just a glimpse outside of Zibetto's; a glimpse out the corner of my eye. It was night and I was heading back with Lily after a mini shopping spree when I saw him standing in a doorway across the street, doing the cool James Dean routine. I stopped, Lily bouncing ahead of me as I met his gaze.

For the first time since that night, I saw him. I was annoyed to find that he was pretty damn attractive in one of those seriously annoying and dangerous sort of ways. A way that said, "No, I don't think so, Buck-o, not for you. I'm too cool for school and while I'm at it, I'll slay vampires like a cool guy." Or something. I was still working on my quips.

But he was also tired. Like life had handed him a couple of shots of crap and he had swallowed them without reserve.

I remember feeling a whole bucket-load of anxiety in my chest - you know that weird feeling when you get caught with your hand in the cookie jar or see something you thought wasn't real? That feeling. But he didn't budge. And neither did I. So we did the stare-if-you-dare dance when he offered a sarcastic smile that hinted at him finding something about me far funnier than I would have liked and I was just at the point of talking myself into just walking across the damn street when Lily's head popped back around the corner.

"Buffy? You coming?"

"Yeah," I had answered immediately, shoving an everything's-fine smile on my face before turning back to the shadowy doorway. And wouldn't you know it? James Dean was gone.

The irresistible urge to either try to find him or bash my head into a wall was pretty overwhelming, but I ignored it. I pretended like it hadn't happened. And I grabbed Lily's hand and we kept on going to MacLaren's.

After that, things really did start to get back to normal. The dreams stopped, the restlessness stopped. The disconnect went away and I was living happy as a clam in my life all over again. I felt better when the trash went out with my destroyed clothes. I even threw away the purse I had had that night and reevaluated the truth of my power suit being lucky or not.

Until he came back, six weeks later.