It was a dark and stormy night.
Outside, the rain pounded against the window in sheets, causing the panes to shake and rattle whenever the strong wind came a-wuthering around the house. Three o'clock in the morning, and the rain so clouded the street lamplight and the radiance of the stars that it was pitch-black outside for yards and yards, lightning providing the only luminance. Thunder was it's companion, booming all around the house, showing off that nature did have a damn good stereo system. Outside, trees and garbage cans were knocked over without much caution from the wind, and anybody stuck out in this storm was not to fare well.
She was not outside. She was inside, staring outside the fogged-up wall window in the living room, watching the torrents of rain that pounded against her house with unseeing eyes. She was dressed in a ratty old shirt that said "I work for the Green Leaf Café" in big, bold green letters, and as she sat on the armrest of a rather expensive-looking leather couch, a pair of decorative purple panties were visible, along with luxuriously long legs. In her thin, lithe, trembling little hands was a warm mug of cocoa, quite a comfort to her throughout the night.
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, her husband Jonah was fast asleep, probably shivering from the cold because he always kicked the bedsheets to the bottom of the bed, and he refused to wear anything else besides an amusing pair of flannel boxers. Down the hall, past the bathroom, the guest bedroom, and the utility closet, her daughter Elisabeth Sarah slept like the little angel that she was in the nursery. They still called it the nursery, she thought with a trace of humor, although "Es" had just turned six years old a month ago. It was still decorated like a child's room, also, and Jonah groaned the other day about Es reaching the age where *she* would want to decorate her own room. His wife shared his same fear.
And, downstairs was her, she who could never get a decent night's sleep. Yet, "you never get baggy eyes!", as one of her co-stars had once told her. She had just smiled at them and gave them her little secret-cucumbers, a hot bath, relaxing incense, and most importantly, "tons and tons of foundation!" Foundation, of course, was every actress's necessary tool in her line of work.
Still, while that made it looked like she got plenty of sleep, her body still dragged miles behind. Or at least, it used to. Her body had been conditioned over the years to function without a lot of sleep. It came with both fields of work...both of them indeed, she thought with a sigh.
There was a flash of lightning, and much to soon for comfort, a rumble of thunder pierced through the night. She jumped, and then made sure that none of the cocoa spilled out of the mud and into the ankle-deep, beige carpeting of the sunken living room. Tired of nature and tired of the world in general, she cradled the cup of cocoa to her chest and quickly, carefully made her way back to the kitchen through the entrance hall.
When she entered the large, modern-age kitchen, the first thing she did was flip on the light switch. She blinked as her eyes became conditioned to the sudden change in lighting. Then, with a toss of her waist-length, wavy, dirty-blond hair, she made her way to the refrigerator.
Binge-fest, in the middle of the night, and still she kept a good figure. Exercise, plently of exercise, both officially with her personal trainer and unofficially chasing after her six-year-old, her brother-in-law, and the family dog. Not even counting her rigerous shooting schedule. It seemed that she never had an ounce of free time...never time to be herself. She was always either mother, wife, or actress.
She was never Buffy.
But now, during the late hours of the night and the wee hours of the morning, she could be herself. So, settling down at the kitchen table with her cup of cocoa, a slice of apple pie, and the latest issue of In Style, Buffy was content with being Buffy.
On page 52 there was, not surprisingly, yet another article about her. It began with the usual line: "At only 32, Buffy Summers-Daly has become Hollywood's favorite darling" or some rot like that. Whenever one of those horrible reporter-persons came around, Buffy just usually rolled her eyes and made the few quotes and told some funny stories, just wanting to get the damn interview thing over with. In fact, she could only remember one article she had actually enjoyed doing. It was for one of those parenting magazines, and both she and Es were featured. That had been entertaining for the both of them, especially Es, who got to show off her collection of Beanie Babies to all of America.
Her eyes were widening in shock as she read a certain paragraph that was not particularly flattering to a certain part of her body when she first heard the rapping. It was very soft: if not for her Slayer-strengthened hearing, she would never noticed it until five minutes later or so, when it became gradually louder until it was a thumping noise.
More upset than spooked, Buffy got to her feet and marched out of the kitchen, up the winding marble steps that she had so loved when Jonah and she had first bought the mansion, and the into the hallway. There was a slight prickling at the back of her neck, a sensation that was associated with something that she *definitely* did not want it to be associated with.
Tenser now, Buffy stopped in front of the bookcase and pulled several books off the third shelf, where it was easiest to reach. Behind them, hidden in the dust and darkness, were the standard issue supplies of a Slayer, or at least the barest minimums. Grabbing a stake and a tiny bottle of holy water, she pushed the books back into place and continued down the hall. She also asked God to keep Jonah in the bedroom, least he pop out to check out the racket during a critical moment. Thank God that he was such a deep sleeper; if he could sleep through that earthquake three or so years ago, he could damn well fall asleep through whatever she was gonna do.
Buffy was certain that the rapping was coming from somewhere on the second floor, yet she couldn't place it. She stopped, toes digging into the hall rug, closing her eyes and concentrating heard, trying to place the location of the intruder. Vampire alright. She could sense the animalistic hunger, the lust, the need...she tried not to get caught up in the moment as she tried to pinpoint where the feelings were coming from.
Suddenly her eyes flashed open. The feeling were coming from the last room down the hall...her daughters room! As the Slayer, Buffy felt no fear, no sense of panic or terror. But the mother inside her was feeling all those horribly twisted feelings and more, and the two halves of her conflicted sharply as Buffy hurried down the hall, bursting into her daughter's room.
The room was such a sweet room. It was decorated in a soft lavender, Buffy's favorite color and not coincidentally, it had grown to be Es's also. There were stuffed animals, rocking chairs, toys, and a tiny television seat strewn around the room and all around the center of the room, where the tall, large canopy bed lay in a place where a tiny crib had once been located. Buffy remembered shopping for the bed: Jonah and she had looked at their daughter as though she were insane, but Es had kept politely asking for the bed that she wanted. "She's having that bed 'till she moves out of the house," Jonah had said with all conviction as they had set it up together, marveling how the tiny the nursery had grown afterwards.
Now, the curtains were pulled away from each other and tied to the bedpost, and she could see the tiny form of her daughter cuddled under the silk lavender covers, head buried in a pillow, and long brown hair spread all over like a halo. In her arms she clutched a raggedy stuffed pig: Mr. Gordo, which had once been Buffy's. And, as Buffy could tell and acknowledge with a great amount of relief, she was still breathing deeply; in fact, she was breathing and making soft snoring noises. The mother in Buffy reminded herself that she needed to take Es to the doctor and find out what the little girl was allergic to.
Then the thumping sound came again. Elisabeth Sarah snorted and rolled over in her sleep, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer looked past the canopy bed and at the large window that had a wonderful view of acres of forest that were part of the Daly land.
The only problem was that the breathtaking view was blocked by the large, burly form of a vampire, who was desperately trying to punch in the thick glass door. Buffy chuckled to herself.
"Nine inches of glass, idiot. How are you going to get in?" she asked the moronic vampire, who of course had not noticed her yet. Feeling a little humorous and still with a slight high from the earlier shock of nerves, Buffy carefully creeped up to window, staying tucked away in the shadows.
When she was right underneath the window, Buffy reached up to grasp the window ledge with the hand that held the stake. The vampire still did not notice her. Good.
Inside her head, Buffy gave a yelp. She quickly rose up, filling the window with her form. The surprised look on the vampire's face was to die for, bad a pun as that was. The vampire, shocked, let go of the hold that he had on the window, and for a moment he just crouched there on the ledge, hands spinning and trying to keep his balance. Then, it's mouth twisted into an "O", the vampire lost balance and fell down two stories, landing on the grass with a *thump* that rang true in Buffy's mind.
She allowed herself a little laugh. What is just her, or were vampires getting stupider and stupider as the years progressed? She turned around, holding the stake and the vial of holy water loosely in her hand, shaking her head with disgust. Really, it just was worth it most of the time...
"Mommy? What's going on?"
It was Buffy's turn to be startled now, so startled that she jumped just the tiniest bit before she realized that silky, young-sounding voice was coming from her daughter, who was now sitting up in bed with a sleepy demeanor about her. Buffy looked down at her hands, saw the weapons, and then quickly tucked them behind her, dropping them behind a large stuffed rabbit, hoping that she could get them in the morning before Es found them.
"Nothing going on, sweetheart," Buffy soothed, walking over to her baby girl. She sat down next to her, pulling Es into her lap and holding her to her chest, smoothing her long, tangled brown hair that was the same length as her mother's. "Mommy was just looking out the window, that's all." She gave her a comforting kiss on the forehead and pulled back to look her daughter in the eye. "Now go back to sleep."
"But I'm not tired," Es protested sleepily, opening her mouth in a little yawn. Then both mother and daughter giggled. "I guess I am," Es admitted, laying back down into her pillow. Buffy just smiled and tucked the covers tight around Es' body, then smoothing back her hair from her forehead.
"Sweet dreams," Buffy whispered, slowly getting up. "I love you."
"Love you too," Es breathed, already half asleep. In a few seconds, she was back to her steady breathing/wheezing. Buffy sighed tiredly and then walked out of the nursery, closing the door softly behind her. She stood in the hall for a moment, searching for the vampire's presence. He was still out there, somewhere in front of the house. Should she just go to sleep and pray that the vampire didn't harm somebody else? Or should she grab another stake from the false-bottom drawer in the master bedroom, the one that Jonah had no knowledge of?
As good as dropping into bed besides her husband sounded right about now, Buffy could not ignore her duty. Sure, she could run away from being the Slayer, but it follow her until the day she died. At least things weren't too bad, and she should be grateful for that. Besides, if she didn't do something about that vampire...someone might get killed. Although many deaths were on her pretty little head already, Buffy didn't care to have one more added to the list. Dejectedly, Buffy reached for the hidden stash in her bookcase, pulling out just a stake this time. Swift and quick was the plan du jour.
Just as she was placing the books back in place was when something strange happened. Well, it was not strange as in the sense of it happening-it was perfectly natural, mind you-but why would it choose to happen at that precise moment? Buffy's body went rigid as she felt the vampire suddenly *not be there*. He was totally gone-from this world at least. He had been slayed. But by whom?
Buffy felt a slight bit of terror grip her heart again, but curiosity was the ruling emotion here. Hurrying down the stairs, Buffy ran to the door, intent on finding out what had happened to vampire, not at all afraid to fling the door open, because she had never invited a single vampire into this house.
She was still stunned, though, at the figure that stood in her doorway, with the shiny black slicker, and completely drenched it rain, leather, and metallic jewelry. The shock must have been evident on her face, because her surprise visitor noticed and laughed.
"That's not happy to see me," Faith Moss, the Vampire Slayer said as a bolt of lightning hit somewhere in the next street, raising the hair on the two women's necks and also illuminating her face eerily. "Afraid of the competition, eh?"
Buffy's mouth suddenly did not work. Why, in fifteen years, did Faith suddenly appear on her doorstep. "What...?" she asked, her mouth hanging ajar at the not-so-quite end of the sentence.
Faith smiled, her thin, very red lips parting just for a moment, then settling back into a thin line. "My last Watcher gave me an important bit of information. One of those pesky prophecies." She shook her arms, sending droplets of rain flying off from her coat. "You gonna let me in, or an I gonna catch pneumonia or what?"
"Oh," Buffy said, somewhat sheepishly. Then she held the door open, and Faith marched past her as though she owned the place. "Make yourself at home," Buffy whispered softly as Faith hung her coat on the coat rack and then walked into the living room, plopping onto the coat and lifted her feet off the floor.
Before closing the door, Buffy took one last look out the window, in case anymore surprise visitors popped up. Then, assured that there was to be no more, Buffy closed behind the door behind her. Surely, this was going to be one interesting night.
This time they were being very careful, very safe. The door was closed.
Last time, which had definitely been only a short while ago, Julie and Josh had walked in on them. Definitely not mature for their age of five, the twins had set upon telling the entire tale in vivid detail to the dinner guests later that night, much to their parents disgust and complete horror. After a long talk on the birds and the bees, Julie and Josh had agreed to keep quiet about the incident, although they had both agreed that this little thing was a wonderful blackmail. Yet, the opportunity to use it had not yet arisen. They would be quiet...they would wait.
Meanwhile, their parents were being a little more cautious as to their surroundings when they "did it." Since the bedroom was always a major factor, with the bed being there and everything, and the walls were thick, there remained the fact that for the rest of the times that they had sex, the freakin' door would be closed.
Of course, it did not matter how thick the walls were and if the door was closed and whether they were ten feet for ten million miles away from the twins' bedroom. Nothing in the known universe could muffle Cordelia's screams of ecstasy.
She, of course, was done with the screaming part now. They were nearing the end part, and Cordelia was quite comfortable with being silent and letting her husband do his thing under the covers.
"Hmm, yes, that's the right spot," she murmured contently as her talented spouse touched her in just the right place. A sob of enjoyment was caught in her throat as she kept herself in check. "Oh...yeah."
She was just sneaking under the covers to pleasure her husband a bit when the phone on the nightstand let out it's annoying, piercing ring. Rolling her eyes, Cordelia climbed out of her "position" and reached for the phone.
"Hello, you've reached the Harris residence," Cordelia said cordially into the phone, realizing how much she sounded like a secretary. "This is Cordelia. May I please ask the name of whoever is suicidal enough to be calling me at-" she reached out one long, bare arm to turn the digital clock to face her-"six o'clock in the freakin' morning?" She ended the sentence in a honeyed tone, trying to sound as sardonically polite as she could be.
"Um, hello Cordelia," said a pleasant male voice, sounding as tired as Cordelia sounded pissed. "This is Jack. Can I please speak to Xander, if he's there?"
"Oh, he's here alright," Cordelia said icily into the phone. Next to her, Xander popped his head out of the covers, his hair mussed and his face flushed. "Unfortunately, Roger, he's busy right now." Xander tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. He made a big "no" sign and then held out his hand for the phone.
"Never mind, here he is," Cordelia grumbled into the phone, begrudgingly handing the phone over to her husband. "Obviously, you've got your priorities crossed," she mumbled crossly, ducking under the covers. Xander just sighed and turned his attention to the phone.
"So Jack, what about that ca-" Xander stopped mid-word, sucking his breath in sharply. He closed his eyes, his lips curving upwards into a smile, which quickly grew to a frown. He cupped on large hand over the receiver, and then whispered harshly, "Cordelia, not *now*!"
All he got in response was a muffled giggled, and more of what she had begun to do. "Roger, ah...I'm gonna have to call you back," he managed to get out, and then slammed the phone back into his handle. "Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my co-worker?" Xander said teasingly, sliding back under the covers to that he could further enjoy this special attention.
Mid attention-giving, there was a sudden crash from outside. Two tousled heads popped out, both very upset and one slightly paranoid.
"I think that came from the shed," Cordelia said in a tiny voice, looking around the bedroom. Her eyes landed on the door, then they flicked to Xander, and then back to the door. "Ahem," she said, clearing her throat loudly.
Xander groaned, and then sat up. "Where are my boxers?" he said, looking frantically around for his under-shorts. Spotting them a good toss away from the bed, he climbed out of bed naked, only then realizing how damn cold it was in the small bedroom. "I wish you didn't have such a good arm," he chuckled, remembering just how far she had tossed in his clothes 30 or so minutes ago.
"Oh, you *like* my good arm," Cordelia said teasingly, sitting up in bed also. She wrapped the covers around her upper and lower body, even though she was very comfortable displaying her body in front of Xander. "You so know you do."
"Of course I do," Xander said, pulling up his boxers. He picked up his undershirt from the back on the desk chair and pulled his on over his head. With a smile, he reached behind the computer monitor that rested on his desk and took a long while in pulling out a black, lacey bra. "Is this yours, Mrs. Harris?" he asked, dangling it in the air and wiggling his eyebrows at his wife.
Cordelia laughed, a lilting sound that sounded like music to Xander's ears. The words {I can't believe she's my wife} flashed through his mind a million times, even though she had been his wife for a good four years now. Every time he looked at her body, every time that she spoke aloud, and every time that he looked into her eyes, those exact words ran through his mind. He just couldn't believe his amazing luck. {You're blessed, Harris} he told himself, believing every word he thought.
"Yes, it's mine," she said sultrily, letting her eyelids half-close over her eyes as she continued staring steadily at him. When she did that it always turned him on, and they both knew it. "But you can keep it for a souvenir, if you like."
"Hmm, I'd like that a lot," Xander said, and he stuffed the bra into the back pocket of his boxers, making sure that a bit peeked through. "Now, while I be the man and check on whatever raccoon happened to take shelter in our shed, don't go anywhere, ok? I learned something new that I'd like to show you." His voice clearly hinted at something.
"Yeah, and I'd be even more interested in who you learned it from!" Cordelia called after her husband as he closed the bedroom door behind him. She could hear his laughter, the soft laughter that always sent shivers up her spine. {You don't deserve him at all} Cordelia thought to herself, laying back down in the bed and patting her pillow. {Or, you do deserve him, and you've finally got him}. That thought made her grin.
Only four years ago she was in the hospital, deep in a coma she had been brought into from the severe beating her first husband, Jonathan Peters, had given her earlier that evening. She could still remember his angry voice, the sound of his baseball bat crunching her bones, and their child, Nicholas, who was only three or four years old at the time, screaming for Daddy not to hurt Mommy-yes, she still remembered that horrible night. And then, the next day, she was lying in a hospital bed, totally unconscious.
She had lied there for two straight weeks, completely alone and unable to tell her story-she wouldn't, anyway, because she was the classic beaten wife case, totally unable to admit that anything was wrong with her marriage. Jonathan was off doing computer programming in Asia and totally refused to come back to L.A., which was becoming mighty suspicious for the social service workers that hung out on the fourth floor. Poor Nicholas, who they might have extracted information from, was completely in shock. He refused to speak, and he didn't regain his speech until an entire year later. Even now he was still a shy and quiet boy, with a dark and brooding expression, and brown eyes that were much too old for a seven-year-old.
When she finally came out of the coma, two weeks after she was admitted to the hospital, she had extreme amnesia, only able to remember two words: "Alexander Harris." These two words brought such mixed feelings, such as anger, hate, betrayal, but strongest of all, an intense feeling of love, of actually feeling that he completed her. Not a face, not a recollection as to where these feelings came from were available to Cordelia.
Then a lucky break came. The nurse who take care of her, a kind women somewhere in her late forties, named Celeste, recognized the name. It seems that a man by the same name had checked in to the hospital, asking for a nurse to take care of his twin newborns while he spent his time here in L.A. Celeste's friend, Maggie, had been chosen for the job, and she could get this Alexander Harris to show up. If he recognized her, they could continue getting her memory back, because although there were picture and evidence of her present, any and all before her marriage to Jonathan was a complete blank to her and everyone else.
The next day, Alexander Harris showed up. Cordelia still remembered the first time she saw him, standing in the doorway, such a sad, depressed face on. Then, when he saw her: bandages, crutches by her bed side, bruised all over the place, his face had dropped into one of complete shock and sympathy. He had sat by her hospital bed, demanding to know who had done this to her so that he could give whoever it was a damn good thrashing. Cordelia didn't answer him, but instead wondered why this man, this strange man with the gorgeous face, great build, and light British accent felt the need to protect her so.
Least to say, the following week was a week of immense learning, and Cordelia gained her memory quite quickly, though it was mostly from actually banging her head on the side of her hospital bed than the fine-toothed experiments most of the doctors and Xander had made her through.
The first thing she did was freak out because the things that Xander had been telling her about her past was indeed true. The second thing she did was report the still-away-on-business Jonathan to the authorities and demand a divorce and also a restraining order. The third thing she did was ask Xander if he would consider a relationship, taking in consideration what had only recently happened in England. Xander had agreed nonetheless, and in less than six months or so they wed, and nine months later their daughter, *their* daughter Annie was born. They were a family, now and forever.
And, as Cordelia waited for Xander to return, she thought he was a mighty fine act in bed, too.
The air was chilly, mainly because it was December and it was Connecticut, and Xander knew that he just asking for a cold, going outdoors in his kind of clothing. But all he had to do was take a quick look in the shed, run the stupid raccoon out, and then go back up to the bedroom again. Simple, really, and if he did it fast enough, he wouldn't have to down a bottle of Triaminic afterwards. Honestly, Cordelia had the strangest way of avoiding colds. But at least the Triaminic tasted rather well, for medicine.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and Xander was overtaken by the sudden fear that he would have to go to work soon. Then he calmed down, reminding himself that it was Saturday and they were letting him take the weekend off. Thank God, too. Xander planned on taking the kids camping, even Cordelia and Annie, though they would have to deal with taking care of a three-year-old. Luckily, Annie was turning out to be much of a tomboy, like Julie had turned out to be. There would be no misgivings while Xander, Nicholas, Josh, and Julie went out trekking in the woods, although Cordelia would most likely stay inside the tent, mothering Annie to death. She meant well, anyway...
Xander reached out to pull the shed doors open, and he grunted in surprise when they didn't open. He put his feet in the ground and then pulled hard on the doors, and still they did not swing open. Dammit, he was a big man, and he tons of muscles from working out, and he was very, very strong. So why weren't the doors opening? They opened fine yesterday; they couldn't possibly rust shut overnight.
For a second, Xander wondered if something other than raccoons were his shed, but he was no longer someone who was content to just wonder. He went to the back of the shed where a few shovels were lying around, and praying Cordelia didn't come out screaming "Xander! What are you doing to the shed?!", he went back to the front and began to pound on the front doors.
When he heard the satisfying *clang* of the lock being broken inside, he shoved the doors open, and the rosy pink light of the sunrise flooded the shed. Something moved along a pile of some unnamable metal parts, and Xander was quick enough to see that it was indeed a raccoon. "Oh, get the hell out of here," Xander grumbled, throwing the shovel at the metal parts, careful not to hit the animal. He did succeed in scaring it, though, and the mammal quickly scampered past Xander, running out of the shed like it was crazed. The strange behavior puzzled Xander; that and the fact that something seemed so *wrong*. It was just in the air.
Cautiously, Xander entered the shed, walking all the way to the back, where the sunrise's light did not shine. He looked around, but he saw nothing. Suddenly, something skittered up the back wall, and Xander stepped back and looked up high, sighing when he realized it was just a lizard.
"See, nothing," he told himself, crossing his arms over his chest. "Some imagination."
He was totally caught off guard when something did indeed grab him from behind and pulled him up against the wall. Startled, Xander gathered himself as his attacker grabbed a good hold of his neck. Squirming out of his attacker's strong grip, he fell to the floor and quickly rolled under some old mats. Whoever jumped on top of the map, but Xander rolled back out just in time. He got to his feet while the attacker was still rolling around, still tangled up. Xander laughed and grabbed the person by the back, intent on punching the lights out of this asshole.
How surprised-how very surprised-was he when he looked into the horrible, misshapen face of his attacker. A forehead creased together in a ridge down the center, horrible yellow eyes as though it had hepatitis, and a mouth full of big, sharp, teeth, and a pair of long, elongated...fangs.
"Oh *shit*." Xander said aloud, and the vampire, seeing that Xander was momentarily stunned, took the chance to try punching him out. He knocked Xander to the floor again, and then proceeded to get on top of him, heading right for his neck, growling with intense hunger.
Xander, realizing just what the heck was gonna happen here, grabbed the vampire by the neck and threw him off. All those years of physical therapy and self defense weren't for nothing...Xander flipped over unto his back and quickly glanced around the shed, and finding what he wanted, grabbed it off a shelf. The vampire, with his back to him, tried turning around to capture his intended victim, but Xander was armed with the handle of a broken hammer. In a rage, Xander shoved it right through the vampire's heart, staring in disbelief as it disappeared into dust. Then he let the handle clatter to the floor.
"Oh *shit*," he repeated, walking backwards out of the shed. He closed the door quickly behind him, and then lay against the doors for support. A vampire, in the daylight, in *his* shed, intent on making him his breakfast-or dinner. Why, after 15 years of being left alone, did they choose to bother him now...
Well, if they were in his shed they were probably damn well everywhere. Xander looked around him in a controlled panic, and then ran towards the house, not caring what the neighbors or the children thought. "Cordelia!" he yelled loudly as soon as he entered the house and the front door banged behind him. "Get down here quick! We need to talk!"
"Ok, now listen to this, alright? Here goes..."
Willow Osbourne sat up on one of the couch cushions that had been thrown on the hardwood floor for comfort. Her legs were cross-legged like Buddha, her hair, which reached down to her ankles when she stood up, was sprawled all over the floor, and in her beautiful manicured hands was a small cup of herbal tea.
She wore a pair of loose-fitting, ragged old Levi's that once were her husbands, back when they fit him. He had grown quite a bit since he had bought these pants, so now they were Willow's. Her top was a loose-fitting, copper, velvety thing with a dangerously low neckline. A beautiful choker with a silver half-moon hanging from a ribbon beautifully accented her pale, elegant neck. Her hair, thick and dangerously wavy and colored "Terra Cotta Shocked", hung over in her eyes and she bent forwards, scribbling furiously in a notebook.
She rocked back and forth to an imaginary rhythm, never taking her eyes of the paper and writing with more and more ferocity as she neared the bottom of the page. Then, with a little exclamation of triumph, she dotted her last period and then jumped up, the couch cushion swaying dangerously. "Done! I think I got it!" she exclaimed excitedly, shaking with joy. Then she cleared her throat and opened her mouth, and out came these words:
"Out of the shadows you appear
When I'm in need of help and to rid me of fear
You are my angel, you are my soul
And it's the love we share that makes me whole.
If this is love, this is strange
I've only seen you once and I don't know your name
Lost in your eyes, in your deep mournful stare
It's dangerous to love you but I don't care."
Then, done singing her little diddy, she sat back down on the cushion, crossed her legs, and waited for the response.
Before her sat her husband, a fellow coven member, and an ex-boyfriend. Also known as Jeremy "Oz" Osbourne, Adriana "Echo" Ruben-Brown, and Devon Brown. Also, to most of America, they were known as the extremely popular and successful alternative music band, "Hellmouth."
"I thought that was really good. I like the lyrics, but the music could be worked on," Oz offered after a long pause for careful consideration. He was wearing an old checkered jacket over one of his many bowling shirts, this one a cheerful light blue that said "New York City" in script above the left pocket. He wore a pair of brand new khaki's that Willow had gotten him for his birthday. His hair was its regular brown this month, but if Willow was going to the supermarket like she said she was, it wouldn't stay this shade for long.
"Where's the rest of the song?" Echo asked abruptly. She wore a tight black shirt that had a gorgeous silk-screened rose on the front, and on the back the words "White Rose Coven" were scripted, along with the name "Echo." As for the lower part of her, she had on a skirt with a dangerous slit down the side, which had been caused when Echo had caught it on the side of the door and ripped it. Her shaggy black hair framed her pale china face and her delicate feature, and ended somewhere below her shoulder blades.
Everyone gave her an exasperated look. "What, I want to know!" When nobody else said anything and just glared at her, she scowled a little and shrunk back into her seat on the couch. "Oh, what do you expect," she grumbled, "I'm just the drummer."
Next to her, her husband Devon shifted in his seat and shifted the position of his arm, which rested on Echo's shoulders. He was wearing an old, faded t-shirt that had a picture of a skater dude, and baggy blue jeans. His brown hair was in a style reminiscent of Ben Affleck when he was young. "I really, really liked the lyrics, and I have a suggestion for the music...more of an uppity thing, instead of so mellow."
"Ok," Willow said cheerfully, wanting as much feedback as she could get. She was absolutely dying to get a new record out, especially after the success of their first two albums, and as the songwriter of the group, she had to make some big contributions. Like writing the songs themselves.
"I also have the chorus part down already, but I don't like how it goes right after this certain paragraph. But I'm thinking, if I think of another paragraph, then maybe it'll fit..."
The whole band dove right into the song, adding their own lyrics although it was Willow's job, adding percussion although that was Echo's job, and the boys remained pretty true to them making the decisions about the guitar. Echo, though, was all for the electronica part of the song. She loved working with the keyboard, and making all sorts of weird music and noises to use in the song.
The whole team was really involved in the process when there was the sound of glass breaking from outside. They all lifted their heads up, Oz and Willow exchanging looked. Oz's ears twitched back, extremely unnatural for a human, and then concentrated as though he was listening to something far away. Echo and Devon turned to watch him carefully: he was the best bodyguard, what with the ability to tune into his wolf senses whenever he liked.
"There's someone outside and..." Oz shivered, and that fact was clearly visible to the other members of the band. "I actually think it's...something."
"Oh darn, I'll get the supplies," Echo groaned, getting up off her arse and walking over to the little kitchen they had going in this apartment. She reached up for the top cabinet and opened it, starting to pull out all the ancient Christian relics. "Really, Willow, I remember you scaring MoonRaven so bad when she opened this cabinet," Echo chuckled, remembering a certain episode when their coven leader had come to visit the apartment. "I can just see the expression on her face. 'I thought you were *Jewish* and Wiccan, child! Not three whole religions! How do you split your time so?* Hmm. Quite memorable."
"Yeah, well, I'm not surprised if she buys the whole 'it's to ward off vampires' thing," Devon said wryly to Willow. "She took it pretty well when you broke the news about you and Oz being werewolves and all."
"Well, she did tell me she was a witch," Willow said, shrugging. "I say fair and fair."
Oz was slowly walking towards to the door, his ears still contorted forwards. Any person that was not used to seeing them like that would definitely be sick to their stomach. "Gimme a stake," he murmured, finally arriving at the door.
"Here." Echo closed the cabinet and tossed out some wooden stakes, teeny nail-polish bottles of holy water, and crosses to the three other people in the apartment. Then Willow, Devon, and Echo came up behind Oz, armed and ready.
Ever since Oz and Willow had left Sunnydale behind, the vampires and other supernatural forces (not counting Willow's interest in the Craft) had never bothered them. When they had moved down here to Old World Mexico, however, evil still pretty much had somewhat of a reign over here, stepped in ancient traditions. After telling Echo and Devon (heck, they had taken tons of the truth in, already) the four had gone out, bought the supplies, and generally knew what to do. It also helped that Oz was able to tap into his werewolf aspect at any time, Willow and Echo were trained in all aspects of being Wiccan, and Devon having a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. They were pretty much prepared for anything.
"It's by the fountain," Echo noted, sensing the empty pocket in the energy that flowed all around the small apartment complex in Southern Mexico. Willow nodded in affirmation, feeling the emptiness also. No doubt that Oz sensed it, for dogs and cats had always been able to spot the paranormal. Once, Willow and Echo had to perform an exorcism of the house because Oz was being driven nuts by a ghost living in one of the pasts apartments they had rented.
"I'll take your word it," Devon said as he looked out the window, pushing the vertical blinds out of the way so that he could see somewhat clearly. "I really can't tell anything in this dark. It looks like no one is there."
"Well, no one isn't there," Echo said, matching Devon's earlier tone of wryness. "Some*thing* is there."
"Give you that," Devon admitted, shrugging.
Oz opened the door and the four of them stepped out, Oz immediately changing his eyes into the werewolf form so that he could see better in the dark. "It's there alright," he admitted, feeling his hair standing up straight on end. "Who wants to get it?"
Willow was about to open her mind to call her dibs on slaying the intruding vamp when a shadow dropped from atop the porch roof and landed straight on Oz, knocking him over the banister and sending him flying three stories down to the fountain, where the other vampire waited.
"OZ!" Willow shrieked, turning to the wrought-iron stairs and quickly running down the winding steps, tightening her hold on her stake and ignoring the pain as her feet pounded against the metal. In a few seconds she had made it to the first floor, and she quickly hurried across the square to the fountain, barely registering the fact that Echo and Devon were right at her heels.
Oz was not stupid-no human being could survive behind thrown three stories down into the unforgiving earth. But his werewolf form could at least recover quickly, and the only misgiving that he had was that he had really messed up his shirt. He quickly morphed in mid-air, silently thanking Willow's friend SilverDragon, who had so meticulously shown him how to change from werewolf to human in just an instant. It had felt rather...good, to know that there were others like him, others who also had to live like he and Willow did.
Anyway, back to the point. The vampire was extremely surprised that when they reached the ground, he held in his clutches not a somewhat scrawny human, but a big, strong, and angry lycanthrope. The vampire released his grip and tried to jump off the werewolf, but Oz wasn't about to let this guy go. As the vampire crawled away, Oz jumped on his back and slashed it open with his paw, causing the vampire to let out a cry in agony.
In the building across the square, a light flicked on. A woman came to the window and tossed it open, noticing the commotion outside. Sigh, another vampire. Since this part of Mexico was still very rural, they were very much into the old beliefs, and this woman, like most of the others around these parts, knew of the existence of ancient evils. This woman was not scared. All she did was take the cross that was hanging over her bed and place it on the window, and then picked up the phone to call her aunt that lived across the street, in the apartment above the one where the werewolves/witches lived. Then she went back to sleep, not afraid at all, knowing that whatever vampire stupid enough to attack anyone in these parts would soon be annihilated by the nice people who had moved in a few months ago.
Devon and Echo, what with their experiences in Chinese/Japanese fighting, set to beating the pulp out of the vampire by the fountain, not staking it until it cried for mercy. Willow just sat by the edge of the fountain, waiting for Oz to do his stuff.
Now that the vampire was in some pain and not up to his full strength, Oz changed back into something resembling more human. He rolled away from the vampire, and then grabbed him by the shoulders. The vampire growled with ferocity, and then kicked Oz hard in the shin. Oz winced, but he just lifted the vampire off from the floor and flung over to where Willow was. Willow smiled and pushed the vampire face-first into the water, instantly setting off smoke. The vampire squealed and screamed as she plunged him fully into the deep, watching him writhe and cry out with pain. Not for nothing had she and Echo blessed all the water in this fountain.
Oz came up behind her, gathering the bits of clothing that still hung off of him around the places that needed most to be covered. Echo and Devon, done torturing their vampire, gathered around Willow. None of them made any move as to pull the vampire out of the blazing water, Willow and Oz stared with grim satisfaction as the vampire screamed for a mercy, and Willow felt extreme pleasure at seeing such an evil being suffering so. It deserved it.
"Ok, we can kill it now," she announced, crossing her arms over her chest. She was content enough already.
Oz made no move whatsoever, because his human self was still healing. Devon, stronger than Willow or Echo, reached out and pulled the vampire, who's skin had turn black and smelled faintly like a building did after it had been incinerated by a house fire. He easily shoved a stake right into the heart, and then he was left clutching at dust and air.
They were silent for a moment, collecting their thoughts. Then Echo shifted the weight on her feet. She was tired.
"G'night," she told the rest of the group, heading back towards the stairs. "We can work on the song tomorrow. Ok?"
The rest of the group shrugged.
Outside, the rain pounded against the window in sheets, causing the panes to shake and rattle whenever the strong wind came a-wuthering around the house. Three o'clock in the morning, and the rain so clouded the street lamplight and the radiance of the stars that it was pitch-black outside for yards and yards, lightning providing the only luminance. Thunder was it's companion, booming all around the house, showing off that nature did have a damn good stereo system. Outside, trees and garbage cans were knocked over without much caution from the wind, and anybody stuck out in this storm was not to fare well.
She was not outside. She was inside, staring outside the fogged-up wall window in the living room, watching the torrents of rain that pounded against her house with unseeing eyes. She was dressed in a ratty old shirt that said "I work for the Green Leaf Café" in big, bold green letters, and as she sat on the armrest of a rather expensive-looking leather couch, a pair of decorative purple panties were visible, along with luxuriously long legs. In her thin, lithe, trembling little hands was a warm mug of cocoa, quite a comfort to her throughout the night.
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, her husband Jonah was fast asleep, probably shivering from the cold because he always kicked the bedsheets to the bottom of the bed, and he refused to wear anything else besides an amusing pair of flannel boxers. Down the hall, past the bathroom, the guest bedroom, and the utility closet, her daughter Elisabeth Sarah slept like the little angel that she was in the nursery. They still called it the nursery, she thought with a trace of humor, although "Es" had just turned six years old a month ago. It was still decorated like a child's room, also, and Jonah groaned the other day about Es reaching the age where *she* would want to decorate her own room. His wife shared his same fear.
And, downstairs was her, she who could never get a decent night's sleep. Yet, "you never get baggy eyes!", as one of her co-stars had once told her. She had just smiled at them and gave them her little secret-cucumbers, a hot bath, relaxing incense, and most importantly, "tons and tons of foundation!" Foundation, of course, was every actress's necessary tool in her line of work.
Still, while that made it looked like she got plenty of sleep, her body still dragged miles behind. Or at least, it used to. Her body had been conditioned over the years to function without a lot of sleep. It came with both fields of work...both of them indeed, she thought with a sigh.
There was a flash of lightning, and much to soon for comfort, a rumble of thunder pierced through the night. She jumped, and then made sure that none of the cocoa spilled out of the mud and into the ankle-deep, beige carpeting of the sunken living room. Tired of nature and tired of the world in general, she cradled the cup of cocoa to her chest and quickly, carefully made her way back to the kitchen through the entrance hall.
When she entered the large, modern-age kitchen, the first thing she did was flip on the light switch. She blinked as her eyes became conditioned to the sudden change in lighting. Then, with a toss of her waist-length, wavy, dirty-blond hair, she made her way to the refrigerator.
Binge-fest, in the middle of the night, and still she kept a good figure. Exercise, plently of exercise, both officially with her personal trainer and unofficially chasing after her six-year-old, her brother-in-law, and the family dog. Not even counting her rigerous shooting schedule. It seemed that she never had an ounce of free time...never time to be herself. She was always either mother, wife, or actress.
She was never Buffy.
But now, during the late hours of the night and the wee hours of the morning, she could be herself. So, settling down at the kitchen table with her cup of cocoa, a slice of apple pie, and the latest issue of In Style, Buffy was content with being Buffy.
On page 52 there was, not surprisingly, yet another article about her. It began with the usual line: "At only 32, Buffy Summers-Daly has become Hollywood's favorite darling" or some rot like that. Whenever one of those horrible reporter-persons came around, Buffy just usually rolled her eyes and made the few quotes and told some funny stories, just wanting to get the damn interview thing over with. In fact, she could only remember one article she had actually enjoyed doing. It was for one of those parenting magazines, and both she and Es were featured. That had been entertaining for the both of them, especially Es, who got to show off her collection of Beanie Babies to all of America.
Her eyes were widening in shock as she read a certain paragraph that was not particularly flattering to a certain part of her body when she first heard the rapping. It was very soft: if not for her Slayer-strengthened hearing, she would never noticed it until five minutes later or so, when it became gradually louder until it was a thumping noise.
More upset than spooked, Buffy got to her feet and marched out of the kitchen, up the winding marble steps that she had so loved when Jonah and she had first bought the mansion, and the into the hallway. There was a slight prickling at the back of her neck, a sensation that was associated with something that she *definitely* did not want it to be associated with.
Tenser now, Buffy stopped in front of the bookcase and pulled several books off the third shelf, where it was easiest to reach. Behind them, hidden in the dust and darkness, were the standard issue supplies of a Slayer, or at least the barest minimums. Grabbing a stake and a tiny bottle of holy water, she pushed the books back into place and continued down the hall. She also asked God to keep Jonah in the bedroom, least he pop out to check out the racket during a critical moment. Thank God that he was such a deep sleeper; if he could sleep through that earthquake three or so years ago, he could damn well fall asleep through whatever she was gonna do.
Buffy was certain that the rapping was coming from somewhere on the second floor, yet she couldn't place it. She stopped, toes digging into the hall rug, closing her eyes and concentrating heard, trying to place the location of the intruder. Vampire alright. She could sense the animalistic hunger, the lust, the need...she tried not to get caught up in the moment as she tried to pinpoint where the feelings were coming from.
Suddenly her eyes flashed open. The feeling were coming from the last room down the hall...her daughters room! As the Slayer, Buffy felt no fear, no sense of panic or terror. But the mother inside her was feeling all those horribly twisted feelings and more, and the two halves of her conflicted sharply as Buffy hurried down the hall, bursting into her daughter's room.
The room was such a sweet room. It was decorated in a soft lavender, Buffy's favorite color and not coincidentally, it had grown to be Es's also. There were stuffed animals, rocking chairs, toys, and a tiny television seat strewn around the room and all around the center of the room, where the tall, large canopy bed lay in a place where a tiny crib had once been located. Buffy remembered shopping for the bed: Jonah and she had looked at their daughter as though she were insane, but Es had kept politely asking for the bed that she wanted. "She's having that bed 'till she moves out of the house," Jonah had said with all conviction as they had set it up together, marveling how the tiny the nursery had grown afterwards.
Now, the curtains were pulled away from each other and tied to the bedpost, and she could see the tiny form of her daughter cuddled under the silk lavender covers, head buried in a pillow, and long brown hair spread all over like a halo. In her arms she clutched a raggedy stuffed pig: Mr. Gordo, which had once been Buffy's. And, as Buffy could tell and acknowledge with a great amount of relief, she was still breathing deeply; in fact, she was breathing and making soft snoring noises. The mother in Buffy reminded herself that she needed to take Es to the doctor and find out what the little girl was allergic to.
Then the thumping sound came again. Elisabeth Sarah snorted and rolled over in her sleep, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer looked past the canopy bed and at the large window that had a wonderful view of acres of forest that were part of the Daly land.
The only problem was that the breathtaking view was blocked by the large, burly form of a vampire, who was desperately trying to punch in the thick glass door. Buffy chuckled to herself.
"Nine inches of glass, idiot. How are you going to get in?" she asked the moronic vampire, who of course had not noticed her yet. Feeling a little humorous and still with a slight high from the earlier shock of nerves, Buffy carefully creeped up to window, staying tucked away in the shadows.
When she was right underneath the window, Buffy reached up to grasp the window ledge with the hand that held the stake. The vampire still did not notice her. Good.
Inside her head, Buffy gave a yelp. She quickly rose up, filling the window with her form. The surprised look on the vampire's face was to die for, bad a pun as that was. The vampire, shocked, let go of the hold that he had on the window, and for a moment he just crouched there on the ledge, hands spinning and trying to keep his balance. Then, it's mouth twisted into an "O", the vampire lost balance and fell down two stories, landing on the grass with a *thump* that rang true in Buffy's mind.
She allowed herself a little laugh. What is just her, or were vampires getting stupider and stupider as the years progressed? She turned around, holding the stake and the vial of holy water loosely in her hand, shaking her head with disgust. Really, it just was worth it most of the time...
"Mommy? What's going on?"
It was Buffy's turn to be startled now, so startled that she jumped just the tiniest bit before she realized that silky, young-sounding voice was coming from her daughter, who was now sitting up in bed with a sleepy demeanor about her. Buffy looked down at her hands, saw the weapons, and then quickly tucked them behind her, dropping them behind a large stuffed rabbit, hoping that she could get them in the morning before Es found them.
"Nothing going on, sweetheart," Buffy soothed, walking over to her baby girl. She sat down next to her, pulling Es into her lap and holding her to her chest, smoothing her long, tangled brown hair that was the same length as her mother's. "Mommy was just looking out the window, that's all." She gave her a comforting kiss on the forehead and pulled back to look her daughter in the eye. "Now go back to sleep."
"But I'm not tired," Es protested sleepily, opening her mouth in a little yawn. Then both mother and daughter giggled. "I guess I am," Es admitted, laying back down into her pillow. Buffy just smiled and tucked the covers tight around Es' body, then smoothing back her hair from her forehead.
"Sweet dreams," Buffy whispered, slowly getting up. "I love you."
"Love you too," Es breathed, already half asleep. In a few seconds, she was back to her steady breathing/wheezing. Buffy sighed tiredly and then walked out of the nursery, closing the door softly behind her. She stood in the hall for a moment, searching for the vampire's presence. He was still out there, somewhere in front of the house. Should she just go to sleep and pray that the vampire didn't harm somebody else? Or should she grab another stake from the false-bottom drawer in the master bedroom, the one that Jonah had no knowledge of?
As good as dropping into bed besides her husband sounded right about now, Buffy could not ignore her duty. Sure, she could run away from being the Slayer, but it follow her until the day she died. At least things weren't too bad, and she should be grateful for that. Besides, if she didn't do something about that vampire...someone might get killed. Although many deaths were on her pretty little head already, Buffy didn't care to have one more added to the list. Dejectedly, Buffy reached for the hidden stash in her bookcase, pulling out just a stake this time. Swift and quick was the plan du jour.
Just as she was placing the books back in place was when something strange happened. Well, it was not strange as in the sense of it happening-it was perfectly natural, mind you-but why would it choose to happen at that precise moment? Buffy's body went rigid as she felt the vampire suddenly *not be there*. He was totally gone-from this world at least. He had been slayed. But by whom?
Buffy felt a slight bit of terror grip her heart again, but curiosity was the ruling emotion here. Hurrying down the stairs, Buffy ran to the door, intent on finding out what had happened to vampire, not at all afraid to fling the door open, because she had never invited a single vampire into this house.
She was still stunned, though, at the figure that stood in her doorway, with the shiny black slicker, and completely drenched it rain, leather, and metallic jewelry. The shock must have been evident on her face, because her surprise visitor noticed and laughed.
"That's not happy to see me," Faith Moss, the Vampire Slayer said as a bolt of lightning hit somewhere in the next street, raising the hair on the two women's necks and also illuminating her face eerily. "Afraid of the competition, eh?"
Buffy's mouth suddenly did not work. Why, in fifteen years, did Faith suddenly appear on her doorstep. "What...?" she asked, her mouth hanging ajar at the not-so-quite end of the sentence.
Faith smiled, her thin, very red lips parting just for a moment, then settling back into a thin line. "My last Watcher gave me an important bit of information. One of those pesky prophecies." She shook her arms, sending droplets of rain flying off from her coat. "You gonna let me in, or an I gonna catch pneumonia or what?"
"Oh," Buffy said, somewhat sheepishly. Then she held the door open, and Faith marched past her as though she owned the place. "Make yourself at home," Buffy whispered softly as Faith hung her coat on the coat rack and then walked into the living room, plopping onto the coat and lifted her feet off the floor.
Before closing the door, Buffy took one last look out the window, in case anymore surprise visitors popped up. Then, assured that there was to be no more, Buffy closed behind the door behind her. Surely, this was going to be one interesting night.
This time they were being very careful, very safe. The door was closed.
Last time, which had definitely been only a short while ago, Julie and Josh had walked in on them. Definitely not mature for their age of five, the twins had set upon telling the entire tale in vivid detail to the dinner guests later that night, much to their parents disgust and complete horror. After a long talk on the birds and the bees, Julie and Josh had agreed to keep quiet about the incident, although they had both agreed that this little thing was a wonderful blackmail. Yet, the opportunity to use it had not yet arisen. They would be quiet...they would wait.
Meanwhile, their parents were being a little more cautious as to their surroundings when they "did it." Since the bedroom was always a major factor, with the bed being there and everything, and the walls were thick, there remained the fact that for the rest of the times that they had sex, the freakin' door would be closed.
Of course, it did not matter how thick the walls were and if the door was closed and whether they were ten feet for ten million miles away from the twins' bedroom. Nothing in the known universe could muffle Cordelia's screams of ecstasy.
She, of course, was done with the screaming part now. They were nearing the end part, and Cordelia was quite comfortable with being silent and letting her husband do his thing under the covers.
"Hmm, yes, that's the right spot," she murmured contently as her talented spouse touched her in just the right place. A sob of enjoyment was caught in her throat as she kept herself in check. "Oh...yeah."
She was just sneaking under the covers to pleasure her husband a bit when the phone on the nightstand let out it's annoying, piercing ring. Rolling her eyes, Cordelia climbed out of her "position" and reached for the phone.
"Hello, you've reached the Harris residence," Cordelia said cordially into the phone, realizing how much she sounded like a secretary. "This is Cordelia. May I please ask the name of whoever is suicidal enough to be calling me at-" she reached out one long, bare arm to turn the digital clock to face her-"six o'clock in the freakin' morning?" She ended the sentence in a honeyed tone, trying to sound as sardonically polite as she could be.
"Um, hello Cordelia," said a pleasant male voice, sounding as tired as Cordelia sounded pissed. "This is Jack. Can I please speak to Xander, if he's there?"
"Oh, he's here alright," Cordelia said icily into the phone. Next to her, Xander popped his head out of the covers, his hair mussed and his face flushed. "Unfortunately, Roger, he's busy right now." Xander tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. He made a big "no" sign and then held out his hand for the phone.
"Never mind, here he is," Cordelia grumbled into the phone, begrudgingly handing the phone over to her husband. "Obviously, you've got your priorities crossed," she mumbled crossly, ducking under the covers. Xander just sighed and turned his attention to the phone.
"So Jack, what about that ca-" Xander stopped mid-word, sucking his breath in sharply. He closed his eyes, his lips curving upwards into a smile, which quickly grew to a frown. He cupped on large hand over the receiver, and then whispered harshly, "Cordelia, not *now*!"
All he got in response was a muffled giggled, and more of what she had begun to do. "Roger, ah...I'm gonna have to call you back," he managed to get out, and then slammed the phone back into his handle. "Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my co-worker?" Xander said teasingly, sliding back under the covers to that he could further enjoy this special attention.
Mid attention-giving, there was a sudden crash from outside. Two tousled heads popped out, both very upset and one slightly paranoid.
"I think that came from the shed," Cordelia said in a tiny voice, looking around the bedroom. Her eyes landed on the door, then they flicked to Xander, and then back to the door. "Ahem," she said, clearing her throat loudly.
Xander groaned, and then sat up. "Where are my boxers?" he said, looking frantically around for his under-shorts. Spotting them a good toss away from the bed, he climbed out of bed naked, only then realizing how damn cold it was in the small bedroom. "I wish you didn't have such a good arm," he chuckled, remembering just how far she had tossed in his clothes 30 or so minutes ago.
"Oh, you *like* my good arm," Cordelia said teasingly, sitting up in bed also. She wrapped the covers around her upper and lower body, even though she was very comfortable displaying her body in front of Xander. "You so know you do."
"Of course I do," Xander said, pulling up his boxers. He picked up his undershirt from the back on the desk chair and pulled his on over his head. With a smile, he reached behind the computer monitor that rested on his desk and took a long while in pulling out a black, lacey bra. "Is this yours, Mrs. Harris?" he asked, dangling it in the air and wiggling his eyebrows at his wife.
Cordelia laughed, a lilting sound that sounded like music to Xander's ears. The words {I can't believe she's my wife} flashed through his mind a million times, even though she had been his wife for a good four years now. Every time he looked at her body, every time that she spoke aloud, and every time that he looked into her eyes, those exact words ran through his mind. He just couldn't believe his amazing luck. {You're blessed, Harris} he told himself, believing every word he thought.
"Yes, it's mine," she said sultrily, letting her eyelids half-close over her eyes as she continued staring steadily at him. When she did that it always turned him on, and they both knew it. "But you can keep it for a souvenir, if you like."
"Hmm, I'd like that a lot," Xander said, and he stuffed the bra into the back pocket of his boxers, making sure that a bit peeked through. "Now, while I be the man and check on whatever raccoon happened to take shelter in our shed, don't go anywhere, ok? I learned something new that I'd like to show you." His voice clearly hinted at something.
"Yeah, and I'd be even more interested in who you learned it from!" Cordelia called after her husband as he closed the bedroom door behind him. She could hear his laughter, the soft laughter that always sent shivers up her spine. {You don't deserve him at all} Cordelia thought to herself, laying back down in the bed and patting her pillow. {Or, you do deserve him, and you've finally got him}. That thought made her grin.
Only four years ago she was in the hospital, deep in a coma she had been brought into from the severe beating her first husband, Jonathan Peters, had given her earlier that evening. She could still remember his angry voice, the sound of his baseball bat crunching her bones, and their child, Nicholas, who was only three or four years old at the time, screaming for Daddy not to hurt Mommy-yes, she still remembered that horrible night. And then, the next day, she was lying in a hospital bed, totally unconscious.
She had lied there for two straight weeks, completely alone and unable to tell her story-she wouldn't, anyway, because she was the classic beaten wife case, totally unable to admit that anything was wrong with her marriage. Jonathan was off doing computer programming in Asia and totally refused to come back to L.A., which was becoming mighty suspicious for the social service workers that hung out on the fourth floor. Poor Nicholas, who they might have extracted information from, was completely in shock. He refused to speak, and he didn't regain his speech until an entire year later. Even now he was still a shy and quiet boy, with a dark and brooding expression, and brown eyes that were much too old for a seven-year-old.
When she finally came out of the coma, two weeks after she was admitted to the hospital, she had extreme amnesia, only able to remember two words: "Alexander Harris." These two words brought such mixed feelings, such as anger, hate, betrayal, but strongest of all, an intense feeling of love, of actually feeling that he completed her. Not a face, not a recollection as to where these feelings came from were available to Cordelia.
Then a lucky break came. The nurse who take care of her, a kind women somewhere in her late forties, named Celeste, recognized the name. It seems that a man by the same name had checked in to the hospital, asking for a nurse to take care of his twin newborns while he spent his time here in L.A. Celeste's friend, Maggie, had been chosen for the job, and she could get this Alexander Harris to show up. If he recognized her, they could continue getting her memory back, because although there were picture and evidence of her present, any and all before her marriage to Jonathan was a complete blank to her and everyone else.
The next day, Alexander Harris showed up. Cordelia still remembered the first time she saw him, standing in the doorway, such a sad, depressed face on. Then, when he saw her: bandages, crutches by her bed side, bruised all over the place, his face had dropped into one of complete shock and sympathy. He had sat by her hospital bed, demanding to know who had done this to her so that he could give whoever it was a damn good thrashing. Cordelia didn't answer him, but instead wondered why this man, this strange man with the gorgeous face, great build, and light British accent felt the need to protect her so.
Least to say, the following week was a week of immense learning, and Cordelia gained her memory quite quickly, though it was mostly from actually banging her head on the side of her hospital bed than the fine-toothed experiments most of the doctors and Xander had made her through.
The first thing she did was freak out because the things that Xander had been telling her about her past was indeed true. The second thing she did was report the still-away-on-business Jonathan to the authorities and demand a divorce and also a restraining order. The third thing she did was ask Xander if he would consider a relationship, taking in consideration what had only recently happened in England. Xander had agreed nonetheless, and in less than six months or so they wed, and nine months later their daughter, *their* daughter Annie was born. They were a family, now and forever.
And, as Cordelia waited for Xander to return, she thought he was a mighty fine act in bed, too.
The air was chilly, mainly because it was December and it was Connecticut, and Xander knew that he just asking for a cold, going outdoors in his kind of clothing. But all he had to do was take a quick look in the shed, run the stupid raccoon out, and then go back up to the bedroom again. Simple, really, and if he did it fast enough, he wouldn't have to down a bottle of Triaminic afterwards. Honestly, Cordelia had the strangest way of avoiding colds. But at least the Triaminic tasted rather well, for medicine.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and Xander was overtaken by the sudden fear that he would have to go to work soon. Then he calmed down, reminding himself that it was Saturday and they were letting him take the weekend off. Thank God, too. Xander planned on taking the kids camping, even Cordelia and Annie, though they would have to deal with taking care of a three-year-old. Luckily, Annie was turning out to be much of a tomboy, like Julie had turned out to be. There would be no misgivings while Xander, Nicholas, Josh, and Julie went out trekking in the woods, although Cordelia would most likely stay inside the tent, mothering Annie to death. She meant well, anyway...
Xander reached out to pull the shed doors open, and he grunted in surprise when they didn't open. He put his feet in the ground and then pulled hard on the doors, and still they did not swing open. Dammit, he was a big man, and he tons of muscles from working out, and he was very, very strong. So why weren't the doors opening? They opened fine yesterday; they couldn't possibly rust shut overnight.
For a second, Xander wondered if something other than raccoons were his shed, but he was no longer someone who was content to just wonder. He went to the back of the shed where a few shovels were lying around, and praying Cordelia didn't come out screaming "Xander! What are you doing to the shed?!", he went back to the front and began to pound on the front doors.
When he heard the satisfying *clang* of the lock being broken inside, he shoved the doors open, and the rosy pink light of the sunrise flooded the shed. Something moved along a pile of some unnamable metal parts, and Xander was quick enough to see that it was indeed a raccoon. "Oh, get the hell out of here," Xander grumbled, throwing the shovel at the metal parts, careful not to hit the animal. He did succeed in scaring it, though, and the mammal quickly scampered past Xander, running out of the shed like it was crazed. The strange behavior puzzled Xander; that and the fact that something seemed so *wrong*. It was just in the air.
Cautiously, Xander entered the shed, walking all the way to the back, where the sunrise's light did not shine. He looked around, but he saw nothing. Suddenly, something skittered up the back wall, and Xander stepped back and looked up high, sighing when he realized it was just a lizard.
"See, nothing," he told himself, crossing his arms over his chest. "Some imagination."
He was totally caught off guard when something did indeed grab him from behind and pulled him up against the wall. Startled, Xander gathered himself as his attacker grabbed a good hold of his neck. Squirming out of his attacker's strong grip, he fell to the floor and quickly rolled under some old mats. Whoever jumped on top of the map, but Xander rolled back out just in time. He got to his feet while the attacker was still rolling around, still tangled up. Xander laughed and grabbed the person by the back, intent on punching the lights out of this asshole.
How surprised-how very surprised-was he when he looked into the horrible, misshapen face of his attacker. A forehead creased together in a ridge down the center, horrible yellow eyes as though it had hepatitis, and a mouth full of big, sharp, teeth, and a pair of long, elongated...fangs.
"Oh *shit*." Xander said aloud, and the vampire, seeing that Xander was momentarily stunned, took the chance to try punching him out. He knocked Xander to the floor again, and then proceeded to get on top of him, heading right for his neck, growling with intense hunger.
Xander, realizing just what the heck was gonna happen here, grabbed the vampire by the neck and threw him off. All those years of physical therapy and self defense weren't for nothing...Xander flipped over unto his back and quickly glanced around the shed, and finding what he wanted, grabbed it off a shelf. The vampire, with his back to him, tried turning around to capture his intended victim, but Xander was armed with the handle of a broken hammer. In a rage, Xander shoved it right through the vampire's heart, staring in disbelief as it disappeared into dust. Then he let the handle clatter to the floor.
"Oh *shit*," he repeated, walking backwards out of the shed. He closed the door quickly behind him, and then lay against the doors for support. A vampire, in the daylight, in *his* shed, intent on making him his breakfast-or dinner. Why, after 15 years of being left alone, did they choose to bother him now...
Well, if they were in his shed they were probably damn well everywhere. Xander looked around him in a controlled panic, and then ran towards the house, not caring what the neighbors or the children thought. "Cordelia!" he yelled loudly as soon as he entered the house and the front door banged behind him. "Get down here quick! We need to talk!"
"Ok, now listen to this, alright? Here goes..."
Willow Osbourne sat up on one of the couch cushions that had been thrown on the hardwood floor for comfort. Her legs were cross-legged like Buddha, her hair, which reached down to her ankles when she stood up, was sprawled all over the floor, and in her beautiful manicured hands was a small cup of herbal tea.
She wore a pair of loose-fitting, ragged old Levi's that once were her husbands, back when they fit him. He had grown quite a bit since he had bought these pants, so now they were Willow's. Her top was a loose-fitting, copper, velvety thing with a dangerously low neckline. A beautiful choker with a silver half-moon hanging from a ribbon beautifully accented her pale, elegant neck. Her hair, thick and dangerously wavy and colored "Terra Cotta Shocked", hung over in her eyes and she bent forwards, scribbling furiously in a notebook.
She rocked back and forth to an imaginary rhythm, never taking her eyes of the paper and writing with more and more ferocity as she neared the bottom of the page. Then, with a little exclamation of triumph, she dotted her last period and then jumped up, the couch cushion swaying dangerously. "Done! I think I got it!" she exclaimed excitedly, shaking with joy. Then she cleared her throat and opened her mouth, and out came these words:
"Out of the shadows you appear
When I'm in need of help and to rid me of fear
You are my angel, you are my soul
And it's the love we share that makes me whole.
If this is love, this is strange
I've only seen you once and I don't know your name
Lost in your eyes, in your deep mournful stare
It's dangerous to love you but I don't care."
Then, done singing her little diddy, she sat back down on the cushion, crossed her legs, and waited for the response.
Before her sat her husband, a fellow coven member, and an ex-boyfriend. Also known as Jeremy "Oz" Osbourne, Adriana "Echo" Ruben-Brown, and Devon Brown. Also, to most of America, they were known as the extremely popular and successful alternative music band, "Hellmouth."
"I thought that was really good. I like the lyrics, but the music could be worked on," Oz offered after a long pause for careful consideration. He was wearing an old checkered jacket over one of his many bowling shirts, this one a cheerful light blue that said "New York City" in script above the left pocket. He wore a pair of brand new khaki's that Willow had gotten him for his birthday. His hair was its regular brown this month, but if Willow was going to the supermarket like she said she was, it wouldn't stay this shade for long.
"Where's the rest of the song?" Echo asked abruptly. She wore a tight black shirt that had a gorgeous silk-screened rose on the front, and on the back the words "White Rose Coven" were scripted, along with the name "Echo." As for the lower part of her, she had on a skirt with a dangerous slit down the side, which had been caused when Echo had caught it on the side of the door and ripped it. Her shaggy black hair framed her pale china face and her delicate feature, and ended somewhere below her shoulder blades.
Everyone gave her an exasperated look. "What, I want to know!" When nobody else said anything and just glared at her, she scowled a little and shrunk back into her seat on the couch. "Oh, what do you expect," she grumbled, "I'm just the drummer."
Next to her, her husband Devon shifted in his seat and shifted the position of his arm, which rested on Echo's shoulders. He was wearing an old, faded t-shirt that had a picture of a skater dude, and baggy blue jeans. His brown hair was in a style reminiscent of Ben Affleck when he was young. "I really, really liked the lyrics, and I have a suggestion for the music...more of an uppity thing, instead of so mellow."
"Ok," Willow said cheerfully, wanting as much feedback as she could get. She was absolutely dying to get a new record out, especially after the success of their first two albums, and as the songwriter of the group, she had to make some big contributions. Like writing the songs themselves.
"I also have the chorus part down already, but I don't like how it goes right after this certain paragraph. But I'm thinking, if I think of another paragraph, then maybe it'll fit..."
The whole band dove right into the song, adding their own lyrics although it was Willow's job, adding percussion although that was Echo's job, and the boys remained pretty true to them making the decisions about the guitar. Echo, though, was all for the electronica part of the song. She loved working with the keyboard, and making all sorts of weird music and noises to use in the song.
The whole team was really involved in the process when there was the sound of glass breaking from outside. They all lifted their heads up, Oz and Willow exchanging looked. Oz's ears twitched back, extremely unnatural for a human, and then concentrated as though he was listening to something far away. Echo and Devon turned to watch him carefully: he was the best bodyguard, what with the ability to tune into his wolf senses whenever he liked.
"There's someone outside and..." Oz shivered, and that fact was clearly visible to the other members of the band. "I actually think it's...something."
"Oh darn, I'll get the supplies," Echo groaned, getting up off her arse and walking over to the little kitchen they had going in this apartment. She reached up for the top cabinet and opened it, starting to pull out all the ancient Christian relics. "Really, Willow, I remember you scaring MoonRaven so bad when she opened this cabinet," Echo chuckled, remembering a certain episode when their coven leader had come to visit the apartment. "I can just see the expression on her face. 'I thought you were *Jewish* and Wiccan, child! Not three whole religions! How do you split your time so?* Hmm. Quite memorable."
"Yeah, well, I'm not surprised if she buys the whole 'it's to ward off vampires' thing," Devon said wryly to Willow. "She took it pretty well when you broke the news about you and Oz being werewolves and all."
"Well, she did tell me she was a witch," Willow said, shrugging. "I say fair and fair."
Oz was slowly walking towards to the door, his ears still contorted forwards. Any person that was not used to seeing them like that would definitely be sick to their stomach. "Gimme a stake," he murmured, finally arriving at the door.
"Here." Echo closed the cabinet and tossed out some wooden stakes, teeny nail-polish bottles of holy water, and crosses to the three other people in the apartment. Then Willow, Devon, and Echo came up behind Oz, armed and ready.
Ever since Oz and Willow had left Sunnydale behind, the vampires and other supernatural forces (not counting Willow's interest in the Craft) had never bothered them. When they had moved down here to Old World Mexico, however, evil still pretty much had somewhat of a reign over here, stepped in ancient traditions. After telling Echo and Devon (heck, they had taken tons of the truth in, already) the four had gone out, bought the supplies, and generally knew what to do. It also helped that Oz was able to tap into his werewolf aspect at any time, Willow and Echo were trained in all aspects of being Wiccan, and Devon having a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. They were pretty much prepared for anything.
"It's by the fountain," Echo noted, sensing the empty pocket in the energy that flowed all around the small apartment complex in Southern Mexico. Willow nodded in affirmation, feeling the emptiness also. No doubt that Oz sensed it, for dogs and cats had always been able to spot the paranormal. Once, Willow and Echo had to perform an exorcism of the house because Oz was being driven nuts by a ghost living in one of the pasts apartments they had rented.
"I'll take your word it," Devon said as he looked out the window, pushing the vertical blinds out of the way so that he could see somewhat clearly. "I really can't tell anything in this dark. It looks like no one is there."
"Well, no one isn't there," Echo said, matching Devon's earlier tone of wryness. "Some*thing* is there."
"Give you that," Devon admitted, shrugging.
Oz opened the door and the four of them stepped out, Oz immediately changing his eyes into the werewolf form so that he could see better in the dark. "It's there alright," he admitted, feeling his hair standing up straight on end. "Who wants to get it?"
Willow was about to open her mind to call her dibs on slaying the intruding vamp when a shadow dropped from atop the porch roof and landed straight on Oz, knocking him over the banister and sending him flying three stories down to the fountain, where the other vampire waited.
"OZ!" Willow shrieked, turning to the wrought-iron stairs and quickly running down the winding steps, tightening her hold on her stake and ignoring the pain as her feet pounded against the metal. In a few seconds she had made it to the first floor, and she quickly hurried across the square to the fountain, barely registering the fact that Echo and Devon were right at her heels.
Oz was not stupid-no human being could survive behind thrown three stories down into the unforgiving earth. But his werewolf form could at least recover quickly, and the only misgiving that he had was that he had really messed up his shirt. He quickly morphed in mid-air, silently thanking Willow's friend SilverDragon, who had so meticulously shown him how to change from werewolf to human in just an instant. It had felt rather...good, to know that there were others like him, others who also had to live like he and Willow did.
Anyway, back to the point. The vampire was extremely surprised that when they reached the ground, he held in his clutches not a somewhat scrawny human, but a big, strong, and angry lycanthrope. The vampire released his grip and tried to jump off the werewolf, but Oz wasn't about to let this guy go. As the vampire crawled away, Oz jumped on his back and slashed it open with his paw, causing the vampire to let out a cry in agony.
In the building across the square, a light flicked on. A woman came to the window and tossed it open, noticing the commotion outside. Sigh, another vampire. Since this part of Mexico was still very rural, they were very much into the old beliefs, and this woman, like most of the others around these parts, knew of the existence of ancient evils. This woman was not scared. All she did was take the cross that was hanging over her bed and place it on the window, and then picked up the phone to call her aunt that lived across the street, in the apartment above the one where the werewolves/witches lived. Then she went back to sleep, not afraid at all, knowing that whatever vampire stupid enough to attack anyone in these parts would soon be annihilated by the nice people who had moved in a few months ago.
Devon and Echo, what with their experiences in Chinese/Japanese fighting, set to beating the pulp out of the vampire by the fountain, not staking it until it cried for mercy. Willow just sat by the edge of the fountain, waiting for Oz to do his stuff.
Now that the vampire was in some pain and not up to his full strength, Oz changed back into something resembling more human. He rolled away from the vampire, and then grabbed him by the shoulders. The vampire growled with ferocity, and then kicked Oz hard in the shin. Oz winced, but he just lifted the vampire off from the floor and flung over to where Willow was. Willow smiled and pushed the vampire face-first into the water, instantly setting off smoke. The vampire squealed and screamed as she plunged him fully into the deep, watching him writhe and cry out with pain. Not for nothing had she and Echo blessed all the water in this fountain.
Oz came up behind her, gathering the bits of clothing that still hung off of him around the places that needed most to be covered. Echo and Devon, done torturing their vampire, gathered around Willow. None of them made any move as to pull the vampire out of the blazing water, Willow and Oz stared with grim satisfaction as the vampire screamed for a mercy, and Willow felt extreme pleasure at seeing such an evil being suffering so. It deserved it.
"Ok, we can kill it now," she announced, crossing her arms over her chest. She was content enough already.
Oz made no move whatsoever, because his human self was still healing. Devon, stronger than Willow or Echo, reached out and pulled the vampire, who's skin had turn black and smelled faintly like a building did after it had been incinerated by a house fire. He easily shoved a stake right into the heart, and then he was left clutching at dust and air.
They were silent for a moment, collecting their thoughts. Then Echo shifted the weight on her feet. She was tired.
"G'night," she told the rest of the group, heading back towards the stairs. "We can work on the song tomorrow. Ok?"
The rest of the group shrugged.