Buffy threw her bag onto the cash desk and tried to peer into the training room in the back.
"Shop!" she cried noisily after a few moments, when it became clear that no-one was going to come out.
"Coming!" she heard Anya reply from somewhere, "I'll just be a ... oh. It's you." Entering quickly and spotting no customers, she eyed Buffy slightly disapprovingly.
"Nice to see you too, Anya," Buffy said with false cheer, "should you be leaving this place wide open?"
"Oh, it's fine," the other woman said dispassionately.
"Cause it's not your stock?" Buffy asked dryly, picking her bag up again and heading out back.
"Cause we cursed it all so bad stuff happens if it's robbed," she said matter-of-factly.
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Does Giles know?"
"It was his idea," Anya answered, moving to the till, "he's buried in his books, as I assume you're not here to girl talk with me."
"You don't do girl talk, Anya. Thanks," Buffy threw over her shoulder as she resumed her path into the training room. She slowed slightly as she entered to run an appreciative eye over the room again; it had been an unexpected, but welcome, surprise.
She saw Giles huddled in a corner, absorbed in the dusty tome he was inspecting.
"Another dream," she said by way of greeting, "Sarah again, really vivid, slaying at some upscale party. Better taste than she's showed before."
"Excuse me?" he said slightly bemused, looking up at her and pushing his glasses up in the familiar gesture.
"Clothes," she elaborated, "and guys. Same one as in the last two, but he looked ... better. Little older, maybe. And his fighting had improved."
"He was helping her hunt this time?" Giles said, his interest piqued.
"Pretty much saved her sixteenth century ass," Buffy said, hopping onto the table.
"That is odd," Giles muttered, "very few Slayers have used any kind of outside help - I was quite sure you were the first." He reached eagerly past Buffy to grab another book. She sat and waited patiently. Kind of patiently.
"I think I've located one of the other Slayers you dreamt of," he went on distractedly. He indicated another open book and Buffy picked it up, examining the portrait of a pretty redheaded girl with clear green eyes and a challenging smile. He continued, "Her name was Helene, she was called in Paris in 1738 and was quite a successful Slayer by all accounts. She lived two years, killed a high number of vampires, and gained quite a reputation throughout the vampire community ..." he noticed Buffy idly flicking through the pages of the book and finished sharply, "and always paid the utmost attention to her Watcher."
"What?" Buffy enquired, looking up at him innocently.
"Never mind," he said, observing the slight dullness of her usually sparkling eyes and, more tellingly, the purple smudges beneath them. "This is the seventh dream in ..."
"Seven nights, yeah," she said, sighing heavily. "I've never been little miss lay-in-bed, but this ... it's not exactly conducive to a restful night."
"Perhaps you could lay off slaying for a couple of nights," Giles said delicately, unsure as to how his suggestion would be received. "Just until you're feeling better."
"No," she said immediately. "I'm fine. I want to hunt."
"If you're sure," he said, watching her with renewed concern, "I'm sure Spike can be persuaded to be out there, if it's the public you're worried about."
"I said, no," she repeated firmly. "Anyway, there's no guarantee I'm going to feel better. Dreams like this might be part and parcel of being a ... really old Slayer."
He didn't answer.
"How old am I?" she asked hesitantly; she had always avoided the subject before. "For a Slayer?"
"There have been older," he said obliquely.
"How old?" she said, louder.
"Most Slayers don't live to their mid-twenties," he admitted slowly. "A significant number haven't survived to their twenties. You were called fairly early, you've done," now he sighed, reluctant to continue, "much better than most."
"So I could still have a good few years left," she said, cheered slightly.
But only slightly.
"Longer," Giles said fervently.
"I hope so," she said, "but ..." their eyes met, and he regretted the events that had caused them to show an age much older than she could claim, "but I'm prepared if it's not."
What could he say?
* * * * *
"Hey," Riley said over the pumping dance music, looking around the door. Seeing Buffy working out vigorously in the centre of the room, he stopped in the doorway for a moment, watching her fluid, sure moves as she punched and kicked with what he knew was disturbing strength and accuracy.
She didn't seem to hear him, caught up as she was in training; grinning to himself, he walked over to where she was whirling on the mats. Timing himself precisely, he reached out and grabbed her around the waist.
Buffy felt the touch and instantly spun on the intruder, grabbing its throat in a vice-like grip and throwing it to the floor with her full weight, following it down a split-second later to straddle its chest and pin it in an inescapable hold. She flipped several strands of damp blonde hair out of her eyes and looked down to see - her boyfriend.
"Oh God!" she said in shock, immediately letting go, but remaining in the same position, "I am so ... are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he reassured her, trying to hide his wince. "Just struggling to breathe."
At his words she moved to get off him, but he grabbed her hips and pulled her back down, saying with a suggestive smile, "I didn't say I minded."
She laughed uncomfortably and twisted out of his hands, rising easily and holding out a hand for him to do the same. He took it, and she pulled him up to a standing position with little effort.
"Sorry about that," she said in embarrassment, "maybe it's better if you don't interrupt me when I'm training."
"Oh, after that I won't," he assured her, grinning.
"Okay," she said, walking to the edge of the room to get a towel and water. She took a long swig, welcoming the refreshing coolness.
"You up for meeting Willow and Tara at the Bronze tonight?" Riley asked, following her over.
"Sure," she said, smiling. Then a slight shadow came over her face and she said, "Um, but I'm going to sleep at home tonight, Riley."
"Oh. Okay," he said, moving to take her in his arms, "not quite as much privacy as my place, but if you want to ..."
"No," she said, cutting him off, "me. I'm going to."
"Oh," he said. "Huh."
"It's not anything," she hurried to soothe, "It's just - you know I haven't been sleeping well, and I don't want to disturb you as well."
His face brightened and he said, "That's it? I don't mind that, Buffy."
"I do," she said. "You need your rest." Her gaze flicked involuntarily to his chest, where his heart beat at a regular rhythm.
"Right," he said, knowing her reasons, trying to brush it off anyway. "No problem. I'll pick you up later"
He walked out of the room without looking back.
"Riley. Riley!" she called helplessly. She looked after him for a few moments, biting her lip, then started to get dressed.
* * * * *
Sarah groaned and rolled over as a fine shaft of light hit her eyes. She reached over sleepily to bring the heavy blankets over her and gasped when her arm hit an unfamiliar body. The unfamiliar body mumbled in annoyance and pulled her smoothly against his expansive chest, curling around her with a possessive arm heavy over her waist.
She came fully awake with an unwelcome realisation.
"David! You have to go!" she shrieked, as quietly as possible.
She felt his sigh on the back of her neck, exchanged a moment later for gentle nips on the nape of her neck. She gasped despite herself, arching into him, then remembered her Watcher in the next room. The flare of desire immediately abated and she tried to push him off.
"David, please! Oliver could come in at any moment!"
"He won't," he said, his voice muffled in her thick brown hair.
She dragged herself away from him.
"He could," she scolded, then felt herself being teased from her worry as he smiled at her devilishly.
But she still evaded him when he sought her again.
"No," she said with much dignity, wrapping a blanket around herself as she stepped from the bed gracefully. "You have to get dressed and go."
"With such temptation so close?" he said pleadingly, gazing up at her with chocolate eyes.
She felt her heart melt, but stood resolute.
"I cannot be caught with a man in my room, David. No more than you can be caught here."
"No-one will catch us," he whispered, favouring her with a devastating smile.
No matter; two could play at that. She directed a dazzling smile back at him.
"They could," she said, then relented, climbing back onto the bed and moving sinuously over to his kneeling form. She embraced him, hands tangling in his blond hair. Unusual colouring, her David. There were whispers about him, about his mother, in the village; but no more than about her and her supposed guardian.
She banished the thoughts and they kissed, first sweetly, then more fiercely.
"I love you," he murmured, and where he would then have acceded to her earlier request and got up, she held him down with her Slayer's strength, pushing him into the rumpled bedclothes.
"I love you," she said back, the smile returning, then followed him down, the blanket falling forgotten at the side of the bed as they joined again.
* * * * *
Buffy woke languorously, rested and at peace, stretching luxuriously before reaching for her lover. Not finding him, she growled lightly, then, still in a sleepy haze, picked up the phone and dialled from memory.
"The number you dialled has not been recognised," a perky, mechanical voice informed her, "the number you dialled has not been recognised."
Buffy flopped back, annoyed, running over the number automatically. She was sure she had it right ...
Buffy remembered who owned the deep brown eyes she'd been trying to call just seconds before she recalled the dream they'd just featured in.
* * * * *
"Shop!" she cried noisily after a few moments, when it became clear that no-one was going to come out.
"Coming!" she heard Anya reply from somewhere, "I'll just be a ... oh. It's you." Entering quickly and spotting no customers, she eyed Buffy slightly disapprovingly.
"Nice to see you too, Anya," Buffy said with false cheer, "should you be leaving this place wide open?"
"Oh, it's fine," the other woman said dispassionately.
"Cause it's not your stock?" Buffy asked dryly, picking her bag up again and heading out back.
"Cause we cursed it all so bad stuff happens if it's robbed," she said matter-of-factly.
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Does Giles know?"
"It was his idea," Anya answered, moving to the till, "he's buried in his books, as I assume you're not here to girl talk with me."
"You don't do girl talk, Anya. Thanks," Buffy threw over her shoulder as she resumed her path into the training room. She slowed slightly as she entered to run an appreciative eye over the room again; it had been an unexpected, but welcome, surprise.
She saw Giles huddled in a corner, absorbed in the dusty tome he was inspecting.
"Another dream," she said by way of greeting, "Sarah again, really vivid, slaying at some upscale party. Better taste than she's showed before."
"Excuse me?" he said slightly bemused, looking up at her and pushing his glasses up in the familiar gesture.
"Clothes," she elaborated, "and guys. Same one as in the last two, but he looked ... better. Little older, maybe. And his fighting had improved."
"He was helping her hunt this time?" Giles said, his interest piqued.
"Pretty much saved her sixteenth century ass," Buffy said, hopping onto the table.
"That is odd," Giles muttered, "very few Slayers have used any kind of outside help - I was quite sure you were the first." He reached eagerly past Buffy to grab another book. She sat and waited patiently. Kind of patiently.
"I think I've located one of the other Slayers you dreamt of," he went on distractedly. He indicated another open book and Buffy picked it up, examining the portrait of a pretty redheaded girl with clear green eyes and a challenging smile. He continued, "Her name was Helene, she was called in Paris in 1738 and was quite a successful Slayer by all accounts. She lived two years, killed a high number of vampires, and gained quite a reputation throughout the vampire community ..." he noticed Buffy idly flicking through the pages of the book and finished sharply, "and always paid the utmost attention to her Watcher."
"What?" Buffy enquired, looking up at him innocently.
"Never mind," he said, observing the slight dullness of her usually sparkling eyes and, more tellingly, the purple smudges beneath them. "This is the seventh dream in ..."
"Seven nights, yeah," she said, sighing heavily. "I've never been little miss lay-in-bed, but this ... it's not exactly conducive to a restful night."
"Perhaps you could lay off slaying for a couple of nights," Giles said delicately, unsure as to how his suggestion would be received. "Just until you're feeling better."
"No," she said immediately. "I'm fine. I want to hunt."
"If you're sure," he said, watching her with renewed concern, "I'm sure Spike can be persuaded to be out there, if it's the public you're worried about."
"I said, no," she repeated firmly. "Anyway, there's no guarantee I'm going to feel better. Dreams like this might be part and parcel of being a ... really old Slayer."
He didn't answer.
"How old am I?" she asked hesitantly; she had always avoided the subject before. "For a Slayer?"
"There have been older," he said obliquely.
"How old?" she said, louder.
"Most Slayers don't live to their mid-twenties," he admitted slowly. "A significant number haven't survived to their twenties. You were called fairly early, you've done," now he sighed, reluctant to continue, "much better than most."
"So I could still have a good few years left," she said, cheered slightly.
But only slightly.
"Longer," Giles said fervently.
"I hope so," she said, "but ..." their eyes met, and he regretted the events that had caused them to show an age much older than she could claim, "but I'm prepared if it's not."
What could he say?
* * * * *
"Hey," Riley said over the pumping dance music, looking around the door. Seeing Buffy working out vigorously in the centre of the room, he stopped in the doorway for a moment, watching her fluid, sure moves as she punched and kicked with what he knew was disturbing strength and accuracy.
She didn't seem to hear him, caught up as she was in training; grinning to himself, he walked over to where she was whirling on the mats. Timing himself precisely, he reached out and grabbed her around the waist.
Buffy felt the touch and instantly spun on the intruder, grabbing its throat in a vice-like grip and throwing it to the floor with her full weight, following it down a split-second later to straddle its chest and pin it in an inescapable hold. She flipped several strands of damp blonde hair out of her eyes and looked down to see - her boyfriend.
"Oh God!" she said in shock, immediately letting go, but remaining in the same position, "I am so ... are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he reassured her, trying to hide his wince. "Just struggling to breathe."
At his words she moved to get off him, but he grabbed her hips and pulled her back down, saying with a suggestive smile, "I didn't say I minded."
She laughed uncomfortably and twisted out of his hands, rising easily and holding out a hand for him to do the same. He took it, and she pulled him up to a standing position with little effort.
"Sorry about that," she said in embarrassment, "maybe it's better if you don't interrupt me when I'm training."
"Oh, after that I won't," he assured her, grinning.
"Okay," she said, walking to the edge of the room to get a towel and water. She took a long swig, welcoming the refreshing coolness.
"You up for meeting Willow and Tara at the Bronze tonight?" Riley asked, following her over.
"Sure," she said, smiling. Then a slight shadow came over her face and she said, "Um, but I'm going to sleep at home tonight, Riley."
"Oh. Okay," he said, moving to take her in his arms, "not quite as much privacy as my place, but if you want to ..."
"No," she said, cutting him off, "me. I'm going to."
"Oh," he said. "Huh."
"It's not anything," she hurried to soothe, "It's just - you know I haven't been sleeping well, and I don't want to disturb you as well."
His face brightened and he said, "That's it? I don't mind that, Buffy."
"I do," she said. "You need your rest." Her gaze flicked involuntarily to his chest, where his heart beat at a regular rhythm.
"Right," he said, knowing her reasons, trying to brush it off anyway. "No problem. I'll pick you up later"
He walked out of the room without looking back.
"Riley. Riley!" she called helplessly. She looked after him for a few moments, biting her lip, then started to get dressed.
* * * * *
Sarah groaned and rolled over as a fine shaft of light hit her eyes. She reached over sleepily to bring the heavy blankets over her and gasped when her arm hit an unfamiliar body. The unfamiliar body mumbled in annoyance and pulled her smoothly against his expansive chest, curling around her with a possessive arm heavy over her waist.
She came fully awake with an unwelcome realisation.
"David! You have to go!" she shrieked, as quietly as possible.
She felt his sigh on the back of her neck, exchanged a moment later for gentle nips on the nape of her neck. She gasped despite herself, arching into him, then remembered her Watcher in the next room. The flare of desire immediately abated and she tried to push him off.
"David, please! Oliver could come in at any moment!"
"He won't," he said, his voice muffled in her thick brown hair.
She dragged herself away from him.
"He could," she scolded, then felt herself being teased from her worry as he smiled at her devilishly.
But she still evaded him when he sought her again.
"No," she said with much dignity, wrapping a blanket around herself as she stepped from the bed gracefully. "You have to get dressed and go."
"With such temptation so close?" he said pleadingly, gazing up at her with chocolate eyes.
She felt her heart melt, but stood resolute.
"I cannot be caught with a man in my room, David. No more than you can be caught here."
"No-one will catch us," he whispered, favouring her with a devastating smile.
No matter; two could play at that. She directed a dazzling smile back at him.
"They could," she said, then relented, climbing back onto the bed and moving sinuously over to his kneeling form. She embraced him, hands tangling in his blond hair. Unusual colouring, her David. There were whispers about him, about his mother, in the village; but no more than about her and her supposed guardian.
She banished the thoughts and they kissed, first sweetly, then more fiercely.
"I love you," he murmured, and where he would then have acceded to her earlier request and got up, she held him down with her Slayer's strength, pushing him into the rumpled bedclothes.
"I love you," she said back, the smile returning, then followed him down, the blanket falling forgotten at the side of the bed as they joined again.
* * * * *
Buffy woke languorously, rested and at peace, stretching luxuriously before reaching for her lover. Not finding him, she growled lightly, then, still in a sleepy haze, picked up the phone and dialled from memory.
"The number you dialled has not been recognised," a perky, mechanical voice informed her, "the number you dialled has not been recognised."
Buffy flopped back, annoyed, running over the number automatically. She was sure she had it right ...
Buffy remembered who owned the deep brown eyes she'd been trying to call just seconds before she recalled the dream they'd just featured in.
* * * * *