See Chapter One for disclaimer and details. Welcome, one and all, to the latest chapter of the story! It's kinda astonishing to me how many reviews this fanfic has received, to be honest with you. I wasn't expecting this many so quickly! Well, thank you all once again for telling me what you think of this tale, you make me feel all warm and squishy inside. :) Anyway, I finally managed to get this chapter ready, after a VERY long day at work (but then, I'm sure you people don't want to hear about that). So sit back, relax, and get ready for the latest twists and turns as I slowly build up to the main plot...
Chapter Four: Where Are They Now?
Outside Sunnydale High School, Sunnydale
September 13th, 2002
( I still can't believe it's actually back, ) Willow thought to herself as she stared at Buffy, Giles and Dawn – who were all disappearing inside the newly built high school. ( And I also can't believe how that principal guy, Robin Wood, gave Buffy and Giles jobs here as a student counsellor and the school librarian! Talk about weird... )
Indeed, all this greatly reminded the redhead of that very first day she'd met Buffy, nearly six years ago. The circumstances were somewhat different, of course – Dawn was the high school student now, and Buffy had stepped into Joyce's shoes after the Summers mom had passed away around eighteen months ago. But the similarities were enough to still cause a major wiggins on Willow's part.
( The bricks and mortar, the tiles and the floorboards, the electrical fittings and everything else, they're all brand new, but still – this feels like the exact same high school that tried its best to kill all of us, back in the old days. I mean it's built right over the exact same Hellmouth! Who knows what's gonna crawl up outta there later this year? So, totally non-peachy keen, that would be the situation. )
Willow then checked her watch, figuring she ought to head off to UC Sunnydale soon. This was her final year of study, as she was matriculating with the class of 2003 and the Rosenberg woman was greatly looking forward to finally getting her degree, and joining Tara as part of Sunnydale's workforce.
Not that Willow had any plans to work at the Magic Box, the occult store which Giles had sold to Ms. Maclay for a dollar after the blonde assistant shopkeeper had graduated from UC Sunnydale, and Rupert had been offered the position of Sunnydale High librarian again. The redhead had renounced ALL magic for the rest of her life after she had hit rock bottom with her addiction last year. So Willow was seriously considering starting her own computer consulting business one day, after sharpening up her old hacker skills...
"Hey."
Startled, Willow whirled around to see her former boyfriend standing there behind her. "Oz?"
"The one and only. Well, if you don't count the great and powerful version," the werewolf commented sagely.
"It's been a while," Willow tried but failed not to giggle over her ex's comment. "Where have you been? And what are you doing here?"
"Around. And checking this place out, before I leave town," Oz replied tersely, suddenly directing his gaze directly at his former girlfriend.
"What? Oz, you're leaving Sunnydale AGAIN?" Willow demanded, before she calmed down and regained control of her emotions. "All right, so when do you think you'll be back? I mean last time, you were gone for nearly six months!"
"I'm not planning to come back, Willow. At least, not in the way you're thinking."
Willow's didn't get that. "What?"
Oz began to explain, slowly and carefully, how he was relocating to Los Angeles on a permanent basis – apart from the occasional trip back here to visit his mother. "I'm gonna be working with Devon, officially."
"What, in his drug rehab clinic?"
"Part-time, yeah. But mostly I'll be with a support group for newly infected werewolves," Oz explained. "I've been hearing stuff lately from my ex, Veruca-"
"What? You're still talking to HER?" Willow's horrified voice suddenly became a lot more high-pitched. "Oz, she's a KILLER! She's-"
"She's a fellow werewolf," Oz cut her off firmly. "Someone who's learned her lesson, after Buffy almost killed her way back when. But the point is, Veruca mentioned how the LA werewolf population's been increasing lately. So, who'd you rather the newbies have as a role model – me or her?"
"Well, when you put it that way..." Willow reluctantly had to admit Oz had a point there. "But, but what about me? I mean, us. I mean, the old Scooby Gang! We, we need you here as well, you know," the redhead started to babble, somewhat embarrassed by her choice of wording.
"Willow? You don't need me anymore. BUFFY doesn't need me anymore," Oz said bluntly, which instantly made Willow uncomfortable.
Both of them knew how the blonde Slayer was always kinda prickly in Oz's presence, after all. Buffy had always had a no-killing-humans rule in place since Faith had done what she did during 1999; and even though, in the early days, Oz had tried to tell the gang that Ben was Glory and Glory was Ben, Team Slayer hadn't been able to accept or even remember it – because of that damned spell constantly stripping the knowledge from everyone's minds.
So from Buffy's point of view, Oz (with Spike's help) had killed a human being. Something which, combined with whole 'dumping Willow' issue, had resulted in Daniel Osborne becoming as much of an outsider in the group as Xander had been, during the last days of high school.
"Oz..." Willow started to say, even though she had no idea what to say afterwards.
"I've already said my goodbyes to Giles and Dawn," Oz said calmly, making no reference to Tara and Buffy; something Willow could not help noticing. "And do me a favor, Will? Don't be afraid to get in touch if anything even remotely apocalyptic takes place, and you need help. I'll email you my contact details." With that, Oz simply turned around and walked away, heading for his van without looking back even once.
( STUPID! Stupid, stupid, stupid! ) Willow angrily chastised herself, wiping a stray tear away. She may have been deliriously happy with Tara now and left Boys Town behind her a long time ago, but Oz still occupied a special place in her heart. ( This is what you get for not sticking up for him against Buffy – you don't even get a farewell hug from the guy you lost your virginity to! God, I thought I totally learned my lesson about this sort of thing, after what happened with Xander that night... )
Willow mournfully looked around at Sunnydale High 2.0, the memories of her first ever romantic crush and childhood friend abruptly rushing back to the forefront of her mind.
And for the first time in a long while, the young woman found herself hoping that wherever Xander was right now – he was in a better place than this, the way she and Buffy had always wanted for him to be.
Thick woods approximately halfway up a mountain, Pylea
The same time
Xander woke up with a terrible headache, and the knowledge that he was most likely in deep trouble. Keeping his eyes shut for the moment, the young man abruptly realized that he was tied to a tree...
"On the first day o' Christmas, my true love sent to me: a partridge in a pear tree! Oooh, no, a kitten, but that's even better..."
( And no need to guess who tied me up anymore, ) Xander thought to himself sourly, as he opened his eyes to stare at the nutty female vampire – who was standing directly in the light of Pylea's two suns. Something Harris still had trouble accepting, after having chased his quarry to this dimension yesterday. "Drusilla."
"Oh, see the little goblin, see his little feet. And his little nosey-wosey, isn't the goblin sweet?" Drusilla sang the nonsensical song gaily, dancing around the forest floor – completely barefoot.
( Yep, still as completely fucking crazy as ever, ) Xander thought resignedly. He looked around; his weapons were nowhere in sight. So he said to Dru, "I don't suppose you're gonna release me anytime soon, are you?"
"What? Release you? But the game's not over yet," the mad vampiress pouted at him. "You've been such a naughty li'l poppet – chasin' me for ever so long. Tangier, Marseilles, and even London Town! Poor, sad, friendless little mouse – 'specially after the big fat mouse tried to play mummies and daddies inside that 'orrible cage..."
Xander forced himself to show no emotion over what the deranged vampiress had picked up with her psychic antennae, regarding his time in that Joliet prison. "Well, if you're not gonna let me go, Dru – then what's the game plan?"
"Oooh, a new game? I like the sound o' that!" Drusilla said excitedly, before she took a ring out from one of the pockets of her dress – one that used to reside on Xander's right index finger. It was his passport home, courtesy of Wolfram & Hart; Lilah had given the ring to him after Dru had vanished through the interdimensional portal she'd created in a public library, and the evil lawyer had warned Harris not to lose it – or else his trip to Pylea would be a strictly one-way journey.
"That's mine," Xander said tightly, recognizing what the female vampire was playing with. Then he saw Drusilla swallow his ticket back home with a big gulp and he shouted angrily, "NOOO!"
"Oh, pooh. That tasted awful, kitten, like peas 'n soggy cabbage," Drusilla complained, rubbing her stomach.
That just made Xander madder than before. "So what now, leech?"
"Naughty kitten, manners!" Drusilla abruptly slapped Harris hard enough to make him see stars for a few moments.
"Manners? I'm actually being lectured on manners by a freaking VAMPIRE?" Xander demanded, struggling to get loose despite the pain.
"Manners gets you a long way in life, kitten, as well as a long way in death," Drusilla said primly – before she suddenly started prancing around the tree. "Oh, the places you'll go! The things you'll see, kitten! The future, the past, old friends long gone..."
Xander was able to accurately guess that Drusilla had just had one of her clairvoyant fortune-telling episodes. But unlike what she'd been expecting, Harris did not ask Dru for further details. If she volunteered them, that was her choice; but the ex-convict was the sort of man who believed that he made his own destiny, and he refused to let others dictate his course for him.
Suddenly Drusilla stopped carousing madly, and grabbed hold of Xander's head. Despite her prisoner trying to resist, she twisted his head back and forth as if looking for something. Drusilla closed her eyes, before she gasped and removed her hand. "Oh, how sweet!"
The vampiress then held up two fingers to hypnotize her victim. "Look at me..."
Xander knew what she was trying to do; Giles had told him about Drusilla's hypnotic powers not long after the Acathla incident, so he turned his head to look away, refusing to cooperate. But Dru didn't give up that easily, waving her fingers to attract the human's attention. "Mm-mm-mm-mm..."
The headache and the pain from her vicious slap just now started to take their toll, and eventually Xander was unable to avoid looking at her for one instant too long. Drusilla smiled victoriously, "Be...in...me. See with your heart..."
She covered his eyes with her hand, and when she took them away – to Xander's disbelieving gaze, Cordelia Chase was standing right there, wearing nothing but a skimpy blue bikini. The big-breasted brunette stretched lazily, giving him a perfect view of her 'assets' – before she leaned down and kissed him hungrily.
Despite the hypnotic illusion, Xander instantly knew something was wrong; his ex-girlfriend didn't kiss like that. He had made out with Cordy often enough to tell. So Harris started wrenching his head from side to side, trying to dislodge her. "Mmmmph-!"
'Cordelia' pulled back, looking annoyed. "What?"
Xander just stared at her, trying to separate lies from the truth. Suddenly 'Cordelia' morphed back into Drusilla, as the spell was broken and the 'one who sees everything' perceived the vampiress standing before him once again.
Xander bared his teeth into a silent snarl, ( Nice try, you undead witch, close but no cigar! Oh, you're gonna regret trying to look like Cordy...because now I'm REALLY mad! )
Indeed, it was as if Drusilla was able to read Xander's mind as she started staring at the former Scooby in dismay. "No..."
"What?" Xander demanded, quickly getting his emotions back under control.
"No, no, NOOOO!" Drusilla abruptly screamed at the top of her lungs, making Harris wince; he suspected that her ear-shattering outburst would more than likely attract the attention of the local demons, who treated anyone that looked human as 'cows'. In other words mindless slaves, chattel, things to be bought and sold for hard labor.
"It's all wrong, it is, no, yes..." Drusilla stammered, before turning to glare at Xander. "This is all YOUR fault, kitten! You should've stayed with that demon girl at the dance all night, but you DIDN'T! Now it's all different, except for – oh, my precious Spoike...it burns, it BURNS!" Drusilla hollered all over again, feeling her childe's pain (thanks to his brand new shiny soul) all the way across the incredible gulf spanning the two realities.
"Could ya keep it down a little? This is a demon dimension we're currently in, remember. If you don't watch out, the locals are gonna catch you and put one of those slave collars around your neck. 'Cause let's face it, you look just as human as I do," Xander sent the crazy vampire a small smirk, figuring he had nothing left to lose – so why not play the same sort of mind games her sire had played on him, way back when. "And less than ten seconds after you open your mouth? Your owner is gonna use that collar to blow your head apart."
Drusilla roared furiously, and her inner demon finally came out to play.
Now, as the Fang Gang would have known in a different reality, things were either black or white in Pylea; there were no shades of grey possible. The metaphysical laws were such that you were either one thing or another here; and so, upon letting her demon surface, Drusilla's human form morphed into a completely demonic one.
Her body turned all green and bumpy, the thick face and forehead framed by almost horn-like protrusions, while Drusilla's hands and feet turned into claws and her fangs lengthened considerably. The vampire demon, known as the Van-tal in this dimensional neck of the woods, finally stood before the human in its purest form possible.
( So THAT'S what a vamp looks like without the human camouflage, ) Xander realized numbly, still tied securely to the tree. Unbidden, another thought then crossed his mind. ( If only Buffy coulda seen this back in high school... )
The female Van-tal demon, still wearing that incongruous-looking Victorian era dress, suddenly started sniffing the air, its yellow eyes locked onto Xander's throat.
( Oh, CRAP! ) "Drusilla?" Xander said pessimistically, already starting to resign himself to death. "I just want you to know-"
But then the Van-tal whirled around, its attention transferring elsewhere and the demon subsequently ignoring Xander completely.
"-that you're the craziest bitch I ever met," Harris finished up in surprise. "What the hell...?"
The Van-tal continued to thoroughly ignore Xander, focusing upon a young woman not far away who was dressed in rags. The wild and dirty-looking brunette had a leather pouch by her side, into which she had dipped her hand; and now the woman's balled fist was dripping with blood, which had instantly attracted the blood-drinking demon Drusilla had become.
In a flash the Van-tal was off and running, chasing after the escaped slave. But the girl was smarter than the demon, whose human intelligence had been subsumed by the instincts of the soulless beast; Drusilla was led straight into a trap, one that crushed her demonic head. This in turn caused her undead body to explode into ashes.
Then the brunette, whose name happened to be Winifred 'Fred' Burkle, came up to Xander and asked him, "Are you real?"
It was a somewhat unconventional greeting, granted; but this was, however, also the start of a truly beautiful friendship.
Wolfram & Hart law building, Los Angeles
September 14th, 2002
Lilah Morgan frowned, staring at the report on her desk. According to the firm's psychics, Drusilla had finally been eliminated yesterday – that little punk she'd chosen to clean up Holland's mess had, at long last, finished the second half of the job he'd started over a year ago. Despite all the time it had taken, his accomplishments reflected well upon her, of course...
What WASN'T fine and dandy, though, was that Harris hadn't shown up where he should have after his assignment had been completed. Namely, the lethal gas chamber Special Projects maintained for situations such as this – which was where the Wolfram & Hart ring she'd given him would have deposited the dim-witted moron, after he used it to return to Earth.
( There's only two viable possibilities, ) Lilah mused to herself, wondering how exactly to close out the file. ( Either that undead bitch took the stupid bastard with her when she was dusted, or else he lost the ring – and now, Harris is stuck in Pylea. He's either dead, or a slave, or maybe even both... )
Smiling, Lilah typed in a few lines of text on her PC and thought to herself, ( Well, whatever the outcome, it's still a win-win situation for me! Now, what else was on my agenda for today? Oh, yes – dealing with Angel and his little band of useless do-gooders, as usual. Plus presenting some commendation or other to that scientist over in the R&D division – what was his name again? I think it was Knox or something... )
Outside the Chase residence, Los Angeles
January 9th, 2003
Timothy Chase was in a fairly good mood, as he screeched to a halt alongside his cousin's house in his big red BMW. A twin of the vehicle Cordelia used to drive a few years ago, minus the personalised 'QUEEN C' license plate of course.
Ever since 1999, Tim's life had only gotten better and better; for example, these days he was earning a six figure salary. Mr. Chase was also a twenty-something high flier who was into the latest Hollywood bars, meaningless sex, and no significant personal relationships to speak of...
...apart from one exception.
It had been nearly three and a half years now since Tim had rescued his female cousin from the horrors of abject poverty, and assisted her in trying getting her life back on track. Thanks to his aid, Cordelia had gotten parts in a few low-budget cult movies; and while the films themselves had received horrible reviews, every movie poster had had Cordy's air-brushed chest and face prominently on display. Doubtless, that was why she'd been offered a co-starring role in a semi high-grossing movie last year.
But all the job offers since then had consisted of parts for bimbos and scream queens, and nothing approaching a serious role in a Hollywood blockbuster – which had finally led Cordelia to realize that being a movie star simply wasn't what she'd been meant for in life.
Or so Tim had previously believed, as he used the key Cordy had given him to enter the house...
The young man stopped dead, as he saw the brunette standing on her couch holding up a golden ring. Her left arm was outstretched as Cordy quoted Lady Galadriel's speech to the inanimate object, straight out of the Lord of the Rings movie. Thunder and rage filled Cordelia's expression, as she attempted to bury herself in the part.
"And in place of a dark lord, you shall have a queen! Not dark, but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Treacherous as the sea! Stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair..." the one-time Queen C proclaimed, before she suddenly realized she was no longer alone.
Cordelia looked back at the ring in her still-outstretched hand and released an awkward chuckle, before letting her arm swing to her side and stepping down from her couch. "Hey, Timmy, whatcha doing here?" she asked, embarrassment evident in her voice.
She was met with stunned silence.
"Timmy?" Cordelia said in sudden concern.
"I, I didn't know you could act like that," Tim said, approaching her in semi-awe. "And for the last time, DON'T call me Timmy!" the man suddenly growled.
"Whatever," Cordelia said with a smirk. "Like I said, what are you doing here?"
"What, I can't come over and wish you happy birthday?" Tim asked, calming down and putting his briefcase down on her coffee table. "Granted, you're no spring chicken anymore."
"Hey! I'm only twenty-two years old!" Cordelia huffed at him angrily.
"And yet, when we were kids – who was it who said that you were old and wrinkly, by the time you hit twenty-five? I THINK it was one of us present in this room, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't me."
Annoyed, Cordelia picked up a leather-bound sheaf of papers and threw it at Tim's head. Her cousin caught it, however, and read the title on the cover. Eyebrows raised, Tim said to Cordy, "Cassandra: Tales of a Cheerleading Demon Slayer?"
"Gimme that," Cordelia rushed over and grabbed the manuscript away from him. "I'm still waiting to hear back from my agent about whether or not it'll be published!"
"You've decided to become a writer? So, what's the book about?" Tim looked somewhat surprised.
"Well, basically, it's the story of a popular, fashionable high school cheerleader who constantly saves the world in between football and basketball games, with the help of her geeky yet useful friends," Cordelia replied.
Tim stared at her with narrowed eyes. "Wait a minute. Cordelia – did you actually write a book about what your life in Sunnydale was like, during high school?"
"NO!" Cordelia shouted angrily. "God, you think I'm gonna be announcing to everybody that I have like no imagination, doing something like that? That I'm just leeching success off of the lives of the people I knew back then, rather than earning it myself?"
"Oh. So, what exactly have you done then?"
"I've used the basic concept that was the focus of our lives, namely the vamps and demons, and created my own characters and situations to fit the roles I needed," Cordelia said haughtily. "Sure, some people on the Hellmouth, like a certain blonde and redhead – they may not like how I've written two of the characters that form part of the core group. But hey – if they don't like it, that's THEIR problem!"
Tim sighed, "Whatever. Anyway, I came here today for a reason." He went over to his briefcase and pulled out a thick yellow manila envelope. "Happy birthday, cuz; I hope you like it."
Intrigued, Cordelia tore open the envelope – and then her eyes almost literally bulged out of their sockets as she read what was on the papers inside. "This is a joke, right? I mean, you couldn't have POSSIBLY..."
"...bought your old house in Sunnydale, and put you down as my tenant?" Tim shrugged. "Why not? Because the company's had a pretty good financial quarter, and my Christmas bonus this year didn't suck at all. And the house's previous owners from Nevada, they didn't last long in that town! Besides – I spent a lot of time there when we were kids. It's a good investment property, if nothing else, and you deserve to get back the house you grew up in."
Squealing like a little girl whose birthdays had all come at once and hugging Tim intensely, Cordelia FINALLY felt like her life was returning to normal – like it had been before she'd learned her father was a no-good tax cheat, and her mother was a lush just waiting to happen.
And before she'd learned that her ex-boyfriend, whom she still had feelings for, was mostly likely dead or vamped or whatever...
Retail department store, Stockholm
September 10th, 2003
A suppressed SIG-Sauer P226 pistol in one pocket and a remote control in another, Warren Mears watched one of his custom-made robots approach the security detail surrounding the Swedish female politician marked for death.
It had been quite a while now since Sunnydale, and Warren's recruitment into the Order of Taraka by Patrice. Putting his old life behind him, Mears had taken to the assassination work like a fish did to water; passing the various tests and evaluations of the Order with flying colors. That was why Warren now had fifty-four confirmed kills to his name, and he proudly wore the ring with the Order's symbol on it.
This latest job, the death of a woman who was a sure thing for the office of Prime Minister in the upcoming election, definitely required the specialist touch. It wasn't easy taking on the Swedish Security Service, so Warren had given the matter careful thought; and he had come up with a plan that required both his unique skills and his personal presence.
The robot had come a bit too close, and so the politician's bodyguards withdrew their weapons. The chief bodyguard was about to say "Stop or I'll shoot!" – but at the last moment, Warren pressed a button on the remote control.
BOOOM! The human-looking robot exploded, filling the air with flames and deadly shrapnel. Alarms immediately started to go off all over the department store, as the sprinkler system activated and complete chaos was unleashed all over the place. Many people started to yell and scream, assuming it had been a terrorist attack of some sort (9/11 hadn't been all that long ago), and then everyone started to run for the exits.
As Warren had expected, the politician had not been killed by the explosive force of the blast. Two of her bodyguards had made the ultimate sacrifice and shielded her with their own bodies, to make sure she lived. The rest of the security detail then quickly dragged the woman up and away, heading for the nearest exit.
Unfortunately, though, Warren had correctly anticipated which direction they would go in. Pressing another button on the remote control to unleash an electromagnetic pulse, in order to fry all of the store's security cameras, Warren then brought out his silenced weapon and took careful aim despite all the screaming store patrons...
PHUT! A big red blotch appeared on the politician's forehead, as the 9mm bullet blasted its way through flesh and bone – the Tarakan assassin's aim was deadly accurate, and the victim's soul quickly departed to go meet its maker.
Three other silenced gunshots erupted from the P226, as the bodyguards were methodically murdered – just in case they'd gotten a glimpse of the hired killer. Warren then did something which might have sounded completely amateurish, but was in fact quite professional; he simply dropped his weapon onto the floor, and left with the crowds.
There was no serial number or fingerprints to trace, after all, and the shooting had lasted less than five seconds. There had been no nearby witnesses – and what with his lack of distinguishing features, the odds that anyone who had seen the American killer's face today would remember it during the police investigation were astronomical. Like any good assassin, Warren had the ability to melt into any crowd, and soon enough he was outside on the street – running within a group of people to maintain his cover, before slowing down and making his way towards his unmarked car.
"Were there any problems?" Patrice asked her former protégé, starting up the vehicle as soon as Warren got inside.
"None," Mears replied calmly, as the Volvo sedan headed for the Order's safehouse in order for him to avoid the fallout from the assassination – before eventually leaving the country.
TBC...