The Diamond Sea

Been a little bit. We're back on track.


There was a body beside her, clinging on tightly to each of her sides, hair splayed and strewn across her abdomen, face buried into her chest, sleep dancing lightly with the creature's head. And Buffy pulled herself away, slipping out of the grasp, rolling away from the vampire, she grabbed for her discarded clothes, quietly putting them on, and graciously stacking the vampire's into a neat pile beside her. And then, lying back down, propping her head on one hand, she watched. She watched where the vampire's chest should be rising and falling, though it only remain stable. She watched where the eyes beneath their lids should be moving, but only remained stationary.

This thing was not living. It was not alive. It was a moving, speaking, tired creature, with a ball of light stuffed and cramped inside of its chest. Buffy found herself gently stroking the pale cheek, sympathy leaking from her eyes, and a sudden disgusting wish that grew inside of her brain. She wanted to take it away.

She wanted to hear the vampire's rolling snarl near her ear, wanted to hear her whisper threats that she could indeed carry out, all of these things, and feel the danger falling off of Faith's body as they pulsed together.

Buffy's daydream broke, unfortunately, as two chocolate coloured eyes quickly sparked open. The Slayer withdrew her hand from the skin, as if burned, and forced a small, closed lip grin. "Morning." She murmured.

And they were no longer touching, no longer connected except by the fulfilling gaze that so rarely faltered, Faith's own eyes burning bright and deep into Buffy's. She spoke of nothing, though her numb lips were painfully noticeable, as were the purple thumbprints where bruising holds had been made throughout the night. If Buffy imagined hard enough, she could pretend that Faith was lucid, pretend that they were normal, and together, and in love, despite the scenery.

It was Faith's incoherent mumbling that brought her out of the thought, and out of the gaze. It wouldn't happen. Faith was damaged, dangerous, and seemingly unaware of the world around her. The Slayer found her hands tangled once more inside the web of dark tresses, her mouth forming soft coos in between the vampire's ears. "I want to help you…" She thought aloud, "I want to make you… better, again. I want you to be how you used to be."

Faith's eyes danced, wild and excited as she nodded in understanding.

Buffy planted a tiny, lasting kiss on the Rogue's lips, her forehead, her nose, and slowly began to rise. She pressed the folded clothes up towards the vampire, and whispered into the echo of the crypt, "Sleep. I'll be back."


There were stacks of books, piles of stacks of piles, all spread unevenly and less sparingly around what used to be a living room. There were people littered as well, potential slayers on their stomachs, thumbing through worn, and wasting pages, searching futily for anything with the words 'The' and 'First' printed in overly dramatisized ink. Willow was around their somewhere, the Slayer guessed, hidden behind volumes of titles of texts. These had all been recently imported from Angel's Los Angeles collection. Willow had brought down a select few after her brief trip, and Angel had sent down the rest all together.

Buffy sat stagnant, idly turning a page every few moments, seated at a desk that had been moved into the living room for research purposes. Buffy wouldn't admit it to herself, or much less to anyone around her, but she wasn't particuarly helping the idle cause of impending apocalypse. True, there were many pressing issues she should be worried about, should be caring for, but presently her mind had drifted to a leatherbound, isolated book in her lap, knees propped so the titleless text might only be seen by her eyes, if any eyes were to penetrate past the inpenetrateable wall of bookage.

Her eyes scanned each page's title, 'Soul Searching','Soul Stealing', 'Soul Surviving'. None of it was of what she wanted, nor what she needed presently. She didn't need to look inside her own, or Faith's complete lack of soul, nor steal it from someone, or survive whatever wrath it may put upon them. She just needed to find it.

This, here, would be where Willow could help. However, Buffy knew it was pressing to request the aid in the rekindling of what could and most likely would be a mass murdering monster. It was mutiny, she realized, to reensoul the monster that she was born to kill. But if the world was going to end, again, she might as well up the challenge slightly, right?

Besides, Faith wouldn't be a physical, or spatial challenge. She would be alive, not in the physical sense, but alive in a way that they could touch and feel each other. They could breathe and smell each other. This was how it was supposed to be. And the only help she seemed to have, was herself.

Buffy shut the unhelpful book and slid it over to the side of the desk. She bent down to a slowly shrinking pile of books at her feet and lifted the next one to be read. As she set it down on the desktop, one of the pages extended out farther than the rest, its ends slightly bent, as if it were a page simply inserted into the book, rather than ripped from the spine. Buffy opened the loose cover, "The 15th Century Demon Guide.. " The book itself held no interest, but the hanging page...

Buffy pulled it from it's hold and pushed the book itself away. The page was thin, airy, like it would crumble in her hands if she gripped it too hard. The words were nearly imprinted into the paper, all appearing at first as if they were in a foreign, demonic language, but after a moment of deeper searching, just written in very rolling font.

Willow's handwriting...

Buffy glanced briefly towards the witch, her left side just visible behind two mountains of books, surrounding the couch where she sat. Buffy turned back towards the page, quickly scanning the page, the words. This had been the spell. Willow had used this spell in Los Angeles, and it must have gotten lost between some of the books. This is what she had used to restore Angel's soul...


There weren't many items in the crypt, not many trinkets and bulbs, and shelves. But from what was available the vampire had made a memorable mess, making it increasingly difficult to walk among the floors without stepping or crunching on some bits of glass and stone. The large, stone sarcophagus in the middle of the room hadn't been touched, and atop it lay the unmoving vampire, eyes staring up to the ceiling, lips parted slightly, hands by her side.

Buffy hadn't expected the restless creature to have wait comfortably all day, but the mess she thought, was a little over the top. Approaching the vampire, she let her lips fold into a small smile and bent over the pale face of Faith. The vampire sat up to her elbows, watching the Slayer with reverance, her eyes empty and draining.

"Don't worry.." Buffy murmured, bending her lips down to meet the cold, quiet ones beneath her, "Everything will be just as normal. Just wait a little longer.."