9.
Breaking the Chain


The road stretched out before them like a black ribbon snaking through the forest. Willow peered past the limits of the headlamps into the night. On cue, an impressive Mediterranean Revival villa peeked through a break in the trees. She knew exactly when and where to look. Exactly how to sabotage herself. Catching sight of it looming atop a distant hill brought a knot to her tummy. I never saw myself living in a place like this. Even as a little girl, this wasn't what I wanted.

Buffy likes it, so I guess it's okay.

As the car crept along, the forest thinned, giving way to manicured lawns and landscaped gardens. I have to admit, it really is beautiful here. Just outside of town, on the edge of wine country. The nearest house is a quarter mile away. It's perfect.

Perfectly meaningless.

My father used to say, 'The truest measure of success is a job well done.' I'm not sure where he got it. If it was him, or just some phrase he picked up. It sounds a little like a motivational poster. But that doesn't matter. I believed it.

I still do.

I don't have to ask what Dad would think of me now. He'd be appalled. More like mortified. Every measure of worldly success and what am I really good at?

At the thought, the girl in the window paid Willow another visit. Her blue eyes filled with terror. The skin peeled from her pretty young face. Willow felt sick all over again.

The house wasn't getting any smaller and she wasn't getting any calmer. I'm not sure this is such a great idea. Can I take a rain check? Tonight's been weird enough already. I could use a moratorium on weird. Like at least twelve hours with a huge, black, empty, peaceful unconscious spot somewhere in the middle.

But what Willow wanted didn't matter and she knew it. Buffy was locked on course. Only an act of divine intervention could stop her.

I've spent most of tonight feeling like I was standing tippy-toe on a tightrope. Below me was this great big, murky pit. I knew that if I just let myself fall, it'd only hurt for a little while. It didn't last before. The badness—that nagging feeling—the mental pain and angst—it all just drifted away and I felt good. Powerful.

I would've fallen. I sure wanted to. I still sort of do. What stopped me was her. Buffy. I just can't stand to disappoint her.

Not that it matters, but I think she'd make good on her threat. She'd kill me, or try. I'm not even sure how that'd go. I'd really like to think that I'd just let her do it. I'd rather die than hurt her. But that's the 'me' that's here, now, not that other thing, so…

They veered left onto the red cobblestone driveway that led to the house. When the car pulled into the turnaround in front of the arched façade, Willow asked, "You sure you want to be here?" It was a last ditch effort to find reason. I may as well save my breath. It's completely useless.

Taking Willow's hand, Buffy replied, "I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be. It'll be fine, Will. Just relax." The handholding was nice. Willow felt much better for the few seconds it lasted. The driver's door opened in that creaky, clunky way that old car doors do and Buffy's voice dropped to a whisper, "Just follow me and act pissed off. They're terrified of you."

It took the door clanking shut for Willow to realize that she was being left behind again. She caught up just in time to watch the double front doors swing open. Mr. Intimidating stepped into view, looking like a cross between a businessman and a less chlorophyll-filled Hulk.

She tried to follow Buffy's cue, but brow scrunching and eye narrowing just made her feel like an idiot. I probably look like one too.

Luke didn't seem to notice. He was way more interested in Buffy. "Welcome home, Mistress. We were becoming concerned," he said in his usual deep, throaty voice as he motioned them inside.

For Buffy's part it was business as usual. The eye roll was obvious, even standing behind her. Her whole posture changed. Every inch of her read 'attitude.'

Willow wiped the smirk off her face and went back to 'acting pissed off' and feeling dumb.

"Let me worry about what you should and shouldn't be concerned about, Luke," Buffy replied. "Thinking that much…it'll get you in trouble." Somehow she managed to pull two-hundred pounds of contempt from her ninety pound frame.

Luke started to stammer. He got the word, "Where—" out before Buffy cut him off with an order.

"Lock the geek in a cell downstairs. I want a word with him later."

"Yes, Mistress," Luke said with a curt bow.

Without even acknowledging his reply, Buffy pushed past him and set off through the house.

Willow shadowed her. She felt like a shadow. The only clue of her presence was the click of her heels on the marble floor. They entered the main hall and ascended the right staircase. As they strode toward the next set of stairs at the back of the second floor, she looked down from the balcony. Luke was moving away from them, toward the lower east wing.

Her heart sank with each step they climbed. They were headed for their rooms, which meant she'd have to go to her room. Her room was the last place she wanted to go. I'm not even sure how I'll get in. I don't have my card.

Buffy turned down the west corridor, confirming Willow's fears. But she didn't stop at either of their rooms. She didn't even slow down.

Okay, so, I give up. What are we doing?

They were out of hallway when Buffy finally did stop. She punched the button to go down.

We're doing laps. That's what. Willow didn't speak, but she made herself perfectly clear with a look. Climbed all the way up to ride back down is, uh… There's another floor in this wing, but it's a game room. I can't see why she'd want to go there. It's vamp central. So…

We're doing laps. Should I remind her that a vigorous cardio workout is the last thing we need?

"It only works from here. Just hang on and I'll explain," Buffy whispered. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.

Willow followed. The doors closed and Buffy pushed the stop button. But that wasn't even the weird part. Buffy turned around, rose up on her tippy-toes and wiggled her bottom in front of the control panel. It swung open, revealing a number pad when she stepped away.

Willow grinned. So, that's the big secret. Buffy has a magic tuchus. Well, I knew that before, but I didn't know it did tricks.

Buffy keyed in a string of numbers Willow didn't try to make out and the elevator began to rise. The maintenance panel clicked closed and Buffy turned to give Willow a reassuring smile.

They ascended what must've been a full floor. Willow tensed, preparing for another encounter with the boys. She was certain that the doors would open. When they didn't, she began to wonder if she was just imagining the sensation of rising. We've run out of house. Haven't we?

The doors opened and Buffy stepped out into what might've been the inside of a ginormous jewelry box. Or that's the impression Willow got from the rich, burled maple paneling and green Berber carpet. Not that the room's huge. So far, from what I've seen, my closet might be bigger. Which is good because I never would've ever guessed this was here. A whole lot of huge 'I never would've guessed this was here' would just be too 'dimensionally transcendental' for comfort.

When she exited the elevator, the doors slid closed and it automatically descended. The windowless room wrapped around two sides of the elevator shaft, furthering the jewelry box motif. And yeah, it's not huge.

Buffy neared the back wall, doing a similar little dance as she had in the elevator. The faint sound of a locking mechanism sliding inside the wall caught Willow's ear. Buffy pushed and the wood panel swung in.

Willow inspected the door as she stepped into the room over the short sill the stuck up from the floor. It wasn't like any door in any house she'd ever seen. Though it was paneled on this side to look like one, the edge was thick, stair-stepped and made of steel like a safe door with bolts that slid out of it to lock it closed. It gave the impression that they were walking into a bomb shelter.

Buffy flipped the light switch. A floor lamp next to the couch came on. The door began to swing shut when she stepped away.

Willow dodged the door by sidestepping left. When her attention returned to Buffy, she was holding out a keycard. Willow accepted it. It was just a piece of heavy, white plastic. She turned it over. The only thing on the other side was a globe watermark. It was like her room card, only plainer. Hers had blue print on it. She tried to recall how many times in the past Buffy had just disappeared. This is brilliant. She gets on the elevator and people just assume. I never would've guessed.

Buffy crossed the room and flopped down on a small, floral print loveseat. "The code is: nineteen-eighty-one-two-nineteen-ninety-five. You're the only one who knows," she said with a snicker. "Well, you, the construction company that built this place and the architects and who knows who else. Rooms like this are kind of a thing. Pretty much every mansion has one. They're sort of a trade secret. Like the numbers a good accountant hides. The smart one's never talk about it. Besides, without the card and the code, the information's useless."

Most of what Buffy said just slipped away. It was meaningless detail. The two dates stuck. Wouldn't that be ninety-six? Maybe it's something else? "What are the dates?" Willow asked.

Buffy replied, "Birth, death, the usual." Willow had something to say. The objection was right on the tip of her tongue, but it fell out the instant Buffy went on. "Look, Will, no legend is ever self-made. It doesn't work that way. Legends are created by others. It's just a fact. If no one ever says your name, you're not history. You disappear. You never existed."

Turning the card over and over in her fingers, Willow struggled to make the connection. True enough, but that has nothing to do with anything. The two things aren't even related.

When Willow looked up, Buffy was studying her. Slipping the card into her jacket pocket, Willow ignored the unwanted attention by letting hers drift. The room wasn't what she expected at all. It was a small, cozy, finished attic space. The far wall even sloped with the roofline right at the top, adding to the charm.

The soft timbre of Buffy's voice provided a backdrop to her exploration. "The way you get them talking is pretty simple. Never say you can do something if you aren't absolutely sure you can pull it off…"

To Willow's right, a large wooden cabinet sat on the same wall as the door. It was too thin to be wardrobe and it was snug against the wall. She figured it was a Murphy bed. Opposite the bed was an alcove with a window. It was covered in heavy powder-blue draperies. Underneath it, a window seat with a dark blue cushion was built into the nook. I know exactly where this is, but I always thought that dormer was ornamental.

"…never think small and always make them wonder. People are naturally curious. They'll fill in the blanks for themselves, even if they're clueless," Buffy concluded and drew silent, allowing Willow time.

So, what she's saying, in simplest terms, is that people assumed and she just let them. That sounds like Buffy.

Willow faced her partner. The room, with its light cream walls; all of the pictures, paintings of flowers and sunny landscapes; the small student desk; the shelves of paperback books; the coffee table with its stack of women's magazines; the plush, mottled salmon and cream shag carpet; all of these details said the same thing: this was a girl's bedroom…average, comfortable and lived in. The only oddness was the Murphy bed, but given the room's size it was sensible. It was like seeing a side of Buffy that Willow never imagined existed.

You mean, she has this huge house and she lives here? Maybe we're closer than I thought.

No, she has a room downstairs. Besides, there aren't any clothes here—no closet or dresser. This isn't where she sleeps. It's something else. A sanctuary.

There was one thing that was out of place. Built into the left wall, behind where Buffy sat, was a display case. A light inside it had come on when she flipped the switch. It was large and impressive, like a trophy case. On its glass shelves sat a strange array of items. The one that caught Willow's eye was a skeletal hand. She was drawn to it.

Buffy stood and walked to the window. Drapes slid open, their metal tracks making a scraping noise, followed by the faint scuff and click of a window latch. "I'm a real psychopath," she said, raising the window. "I took trophies from every major kill. Anything bigger than dinner." Her lighter clicked. The smell of smoke drew closer. She moved Willow aside with a gentle hand and unlocked the cabinet with a second keycard, swinging the doors open.

Willow had to move the lamp and round the couch to get back to where she'd been. Her attention still fixed on the cabinet, she returned to Buffy's side. "Who's hand?" she asked. "It doesn't look quite human." I really don't need to ask. She brought me here for a reason. And it's not just the Fort Knoxy atmosphere. I need to be patient. She'll fill in the rest.

Willow leaned against the back of the couch to wait. It was kind of hot in the little room. She considered removing her coat, but decided that was pointless. She unbuttoned it instead. There's no sense in getting comfortable. This is just the calm. The real storm has yet to begin. She stared at the edge of the cabinet door. It was much thicker than she expected. She couldn't resist commenting. "You don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"What?" Buffy glanced over her shoulder and got the picture. She smiled and said, "Oh, the case. Yeah. I had it built. It's sorta like a safe, only not." Her attention returned to the contents of the case. She started with the hand itself. "The Master. It's amazing anything survived." There were rings on three of the fingers of the hand. She went through them, pointing to each one. "The claddagh ring was Angelus's. The skull ring was Spike's. The black onyx ring was Drusilla's. And of course—" she lifted the hand, placing it on the next shelf up "—this was my gift from Darla."

Most of those names meant nothing to Willow, but she'd seen the chain and guessed. It wasn't that hard to make the connection. Buffy could be a million miles from here. I'd never know the difference. And that isn't surprising either.

The only surprise here is me. It's like I've walked into a shrine.

This is it.

When Buffy lifted it, the shackle scraped the shelf. She didn't seem to notice or care that the chain hung precariously.

She's letting me in.

Gravity took hold, doing its work. The chain snaked off the shelf. Each link produced a ticking rhythm as it flowed over the edge. Buffy clung to the shackle and just let the chain fall. It clattered into a pile at her feet.

And here, I was worried. This is it, the final piece of trust.

Willow didn't know whether to smile or cry, so she compromised and did a little of both.

It took a moment, but Buffy snapped back to some semblance of normalcy. The chain clattered. She draped it over her shoulder and arm as she said, "Anyway, I had one of the geeks wire the hand so it'd stay together. The rings are glued on. I thought it was kinda cool…and fitting." She strode to the window to dispose of her ash.

A burned piece of plastic circuit board held Willow's interest. She picked it up to inspect. Okay, so…I've watched Mission: Improbable enough times to know what this is—once was plenty—but what in Zandru's Seven Hells would she be doing with… "Lemme guess, your real name is BuffyMcVeigh?"

No surprise, Willow's question received a well earned, "Huh?"

Why do stupid things always come out of my mouth? I open it and…

When Buffy peeked over her shoulder, Willow turned to give her a better look. "Oh, that," Buffy said. "That thing was a total bitch to get. I had to steal it from the cops. But I figured, after murdering a hundred or so mostly-innocent bystanders, I should have a keepsake."

That statement made it 'huhs' all around. Willow had nothing. No reference. No idea. She barely found the sense to close her sagging jaw.

"Oh, uh, yeah…" With that kind of lead-in, there should've been more hemming and hawing, but Buffy got right to the point. "I blew up City Hall."

"That was you?" Willow exclaimed. "I saw that on the news. I mean, we knew each other, but—" She gave up. This new information was going to take some time to digest. The media called that a terrorist bombing. They even arrested some guys. I thought it was totally mundane. Incredulous, Willow asked, "You did that?"

"I did," Buffy admitted. "On purpose and everything." She held out her hand.

It took Willow a moment to react. When she saw what was up, she deposited the scrap of detonator in Buffy's palm…and shut her gaping maw, again.

Buffy stared at the ruined plastic as she went on, "The Mayor got this stupid idea he wanted to ascend ." Snickering, she returned the detonator to the shelf where it belonged. "Y'know…become a demon? I heard about it and I hit him before he really got started, killed him and his whole staff, not to mention a bunch of collateral…"

When she picked back up, her voice had become small and wistful. "Trying to process guilt for me—" she let out a dry snicker "—it's a bit of a challenge—" her chain rattled as she backed away "—impossible really. Figuring out how I feel about anything besides what I need is sort of shelved for the moment." She stepped around the couch and took a seat on its arm.

Willow was hesitant to press. She glanced at Buffy. Strangely enough, she looked fine, so Willow decided it was okay to ask, "And the skull?" That's a human skull—probably a girl—and not a very old one either considering its size and the condition of the teeth.

A sardonic smile played at Buffy's features as she answered, "Some brat Faith killed. Supposed to be her sister. Actually, she was like this mystical Key a bunch of whacked out zealots made. I had to save it. That was the one evil thing Faith ever did. Guess she's not big on family."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that," Willow replied through a snicker. "Faith was all broken up. I thought we might actually have to work, but Team White Hat swooped in and saved the day." I'm just amazed she kept a memento. Her confidence bolstered, Willow moved to the next item in Buffy's macabre keepsake collection, "And the spine?"

The mood had lightened. Buffy actually laughed. It was weird. Somehow she could seem happy holding that chain. She sobered as she gave the account, "Margaret Walsh. I don't know if you even heard about that one. Dalton caught it pretty early. It was a government thing. Humans playing God. I removed the leader and the whole thing fell apart." A smile brightened her face. There was nothing sweet about this one. Through a wicked little giggle, she said, "She was surprisingly tasty for someone that old and gross."

The final item sat away from the others on the top shelf. As Willow stared at the old stuffed toy, Buffy returned to the window. A piece of her past. Something from before all this. She wanted the pick the toy up, pull on his tail, scruffle his ears… He was cute. She resisted the urge. "Who's the pig?" she asked. "He looks totally out of place."

Her cigarette gone, Buffy returned to Willow's side. A sigh slipped out. "Mr. Gordo. He was mine when I was a girl. Sort of a reminder of—"

Willow finished the thought. "Your humanity?" She removed Tara's necklace and placed it at Mr. Gordo's feet. Symbolic, meet literal.

Buffy nodded curtly and looked away.

There was one final detail. Willow was afraid to ask. She said she didn't know, but she has to have some idea. She'd know the date of the game and when—

Buffy motioned her aside and closed the cabinet. Returning to the couch, she took a seat. The links of the chain rattled in her hands.

Do I really need to know?

Probably not, but—

The desk was the only place to sit and still give Buffy space. Willow went there. She watched for a moment while Buffy toyed with the chain, running the links through her fingers. It was hard, but she forced the words, "And the date?" It felt like picking at a scab.

Buffy went to the window, lighting another cigarette before she answered, "It was the playoffs, Will."

But that's like late November, early December. I mean, I don't know. Football's not exactly my thing and Sunnydale's not in the same division, but it should be—

"Come here," Buffy said.

Willow didn't ask. She just went. There wasn't much room to breathe with both them packed into the tiny alcove. Buffy let her slip past. The sky had lightened ever so slightly. Morning was on its way. There's about an hour left. It's now or never.

Well, not exactly 'never,' but still.

It wasn't clear what Buffy was after. The red clay tile roof sloped down from the window. It ended about ten feet from where Willow stood. There was a balcony just off to the right below them. Probably Buffy's. My room doesn't have one. It occurred to her that Buffy could leave through this window and drop down. It wouldn't be a huge deal for her to reach the ground from there.

Buffy touched the small of Willow's back and pointed at the courtyard tucked behind the balcony. Following Buffy's gesture, Willow got the gist. "Yeah, it's a swimming pool," she said with a shrug. "Been there. Fucked there, actually. What of it?"

"If I put someone in there, can you keep them in?" Buffy asked as she reached around Willow to flick her ash out the window.

Willow grinned. I know that look. Yeah, she's scheming. "Sure, there's this great spell. I'll have to be next to it to—"

Nodding, Buffy cut her off mid-sentence, "Go do it and come straight back here. Don't let anyone see you." Somehow, her cigarette was gone again. Willow didn't remember her throwing it out. Buffy's attention was consumed by the chain. She studied it as it passed through her fingers.

Willow nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand caught her arm. It didn't occur to her that Buffy would notice her leaving. She turned and Buffy took both of her wrists. The chain draped between them.

"How long will it last?" Buffy asked. Her gaze was piercing.

"Until I break it," Willow mumbled, unsure what to think.


"I'm sorry, Will," Buffy whispered. No clue why I'm apologizing. She's just so wigged.

Well, here's a clue. I'm treating her like a minion and she's definitely not one.

The apology worked its magic, taking the edge off, but Buffy just couldn't leave well enough alone. This is totally counterproductive, but I've gotta do it. There's just too much riding on all of this for me not to. She pulled the keys from her jacket pocket and placed them in Willow's hand, folding her fingers over them. There's this crinkley thing that always happens with her brow when she thinks I'm nuts. It's kinda cute.

Buffy wiped the smirk from her face. It was just setting Willow on edge. The important thing's to plant enough seeds to pique her curiosity. Buffy explained, "If something happens…" gesturing toward a switch on the alcove wall with a tilt of her head "…everything you need to know is in this room." Waving Willow aside, she flipped the switch. As the steel plate lowered, sealing the room, she went on, "You'll be safe here. It'd take me days to get in without a card."

Yup, not even remotely helpful. But I didn't think it would be. "What's my first rule?" she asked.

Willow tore her attention from the window. "Never boast," she replied.

Buffy stifled a snicker. Yeah, simpled up, I guess that's it. It's cool how she does that. She met Willow's gaze and smiled. "I can do this," she whispered. "Thing is, it's just the first step. You need to know this stuff in case something else goes sideways."

When Willow nodded and looked away, Buffy took her by the chin and gently turned her head until their eyes met. She looks really worried. "This isn't a big deal, 'kay?" she whispered.

Kisses were the best tool she had to ease the tension. It's an awful lot to go through, but I'll muddle along. Funny, the muddling made her weak in the knees.

Willow murmured, "'Kay," between smooches. She made her way to the door when Buffy let go. For all the effort, the glance she cast over her shoulder as she left said nothing good.

I just wish she wasn't so wigged. With a sigh Buffy flipped the switch. As the steel plate retracted into the wall, she sat down on the window seat and lit another cigarette.

Her smoke was nearly gone when the magic-assist department showed up to doctor the pool. Willow dipped her fingers into the water and mumbled a few words. Buffy couldn't make them out, but that didn't matter. The setup was done. It was her turn now. She flipped the cigarette butt out the window, slipped her jacket off, hung it on the hook by the door and left the room.

The chain weighed heavy on her arm as she waited for the elevator. She played with the links. They were cool and rough to the touch. I haven't laid hands on this thing in years. It just sat there as a reminder. The images it conjured and the mood they created were perfect.

The elevator doors slid open and she stepped on. She travelled, uninterrupted, all the way to the ground floor, where the doors retracted revealing a long, empty corridor. She was still alone. As she walked past the entrance to the library, Luke emerged through the doorway down the hall that led to the basement. Just the man I need to see. Closing the distance between them, she asked "You get the geek?"

"Yes, Mistress," Luke replied. Forming a steeple with his hands, he tilted his head in a reverent bow.

Buffy went straight for the stairs, pushing past him. "Fucking zealots," she hissed.

He asked with marked diffidence, "Am I to assume the spell…it didn't go as expected?"

Buffy swung around. The huge vampire hung his head. "You could say that," she snarled, watching with satisfaction when he winced. "Get the boys out by the pool. I want a word." She barked orders and kept going. "Meet me at the front door. You've got ten minutes." She'd learned a long time ago that the key to dealing with Luke was indifference. If he thought she couldn't be bothered, he'd toe the line. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she glanced over her shoulder. The dimwit was still standing there. She couldn't resist telling him off, "Oh, and Luke, never call me 'Mistress' again."

"Yes, Mistress," he muttered.

Buffy shook her head, growling, "I swear that twit makes Lyle Gorch look like a goddamn brain surgeon," as she made her way to the first cell. She spotted Dalton, who was cowering in the back corner. "Lighten up. It's cool. I'm not going to hurt you," she said, reaching her hand through the bars to gesture. "Come here."

The skinny little guy was shaking so hard his glasses were barely staying on. But she had to give him credit. He did exactly what she asked. Afraid he might pass out, she withdrew her hand.

Dalton couldn't look up. "J-just make it quick, Miss," he sputtered.

Buffy hissed, causing the bookish vampire to jump and her to laugh. "Timid thing," she mumbled. "I'd sort of forgotten." A smile warmed her face. "Look, Dalton, you're useful. I like that about you, so calm down. It's cool. I'm here to talk deal."

"Y-yes, Miss?" Dalton replied.

"All the books and all the blood you want. You just gotta do two things," she said, careful to keep her tone even and restrained.

Dalton managed to look up. It was a bold move. Buffy could tell it hurt. He scanned her face. Give it up. Remember who you're dealing with. If I was lying, you'd never know it.

"Yes, Miss?"

Buffy took a step back and crossed her arms. The chain clattered as it folded between them. The act's good. He's survived on it for lots longer than I've been alive. It's one of his best tricks. The other is being useful.

And all that pretty much amounts to nothing. Truth is, if he could, he'd take my head off. He can't, so that much is a non-issue, but I still don't trust him. Scrawny little geek knows too much. And on a scale of good to evil, he rates a solid despicable.

Quiet and firm, Buffy laid down the rules. "Stay useful, stay put, and stay quiet. That's all I ask and you can keep your head. But if you leave this cell or you run your mouth to anyone else but me, our deal's off. We clear?"

Dalton nodded, making eye contact. "Y-yes, Miss. T-thank you, Miss," he stuttered sheepishly.

"'Kay, just sit tight," she said. "I'll bring you some stuff later." His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose. She wanted to fix them, but he shuddered and shied away when she reached into his cell. Shrugging, she turned and strutted up the stairs.

As Buffy strolled through the mansion, she looked as though she hadn't a care in the world. Is it screwed up that I'm actually looking forward to this? I wonder what a shrink would say. 'Patient exhibits aggressive, antisocial behavior.' Fuck that. This is like the best therapy I know.

The hallway let out into a common area. Clusters of comfortable furniture were grouped around the room. Buffy hated this room. It looks like an upscale waiting room to me, but the decorator assured me it was the thing to do with the space. I guess with the fireplaces…

Whatever. It's good to be home. Such as it is.

Her pace quickened. Following the traffic pattern, she moved past the couches, tables and chairs, through the archway, into the main hall. This room was really too grand for furniture. There wasn't much. Anything added would've just been dwarfed. I should've just had him meet me here. This is a great place to spar. Yeah, uh…nah, the maids would hate me. More than they already do. Now there's a stretch.

The chain clattered against the glossy finished oak when she pushed her way through the double entry doors. Luke was standing beside the Trans Am with his arms folded. Eh…Christ, if he dents my car…

She had nothing. She even put some thought into it. There just isn't a hell of a lot left after 'I'm gonna kill you slow and bloody.' Yeah, that's pretty much it. Somewhere, not here. Not near my car.

Buffy cast a glare and walked right by him, around the circular driveway to the other side. Of course, he followed. It'd be above average stupid for him not to. She let the chain drop, twirling it as she turned. Luke was eyeing her suspiciously. He may be catching up.

As she paced a lap around the mountain o' vampire, he asked, "What happened?"

Now that's the question of the moment, isn't it? "Team Goodie-Two-Shoes rushed in to save the day," Buffy grumbled. And that's almost the truth.

It was funny how an answer, regardless how lame, seemed to set Luke at ease. He still followed her with his eyes, turning as she moved, but his posture relaxed just a touch. He grumbled, "They couldn't have possibly—"

Buffy shrugged and faced him. Her eyes narrowed. "Well, they did," she muttered.

Luke grew openly hostile, which was really out of character for him. Buffy held back a smile when he countered, "I warned you that entertaining that band of—"

Speaking over him, Buffy cut in, "Look, Luke, I get that it's hard. I look into your eyes sometimes and I can almost see it…" the smile took hold "…a spark in that great gaping chasm between your ears." That did it. He's pissed. It made Buffy giggle. Her tone was smooth and silky, completely unflustered when she dropped the bomb. "You look like you need help. Let me simple this up for you. The only slayer you need to worry about is the one right here."

Her words took a second to sink in, but when they did, it was entertaining. Luke was just too big to be fast. He fought like a brawler, relying on powerful blows to wreck his prey. He lunged and she skipped sideways. His meaty fist missed by a mile. The swing nearly landed him on his face. I could dance around him all morning, laughing my ass off. He'd never lay a hand on me.

What I'd do to him is an entirely different matter. One in need of minor negotiation. Course, there's dawn to consider. We haven't got much time to play.

It took Luke time to recover. As he did, Buffy slipped behind him. It always went this way when we sparred. I was just faster, but now, the difference is pathetic.

She lashed out, cracking the chain like a whip. It winged past his head. I could've killed him with that. She jerked, causing the chain to arc. But I think Luke deserves a parting gift. He was just quick enough to get his hand between the chain and his throat before she caught the other end and pulled it tight. A little something to entertain him on the road to Hell.

When he went over backwards, she kicked, spinning him as he fell. He landed on his face. His right hand was still trapped by the chain. Beautiful. I couldn't have asked for better.

Buffy jerked the chain tight as she pounced on the small of his back. Cracking issued from his throat. His wail came out as sort of a disgusting, burbling sound. She dropped the chain. In the instant it took him to react, she landed three blows. The first two struck his shoulders, snapping them. The next was an open palm to the back of his head. It made a sick splintering noise. Guess I'll be the only one talking.

No loss. It's really better that way.

It was time for some distance. Buffy leapt up. As Luke floundered, she said, "Y'know, now that I think about it, that wasn't really a problem." A smirk twisted her features. She looked positively evil. What's worse, she knew it. She was trying for it. She worked it. Me having fun always means broken bones. Theirs, not mine. Strange how a little soul added to the mix doesn't change the basics. Time to clue him in.

All Luke's flailing was making a mess. Blood pooled on the driveway under his face. He managed to kick himself over. Teeth and pieces of bone lay in the gore. Wow. I thought vamps looked bad enough already—all bumpy faced and fangy—definitely not runway material—but that's just gross.

Buffy went back to pacing laps to set him off. But tracking her was a real problem for him now. And with two broken shoulders he wasn't getting up again without a crane.

"The real rub came when my own team betrayed me," she said, before pausing to crush his left hip with the heel of her boot. "It was Will's little fuck buddy," she noted, but that was pretty much lost to all of his screaming. He doubled up and flopped back. She strode around him to smash the other side, taunting as she went, "How long's it been since you lost a fight, Luke?" She lashed out between jibes. Bones cracked. He jerked. She mused, "Oh, that's right. You can't really talk. Sorry."

Really, he was screwed. She could've just walked away. The sun would've finished the job for her, but she'd always been a stickler for seeing things through to the end. That was the only way she knew they were done right.

The chain was still coiled around his neck. She went to collect the ends, entertaining herself by recounting the details, "Mid eighteen-hundreds? Madrid? You were sleeping, right?" She grinned. Screwing with him was just too much fun. "This is such a good story. I really wish you could tell it one last time." About as much as I wish that William Shatner would put out another album.

As she lifted him up with the chain, he tried to grab hold, but he couldn't raise his arms high enough. They dropped to his sides, useless and trembling. It's weird seeing him like this. We've been working together for seven years; I've seen him get lots of things, but scared was never one of them.

She pulled. He thrashed, but she held on. When he fell still, she whispered, "As I recall, it was some pathetic human. A filthy creature afflicted with a soul." His beached-fish impression started up before she was even done. It was totally rude. A big guy like that might even get lucky and knock her off her feet, despite all the broken bones. She considered just garroting him and walking away, but she wasn't quite finished.

Instead, she pointed out, "Looks like you're oh for two," as she jerked up on the chain. "Same sitch." Her voice strained. When his ass left the ground, the flopping stopped and she kicked. The toe of her boot struck his spine. She let him fall, but kept enough pressure on the chain to keep him upright. The cracking sound was a fairly good indication that he wasn't going to stay that way on his own now. "The braintrust who cursed me—she did the one thing she thought would totally screw me up. Betcha can't guess what that was."

Of course, all the carrying on had meant that he was conscious. Now that it was over, she wasn't sure. She asked through a sigh, "Y'know what the real bitch of this is?" Big surprise, he didn't answer. She jerked with all her might, pulling her hands apart, and 'pop.' His head bounced twice and 'poof.' "Even with a soul, I'm still bad." Swirls of cinders and ash danced around her legs.

Ugh…I need a bath.