From: "Ryan Kinkor" kinkorknight@earthlink.net
Subject: FIC: Harsh Legacy: Brand New Day (Part 1)
Date: Saturday, October 26, 2002 3:32 PM
Title: Brand New Day (First in the Harsh Legacy Series)
Author: Ryan T. Kinkor -- kinkorknight@earthlink.net
Copyrights: All characters are property of Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon and
such. Not to be sold or resold or anything. Please no suing.
Feedback: Always. Need it, want it.
Spoilers: Alternative S6, spoilers up to "The Gift." You've been warned.
Rating: PG-13. I've lost track of exactly what counts as mind-corrupting to
young people these days, so it's my best guess. If you watch the show, you
can read this.
Disclaimers and author comments: This is the first of a long running series
I designed back in the summer of 2001 through the summer of 2002. Buffy's
death moved me enough to give this a try. I didn't set out to recreate BtVS
or make another S6 because I was unhappy with the real thing. While I was
unhappy later on after watching it, for various reasons, I began this series
long before seeing any part of S6. For me, this was purely about writing a
story that came to mind -- a very long story that lasted an entire year, but
a story's a story. I had fun doing it, and I know other people enjoyed the
series as it played out, so I call it a success.
For those of you willing to give this series a try, I thank you and I
hope you enjoy it.
Part One: The Replacement
When a dream repeats itself, it's an issue. When it repeats itself
thirty times, it's more than that.
He watched the whole routine again, trying to note new things he missed
the last few times. Most of it is the same. It's a grassy cemetery, during a
beautiful sunny day (Sunnydale?), in the middle of a funeral for someone.
There are quite a few people attending, but the dream directs itself to the
mourners directly around the gravesite. He doesn't know any of them, but
he's gotten to know their faces through sheer repetition.
A preacher is standing near the tombstone, mouthing verses or saying
prayers; he can't tell what, because the dream has the sound muted. Near
him, a brown-haired girl and a redheaded girl are holding hands and crying,
though the redheaded one seems to be doing enough crying for the both of
them. To their left is another couple (and why he assumes the two girls are
a couple, he can't say why), this time a guy and a girl, also holding hands
and also crying, though not in the same intensity as the redhead. Left, and
there's a middle-aged man, perhaps not that old but looking like it right
now, with his arm around a brown-haired young girl who looked in her middle
teens, who is also competing with the redhead in the sobbing category. They
seem to be the anomaly here, her age countering his. The others look about
early to mid-twenties.
There's a switch in focus, and for a second he sees a figure off in the
distance. He seems to be watching from the shadow of a group of trees, so
it's hard to make him out. Why the dream takes him into account, no
explanation is given. The focus switches again to the foreground, and then
swings toward the tombstone, and on the tombstone there's written...
He woke up.
He was back in the cabin. Same four walls, same cot that served as a
bed, same wood smell that permeated the dwelling. It took him a second to
get his bearings, and another second to remember his name. The dream always
turned him into an ethereal spectator, and he hated it. Well, part of him
hated it, and the other part found it oddly appealing. But there was nothing
new in the dream to care about.
He had an idea why the dream was coming to him, but he didn't plan on
honoring the idea. They had him once, they couldn't have him back. Who
"they" were, he wasn't sure of. But it wasn't enough to make him want to
think about it anymore. He got up, stretched, pulled on a gray shirt and
black pants and headed to the door leading outside.
The air was a little cool, since the treeline would block the sun for
another hour or so, but he never shivered. He wasn't sure if could shiver
anymore. He exited the cabin and took a massive whiff of the forest air. On
three sides of the tiny cabin grew strong evergreens, encasing his home in a
shroud of nature. The last side, the south, was a clearing that led to a
dirt road. It was the only road out here, and the only path back to
civilization. He didn't have a car. He didn't need it really. He only
traveled the road maybe four times a year for certain supplies and reading
material in a town thirty miles away.
Ritual: it's how he lived his life now. Some would call it a super-rut,
but no one was here to make such comments. He absently touched his short
black hair, which is streaked in places with flashes of silver. He had to
perform his ritual now, to clear away thoughts and focus on the moment. It's
how he lived; it's how he survived. Without any more pauses, he started
jogging north, through the trees and into the forest.
He returns to the cabin roughly three hours later, a little fatigued but
mentally satisfied. He started heading toward the south side of the cabin,
where the door is, when he stopped and crouched down. He had just gotten a
whiff of the air, and something new was in the clearing. Still in a crouch,
he approached the cabin and slinked along the side, keeping himself out of
direct sight of the clearing. As he neared the corner, a voice cuts through
air. It seems human, though that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Not in
his line of work, anyway.
"Mr. Valmont!"
The caller knew his name. Valmont paused for a second, mapping out a
tactical scenario. He could only detect three new scents, and one of them
was exhaust from a car. So there must be only two of them, and they smelled
human enough. They could still be planning to ambush him, but he figured
that he could handle whatever feeble efforts they managed. It wasn't
prideful boasting, it was only what he knew was the truth of his life. Two
humans weren't a threat.
Valmont rounded the corner. There are two suited men in the clearing.
One, a well-built goon in a black suit, was leaning against a Jeep 4X4. The
other is almost to the cabin and is wearing a blue suit. They both see him
coming, Black Suit reaching his hand inside his coat. Blue Suit raised his
hand toward his comrade and Black Suit seemed to relax a little. Not caring
about whatever Black Suit had prepared to draw out of his coat, Valmont
rapidly approaches Blue Suit, stopping a few feet from him. Blue Suit,
wearing thin glasses and a broad smile, held his hand out to Valmont and
said, "It's nice to know that our information about you is still current,
Mr. Valmont."
Valmont ignored Blue Suit's offered hand and frowned heavily at him.
"Owing that I don't get out much anymore, I can't imagine that it was hard
to find me. Though I believe I've made it clear in the past how much I don't
like being found."
Blue Suit dropped his hand, his smile slipping. Black Suit seemed a
little
more agitated now, but he doesn't reach into his coat. Blue Suit adopts a
more stern posture and remarks, "Such hostility is unwarranted, Mr. Valmont.
We think you may like what we're proposing. And you've done such splendid
work in the past."
"I don't keep tract."
"We do, though." Blue Suit motions toward the cabin door calmly. "Can we
do this inside, Mr. Valmont? I didn't bring my bug spray out here."
Part of Valmont wanted to drop kick Blue Suit, then break Black Suit's
arms for good measure. *The audacity of these guys,* he thought, *coming in
here and acting like we were old pals.* But the other part, the part he
suppressed on a daily basis, knew what they were proposing... and hungered
for it.
Minutes later, the three men were inside the cabin. Black Suit kept his
arms crossed while he leaned against the cabin door, doing his best thug
impression. Valmont was more amused than anything, but he kept his mouth
from curling into a smile. If Blue Suit actually thought Black Suit could
save him here...
"You understand, don't you, that it will be temporary?" Blue Suit was
sitting on a small wooden stool, which was a little too short for him and
made him wriggle around at times trying to find a comfortable position to be
in. Valmont sat on his cot.
"Of course it's temporary. If you've actually done good record keeping,
you'd know that most things in my life are of the temporary type." Valmont
couldn't help getting in a little jab.
A little chagrined, Blue Suit continued speaking. "Yes, of course. But
we'd only need you to do this for a few months at most. The situation will
resolve itself by then, a replacement will come, and you can return...
here," he says, gesturing at the cabin walls.
A little perplexed, Valmont asked, "The last guys who asked me to help
out, the other Watchers about ten years ago, told me a few Slayer-type
things. When one Slayer dies, another is 'called,' or whatever. Why hasn't
that happened here?
Blue Suit, a little less confidently, replied, "Normally, that is how it
works. But there was an accident with the current.... I mean, the previous
Slayer. She had a near-death moment, and in doing so 'called' another Slayer
into being. But when she died this time, there was no 'calling.' The only
Slayer now is in a maximum security prison near Los Angeles."
"So why can't you spring her? I thought you had some clout with the
legal system in the States."
"Even if we could, she's considered hostile and dangerous. The Council
would never allow her back on board. As is, they believe that she's
receiving an adequate punishment for her previous crimes."
Valmont, with a look a bewilderment, got up and paced back and forth.
"Gee, you guys really know how to screw up, don't you? Exactly how does this
translate into a temporary job?"
Taken aback, Blue Suit stood up. "We aren't to blame for this. The
situation was out of our hands for a time. We now have to step in and take a
firmer approach. Otherwise, the consequences may be dire. And I promise you,
the situation will be temporary."
Valmont stopped pacing and gave Blue Suit an extremely serious look.
"You know, I stopped the whole 'greater good' crap when I realized exactly
how groups like yours define the term. And I won't stand by while someone
goes and does wetwork while I know about it."
Blue Suit flashed Valmont an equally serious look, though not as
fearsome as Valmont made it. "That is unfounded, and neither is it your
concern. Regardless, the Hellmouth is undefended and requires someone's
attention. Innocents will suffer. People will die. If you really are the
Valmont in our records, can you ignore that 'greater good?'"
Valmont turned away and looked into the corner of his room. His head
flashes with memories of battles and horrors, friends lost and people dying.
A life full of pain and now this stuffed bird wanted to add to it. He had
promised himself ten years ago to end the heroics, and he had kept his word.
Until now.
The dream. A funeral. The Hellmouth. Sunnydale. The Slayer? Why would
he, of all people, be dreaming that? And yet, he knew that the dream would
continue, as it would every other night, until he found the answer. And some
part of him, the part not dead or stone cold, felt he had to find out.
"Damn it," he cursed. And Blue Suit began to smile. He knew he had him.
********
Giles woke up to his alarm clock, resisting an instinctive urge to pound
it into junk. He did look at the alarm long enough to ascertain that it was
6:00am, his usual waking hour. After a moment of transition from groggy to
merely sleepy, he got out of bed, put a robe around himself, and headed for
the kitchen to make some coffee. In the hallway, he finally became aware
of the sound of the TV in the living room, which he knew had been off the
night before. *Spike,* Giles thought. *He must have come over and stayed the
night again. And probably enjoyed the contents of the liquor cabinet, no
doubt.*
He exited the hallway into the living room, but instead of finding a
semi-sober vampire, he found Dawn sitting on the couch, watching some vapid
infomercial. She had a blank stare, as if she was watching through the TV,
into the wall behind it. She made no effort to acknowledge Giles' entrance.
She was in her PJs with the multi-colored butterflies.
Giles went over and sat on the couch next to Dawn. The motion finally
jogged Dawn from her thoughts and she turned her face to Giles. She had
dark bags under her eyes and a weariness in her expression that Giles knew
didn't come from sleep deprivation. She gave a little smile and said,
"Sorry. Was the TV on too loud?"
Giles reached for the remote and turned the volume down on the TV. He
had watched over Dawn during the last four months and it was only the last
two weeks that she had started suffering from some kind of sleeping problem.
"No," he said, "it was fine. Are you?"
Dawn turned her head back toward the TV, though Giles doubted that she
was even trying to watch it. "It supposed to get easier as time goes on,
right? That's what everyone says. And I thought it was getting easier.
But..." She stopped speaking and started to stare again.
"You had the dream again." Giles spoke with quiet concern. She'd been
having the dream every other night, and every time she experienced it she
seemed to get more tired and disconnected. School was starting up in another
week, and she had shown next to no interest in getting ready for it.
Already, her daily activities were consisting of milling around the house
with Spike, who was over almost every day trying to keep her company. And
Giles didn't think Spike's habits were helping Dawn much at all. He always
came with a bottle or two of some strong beer for his own self-medication.
Sometimes Xander or Willow would also come by, but even their visits didn't
elevate Dawn's mood.
Dawn spoke again, staring off into oblivion as she talked. "I want it to
stop. I want to move on. But I can't sleep anymore without... without seeing
her. Hearing her. Sometimes I think Mom's there too, but the last nights,
it's all her. I want to sleep, but it's too hard." As she spoke, tears began
to bead in her eyes and run down her cheeks. Giles reached over,
pulled her close to him, and hugged her. She closed her eyes and quietly
sobbed.
"We all miss her, Dawn," Giles spoke as soothingly as he could. "I've
lost count of the number of bad dreams I've had over the last months. Some
part of us still has to mourn, and until we're done mourning, it won't get
easier. But they are people here who love you and who'll be here to help you
through as many bad dreams as needed." He fell silent, and for the next few
minutes they just sat on the couch, embracing each other and their pain.
It was a knock at the door that caused them to separate. Dawn began to
wipe the tears from her face as Giles stood up to answer the door. He could
already guess who it was. His arrival was becoming highly predictable. Giles
didn't even bother to look through the viewing hole in the door before he
unlocked it and opened it.
"Morning, Giles. Another day approaches. Can I get in before it burns
me?"
"Spike." Instead of letting him by, Giles stepped outside and closed the
door behind him. "We need to talk first."
Spike, a little anxious about being outside minutes away from sunrise,
looked around nervously. "Look, I know I've been taking a little of the hard
stuff from your stash. I promise I'll pay you..."
"No, Spike, though thank you for confirming my suspicions. This is about
Dawn."
"Oh," Spike replied with a measure of concern. "She having the dreams
still?"
"Yes, and I'm worrying that they're beginning to take a bigger toll on
her than I thought. I'd like you to watch her carefully today, and for the
next few whiles. And I want you to leave that," -- Giles motioned at Spike's
brown paper bag under his left arm-- "out of the picture."
Spike, looking a little forlornly at his sack and its contents, hands it
over to Giles, saying, "Hey, anything for the Little Bit. But you don't
think anything serious is happening with her, right?"
The look on Giles' face was enough to tell Spike how serious Giles
thought of Dawn's situation. "She's not getting better. She wakes up sobbing
some nights. She never wants to talk about the dreams, but I can guess at
their nature. I fear she may be heading toward depression. She's strong,
but she's still only a young girl, and after everything that's happened to
her this last year..."
"Yeah, I get the idea. I'll be on the watch. She starts taking a nose
dive on the mood scale, I'll let you know right out." Giles never wanted
Spike to become part of the group, but he did believe Spike cared about
Dawn. That by itself seemed like a giant, reality-wrenching concept, but
there it was.
Spike started to head towards the door, but Giles still blocked him.
"You have to be the mature one here, Spike. Otherwise, I will bar you from
coming around again. Buffy may have let you walk this long, but don't expect
me to be as nice about it as she was. I only let you stay with Dawn because
she seems to take comfort in your presence. If you give me any reason..."
"You'll stake me in a heartbeat," Spike replied, somewhat flippant. "I
promised Buffy I'd watch Dawn and I'm going to live up to it, so to speak.
It's....it's all I have to look forward to, anyway. Can I go in now?"
Convinced that he had said what was needed, Giles opened the door and
went inside, followed by Spike.
********
"Hello, Giles. Ready for another day of making money and selling magic
stuff to the unknowing?"
"Yes, right. Morning to you too, Anya." Anya's exuberant greeting did
nothing to lift Giles' mood, but at least it wasn't making it worse. They
were both outside the Magic Box magic shop as Giles unlocked the door and
let them in. He had left Dawn with Spike, as he had almost daily the last
few months, and she had seemed somewhat chipper as he had left for work.
Still, he felt some guilt for wanting to mind the store instead of being
supportive to Dawn. The store had kept him busy over the last months, and
that had given him less time to think, and to remember.
Anya, not the most empathic ex-demon, kept up her cheerful banter as she
headed to the cash registers to prepare them for the day. "Seems like sales
keep going up and up. At the rate things are going, you might be able to
give me a raise soon."
"Yes, well, the lack of a Slayer does tend to force people into
protecting themselves through alternative means," Giles replied.
The mention of the Slayer took Anya's mood down a notch. "Well, I mean,
sales could be up for any number of reasons. Lice epidemic, mice epidemic,
flea epidemic...."
"Anya!" Giles interrupted. "It doesn't have to always be about curses,
don't you think?"
Somewhat glumly, Anya looked down toward the floor. "Sorry. I just going
with my knowledge base." She left it at that and continued sorting the cash.
Giles walked toward the back rooms for other preparations, but then
stopped and turned around to face Anya. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be sour.
I'm just a bit distracted today."
Anya turned her face up towards Giles and wore a concerned expression.
"It's Dawn, right? She's still not doing well?"
"No." Giles might have said more, but just then someone came through the
door. Willow was standing in the doorway, and Giles wondered if she might
have heard the last comment about Dawn. But if she had, she made no
indication.
"Hey, Giles. Just coming in to stock up on all things Wicca, as
usual," Willow said in a fairly bright but tempered fashion.
Giles allowed a small smile onto his face. "Morning, Willow. We haven't
gotten the fresher stuff in yet, shipping delays and all, but if you want to
wait a little bit the truck should be along soon."
"Oh, I have time. Tara's getting school supplies and I still have to
make out my final class schedule. I'll bum around here for a bit if you
don't mind.
"Of course not. I have a new copy of Wicca Weekly if you need some
reading material."
"Thanks, but I already subscribe to it." She said a quick hello to Anya
and settled at one of the tables at the rear of the store.
The front door opened again and Xander popped through, dressed in his
work clothes and holding a small paper sack. Anya immediately went over to
see him and the two of them kissed. With a smile, she says, "Xander. You
came to wish me a good work day?"
With a goofy grin on his face, Xander replied, "Actually, I came to wish
you a good lunch." He gave the sack to Anya, who took it rather
less-than-enthusiastically.
"Oh, yes. I did forget that. I wouldn't want to miss the tuna sandwich
and apple combo. I wouldn't want to have to buy my lunch or anything."
"Yes, well, remember we're trying to be economical now. Saving up for
other things, you know?" Xander and Anya hadn't told anyone about their
engagement yet. Recent events had fouled the mood a bit, and neither of them
had felt right about making plans so soon after their friend's death. Xander
was still thinking ahead, though, and trying to save for a nice ceremony.
Anya tended to have expensive tastes.
Anya's face went from disappointment back to cheerful. "Well, the good
news is that maybe I can get a raise soon and we won't have to be so
'economical' in the future."
Xander was a little disbelieving about a raise, but decided to let Anya
have her moment. He then saw Willow and Giles in the back. "I'm going to go
say hi before I head to work. You want to do lunch in the park?"
Anya, as cheerfully as she could muster, said, "Sure. You bring your
bag, I'll bring mine." Then an actual customer came through the door and she
headed off to greet him.
Xander went to the rear of the store and greeted Giles and Willow. "It's
getting kinda rare for us to meet like this. I'm not sure I like that."
Giles took a seat at Willow's table and motioned Xander to sit down as
well. In a quieter voice, he said, "We all have divergent lives now, and
that by itself isn't a bad thing. Still, I think we may have lost some of
our cohesion when we lost..." He paused in quiet reflection, as did Willow
and Xander. "Anyway, if you have a moment, there's something I should
discuss with you two."
"Uh, actually, Giles," Willow spoke out first, "I wanted to say first
that I sorta heard you and Anya talking about Dawn. I was wondering if
there's anything I could do."
At Dawn's mention, Xander also spoke up, "Yeah. I know she's taken all
of it pretty hard. I mean, this whole summer basically sucked rocks. I felt
like finding a cave and hiding from the world, and if it wasn't for the fact
that the caves around here are full of demons, I might have tried it. I
can't imagine how she's dealing."
"Dawn was what I was going to talk about," Giles said. "She seems to be
having trouble coping, and I'm at a loss as to what to do. I thought about a
counselor for her, but I don't know any here in Sunnydale that would read
talk about demons and vampires as anything other than psychological
delusion. The Council has a couple of psychologists in their employ, but
they're hard to reach."
Xander and Willow were silent. It had been hard enough for them to come
to terms with Buffy's death. The idea of trying to find some counselor that
understood what they had gone through and wouldn't treat Dawn or any of them
like complete loons sounded next to impossible. Willow piped up with, "At
the very least, we could get the gang together tonight, throw a little
dinner together. Show a little love. We haven't done that for a few weeks."
"Yes, though..." Giles paused, then decided he better not beat around
the bush now. "I might as well tell you. The Council is planning on
reassigning me soon, perhaps in the next two weeks. Most likely, it will be
away from Sunnydale and back in London."
Willow and Xander exchanged shocked stares, first between themselves,
then at Giles. Xander broke his shock first. "You're leaving? I mean, just
like that?"
"It's not just like that, Xander. The Council has been debating the
issue since Buffy's death. A Watcher needs a Slayer to look after. If I'm
going to work for the Council, I have to go where they send me. Since I'm
not very popular at the moment, I'll probably get a research position back
in London." He looked away from the others and said, "After all this, I
don't think I have the heart to take on another charge."
"But, what about the store? What about the Hellmouth? What about Dawn?"
said Willow, her face falling.
Giles looked at Willow sternly. "The store will either be sold or" --
with
a little hesitation -- "handed over to Anya. The Hellmouth will still be
here.
Nothing I do will change that. I can only hope that it keeps as quiet as it
has been, since we may not get another Slayer for a long time. And as for
Dawn, her father will eventually surface and take custody of her."
"Yeah, great," Xander said with a bitter tone, "he doesn't show for
Joyce's funeral, and then he doesn't show for Buffy's. But we hand Dawn over
to him lickety-split when he does show up."
"He's made himself hard to reach, I agree," Giles said. "But he's still
Dawn's father, and I'm sure he'll respond quickly enough when he gets word
of what has happened. But, until then, she may have to go into foster care."
Willow looked horrified at the idea. "What? That's nuts. We can take
care of her. We're adults. I pay bills and taxes and stuff."
"You might recall how hard it was for me to gain temporary custody of
her," Giles said flatly. "I hope they will allow her to stay with one of
you, but I'm not optimistic."
"It's because we're weird role-models, right?" Xander said. "I can just
see Anya trying to act normal during some interview with a social worker."
He sighed.
Crestfallen, Giles sighed himself. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do
about this. The Council would make my life unpleasant if I refused them this
time around." With that, the table fell silent, the three of them trapped in
their thoughts, remembering what they had lost and what they were about to
lose.
********
The Jeep 4X4 was coming down the cracked highway, heading south to
Sunnydale. It was just starting to enter the outskirts of the city when it
pulled off the road near the dusty remains of an Exxon gas station. The rear
door opened and Valmont exited the vehicle, pulling out a gray duffel bag
and slinging it over his shoulder. The front passenger side door opened, and
out came Blue Suit as well. He held up his right hand to Valmont, motioning
him to wait.
"Are you sure you don't want us to drive you in?" Blue Suit said. "It's
still several miles to the downtown sections."
Looking off into the distance, Valmont sniffed the air repeatedly,
getting a feel of the land. "This is how I always start out. You guys can
go. I'm on the job now."
Blue Suit hesitated a few seconds, then reached into his coat pocket and
pulled out a slip of paper. He then gave it to Valmont and said, "That's the
address of the current Watcher in the city. He won't be here much longer,
but he'll be our liaison to you for now. I suggest you contact him ASAP."
With that, he got back in the Jeep. The Jeep then turned back onto the
highway and sped on into the city.
Valmont was relieved to be rid of those two. He had spent two long and
annoying days traveling from his Oregon cabin down to Sunnydale. Now, he had
some recon work to do. He started walking along the highway, taking in the
view and the smells. He didn't like cities much, but he could deal with it.
It was just another wilderness to him, though one made of fabricated
materials instead of natural growth. It was already getting warm, even at
9:00am in the morning. He was almost starting to regret wearing his usual
gray and black ensemble. He usually dressed for more northern climates, not
late summer in southern California.
He stopped thinking about climate and worked out his itinerary for the
day. By the afternoon, he should hit downtown and have gotten a good feel of
the layout of the city. He'd find a low-key motel room to make his base of
operations and grab a bite to eat.
Then, it would be night. And the real work would begin.
CONTINUED IN PART TWO
Subject: FIC: Harsh Legacy: Brand New Day (Part 1)
Date: Saturday, October 26, 2002 3:32 PM
Title: Brand New Day (First in the Harsh Legacy Series)
Author: Ryan T. Kinkor -- kinkorknight@earthlink.net
Copyrights: All characters are property of Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon and
such. Not to be sold or resold or anything. Please no suing.
Feedback: Always. Need it, want it.
Spoilers: Alternative S6, spoilers up to "The Gift." You've been warned.
Rating: PG-13. I've lost track of exactly what counts as mind-corrupting to
young people these days, so it's my best guess. If you watch the show, you
can read this.
Disclaimers and author comments: This is the first of a long running series
I designed back in the summer of 2001 through the summer of 2002. Buffy's
death moved me enough to give this a try. I didn't set out to recreate BtVS
or make another S6 because I was unhappy with the real thing. While I was
unhappy later on after watching it, for various reasons, I began this series
long before seeing any part of S6. For me, this was purely about writing a
story that came to mind -- a very long story that lasted an entire year, but
a story's a story. I had fun doing it, and I know other people enjoyed the
series as it played out, so I call it a success.
For those of you willing to give this series a try, I thank you and I
hope you enjoy it.
Part One: The Replacement
When a dream repeats itself, it's an issue. When it repeats itself
thirty times, it's more than that.
He watched the whole routine again, trying to note new things he missed
the last few times. Most of it is the same. It's a grassy cemetery, during a
beautiful sunny day (Sunnydale?), in the middle of a funeral for someone.
There are quite a few people attending, but the dream directs itself to the
mourners directly around the gravesite. He doesn't know any of them, but
he's gotten to know their faces through sheer repetition.
A preacher is standing near the tombstone, mouthing verses or saying
prayers; he can't tell what, because the dream has the sound muted. Near
him, a brown-haired girl and a redheaded girl are holding hands and crying,
though the redheaded one seems to be doing enough crying for the both of
them. To their left is another couple (and why he assumes the two girls are
a couple, he can't say why), this time a guy and a girl, also holding hands
and also crying, though not in the same intensity as the redhead. Left, and
there's a middle-aged man, perhaps not that old but looking like it right
now, with his arm around a brown-haired young girl who looked in her middle
teens, who is also competing with the redhead in the sobbing category. They
seem to be the anomaly here, her age countering his. The others look about
early to mid-twenties.
There's a switch in focus, and for a second he sees a figure off in the
distance. He seems to be watching from the shadow of a group of trees, so
it's hard to make him out. Why the dream takes him into account, no
explanation is given. The focus switches again to the foreground, and then
swings toward the tombstone, and on the tombstone there's written...
He woke up.
He was back in the cabin. Same four walls, same cot that served as a
bed, same wood smell that permeated the dwelling. It took him a second to
get his bearings, and another second to remember his name. The dream always
turned him into an ethereal spectator, and he hated it. Well, part of him
hated it, and the other part found it oddly appealing. But there was nothing
new in the dream to care about.
He had an idea why the dream was coming to him, but he didn't plan on
honoring the idea. They had him once, they couldn't have him back. Who
"they" were, he wasn't sure of. But it wasn't enough to make him want to
think about it anymore. He got up, stretched, pulled on a gray shirt and
black pants and headed to the door leading outside.
The air was a little cool, since the treeline would block the sun for
another hour or so, but he never shivered. He wasn't sure if could shiver
anymore. He exited the cabin and took a massive whiff of the forest air. On
three sides of the tiny cabin grew strong evergreens, encasing his home in a
shroud of nature. The last side, the south, was a clearing that led to a
dirt road. It was the only road out here, and the only path back to
civilization. He didn't have a car. He didn't need it really. He only
traveled the road maybe four times a year for certain supplies and reading
material in a town thirty miles away.
Ritual: it's how he lived his life now. Some would call it a super-rut,
but no one was here to make such comments. He absently touched his short
black hair, which is streaked in places with flashes of silver. He had to
perform his ritual now, to clear away thoughts and focus on the moment. It's
how he lived; it's how he survived. Without any more pauses, he started
jogging north, through the trees and into the forest.
He returns to the cabin roughly three hours later, a little fatigued but
mentally satisfied. He started heading toward the south side of the cabin,
where the door is, when he stopped and crouched down. He had just gotten a
whiff of the air, and something new was in the clearing. Still in a crouch,
he approached the cabin and slinked along the side, keeping himself out of
direct sight of the clearing. As he neared the corner, a voice cuts through
air. It seems human, though that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Not in
his line of work, anyway.
"Mr. Valmont!"
The caller knew his name. Valmont paused for a second, mapping out a
tactical scenario. He could only detect three new scents, and one of them
was exhaust from a car. So there must be only two of them, and they smelled
human enough. They could still be planning to ambush him, but he figured
that he could handle whatever feeble efforts they managed. It wasn't
prideful boasting, it was only what he knew was the truth of his life. Two
humans weren't a threat.
Valmont rounded the corner. There are two suited men in the clearing.
One, a well-built goon in a black suit, was leaning against a Jeep 4X4. The
other is almost to the cabin and is wearing a blue suit. They both see him
coming, Black Suit reaching his hand inside his coat. Blue Suit raised his
hand toward his comrade and Black Suit seemed to relax a little. Not caring
about whatever Black Suit had prepared to draw out of his coat, Valmont
rapidly approaches Blue Suit, stopping a few feet from him. Blue Suit,
wearing thin glasses and a broad smile, held his hand out to Valmont and
said, "It's nice to know that our information about you is still current,
Mr. Valmont."
Valmont ignored Blue Suit's offered hand and frowned heavily at him.
"Owing that I don't get out much anymore, I can't imagine that it was hard
to find me. Though I believe I've made it clear in the past how much I don't
like being found."
Blue Suit dropped his hand, his smile slipping. Black Suit seemed a
little
more agitated now, but he doesn't reach into his coat. Blue Suit adopts a
more stern posture and remarks, "Such hostility is unwarranted, Mr. Valmont.
We think you may like what we're proposing. And you've done such splendid
work in the past."
"I don't keep tract."
"We do, though." Blue Suit motions toward the cabin door calmly. "Can we
do this inside, Mr. Valmont? I didn't bring my bug spray out here."
Part of Valmont wanted to drop kick Blue Suit, then break Black Suit's
arms for good measure. *The audacity of these guys,* he thought, *coming in
here and acting like we were old pals.* But the other part, the part he
suppressed on a daily basis, knew what they were proposing... and hungered
for it.
Minutes later, the three men were inside the cabin. Black Suit kept his
arms crossed while he leaned against the cabin door, doing his best thug
impression. Valmont was more amused than anything, but he kept his mouth
from curling into a smile. If Blue Suit actually thought Black Suit could
save him here...
"You understand, don't you, that it will be temporary?" Blue Suit was
sitting on a small wooden stool, which was a little too short for him and
made him wriggle around at times trying to find a comfortable position to be
in. Valmont sat on his cot.
"Of course it's temporary. If you've actually done good record keeping,
you'd know that most things in my life are of the temporary type." Valmont
couldn't help getting in a little jab.
A little chagrined, Blue Suit continued speaking. "Yes, of course. But
we'd only need you to do this for a few months at most. The situation will
resolve itself by then, a replacement will come, and you can return...
here," he says, gesturing at the cabin walls.
A little perplexed, Valmont asked, "The last guys who asked me to help
out, the other Watchers about ten years ago, told me a few Slayer-type
things. When one Slayer dies, another is 'called,' or whatever. Why hasn't
that happened here?
Blue Suit, a little less confidently, replied, "Normally, that is how it
works. But there was an accident with the current.... I mean, the previous
Slayer. She had a near-death moment, and in doing so 'called' another Slayer
into being. But when she died this time, there was no 'calling.' The only
Slayer now is in a maximum security prison near Los Angeles."
"So why can't you spring her? I thought you had some clout with the
legal system in the States."
"Even if we could, she's considered hostile and dangerous. The Council
would never allow her back on board. As is, they believe that she's
receiving an adequate punishment for her previous crimes."
Valmont, with a look a bewilderment, got up and paced back and forth.
"Gee, you guys really know how to screw up, don't you? Exactly how does this
translate into a temporary job?"
Taken aback, Blue Suit stood up. "We aren't to blame for this. The
situation was out of our hands for a time. We now have to step in and take a
firmer approach. Otherwise, the consequences may be dire. And I promise you,
the situation will be temporary."
Valmont stopped pacing and gave Blue Suit an extremely serious look.
"You know, I stopped the whole 'greater good' crap when I realized exactly
how groups like yours define the term. And I won't stand by while someone
goes and does wetwork while I know about it."
Blue Suit flashed Valmont an equally serious look, though not as
fearsome as Valmont made it. "That is unfounded, and neither is it your
concern. Regardless, the Hellmouth is undefended and requires someone's
attention. Innocents will suffer. People will die. If you really are the
Valmont in our records, can you ignore that 'greater good?'"
Valmont turned away and looked into the corner of his room. His head
flashes with memories of battles and horrors, friends lost and people dying.
A life full of pain and now this stuffed bird wanted to add to it. He had
promised himself ten years ago to end the heroics, and he had kept his word.
Until now.
The dream. A funeral. The Hellmouth. Sunnydale. The Slayer? Why would
he, of all people, be dreaming that? And yet, he knew that the dream would
continue, as it would every other night, until he found the answer. And some
part of him, the part not dead or stone cold, felt he had to find out.
"Damn it," he cursed. And Blue Suit began to smile. He knew he had him.
********
Giles woke up to his alarm clock, resisting an instinctive urge to pound
it into junk. He did look at the alarm long enough to ascertain that it was
6:00am, his usual waking hour. After a moment of transition from groggy to
merely sleepy, he got out of bed, put a robe around himself, and headed for
the kitchen to make some coffee. In the hallway, he finally became aware
of the sound of the TV in the living room, which he knew had been off the
night before. *Spike,* Giles thought. *He must have come over and stayed the
night again. And probably enjoyed the contents of the liquor cabinet, no
doubt.*
He exited the hallway into the living room, but instead of finding a
semi-sober vampire, he found Dawn sitting on the couch, watching some vapid
infomercial. She had a blank stare, as if she was watching through the TV,
into the wall behind it. She made no effort to acknowledge Giles' entrance.
She was in her PJs with the multi-colored butterflies.
Giles went over and sat on the couch next to Dawn. The motion finally
jogged Dawn from her thoughts and she turned her face to Giles. She had
dark bags under her eyes and a weariness in her expression that Giles knew
didn't come from sleep deprivation. She gave a little smile and said,
"Sorry. Was the TV on too loud?"
Giles reached for the remote and turned the volume down on the TV. He
had watched over Dawn during the last four months and it was only the last
two weeks that she had started suffering from some kind of sleeping problem.
"No," he said, "it was fine. Are you?"
Dawn turned her head back toward the TV, though Giles doubted that she
was even trying to watch it. "It supposed to get easier as time goes on,
right? That's what everyone says. And I thought it was getting easier.
But..." She stopped speaking and started to stare again.
"You had the dream again." Giles spoke with quiet concern. She'd been
having the dream every other night, and every time she experienced it she
seemed to get more tired and disconnected. School was starting up in another
week, and she had shown next to no interest in getting ready for it.
Already, her daily activities were consisting of milling around the house
with Spike, who was over almost every day trying to keep her company. And
Giles didn't think Spike's habits were helping Dawn much at all. He always
came with a bottle or two of some strong beer for his own self-medication.
Sometimes Xander or Willow would also come by, but even their visits didn't
elevate Dawn's mood.
Dawn spoke again, staring off into oblivion as she talked. "I want it to
stop. I want to move on. But I can't sleep anymore without... without seeing
her. Hearing her. Sometimes I think Mom's there too, but the last nights,
it's all her. I want to sleep, but it's too hard." As she spoke, tears began
to bead in her eyes and run down her cheeks. Giles reached over,
pulled her close to him, and hugged her. She closed her eyes and quietly
sobbed.
"We all miss her, Dawn," Giles spoke as soothingly as he could. "I've
lost count of the number of bad dreams I've had over the last months. Some
part of us still has to mourn, and until we're done mourning, it won't get
easier. But they are people here who love you and who'll be here to help you
through as many bad dreams as needed." He fell silent, and for the next few
minutes they just sat on the couch, embracing each other and their pain.
It was a knock at the door that caused them to separate. Dawn began to
wipe the tears from her face as Giles stood up to answer the door. He could
already guess who it was. His arrival was becoming highly predictable. Giles
didn't even bother to look through the viewing hole in the door before he
unlocked it and opened it.
"Morning, Giles. Another day approaches. Can I get in before it burns
me?"
"Spike." Instead of letting him by, Giles stepped outside and closed the
door behind him. "We need to talk first."
Spike, a little anxious about being outside minutes away from sunrise,
looked around nervously. "Look, I know I've been taking a little of the hard
stuff from your stash. I promise I'll pay you..."
"No, Spike, though thank you for confirming my suspicions. This is about
Dawn."
"Oh," Spike replied with a measure of concern. "She having the dreams
still?"
"Yes, and I'm worrying that they're beginning to take a bigger toll on
her than I thought. I'd like you to watch her carefully today, and for the
next few whiles. And I want you to leave that," -- Giles motioned at Spike's
brown paper bag under his left arm-- "out of the picture."
Spike, looking a little forlornly at his sack and its contents, hands it
over to Giles, saying, "Hey, anything for the Little Bit. But you don't
think anything serious is happening with her, right?"
The look on Giles' face was enough to tell Spike how serious Giles
thought of Dawn's situation. "She's not getting better. She wakes up sobbing
some nights. She never wants to talk about the dreams, but I can guess at
their nature. I fear she may be heading toward depression. She's strong,
but she's still only a young girl, and after everything that's happened to
her this last year..."
"Yeah, I get the idea. I'll be on the watch. She starts taking a nose
dive on the mood scale, I'll let you know right out." Giles never wanted
Spike to become part of the group, but he did believe Spike cared about
Dawn. That by itself seemed like a giant, reality-wrenching concept, but
there it was.
Spike started to head towards the door, but Giles still blocked him.
"You have to be the mature one here, Spike. Otherwise, I will bar you from
coming around again. Buffy may have let you walk this long, but don't expect
me to be as nice about it as she was. I only let you stay with Dawn because
she seems to take comfort in your presence. If you give me any reason..."
"You'll stake me in a heartbeat," Spike replied, somewhat flippant. "I
promised Buffy I'd watch Dawn and I'm going to live up to it, so to speak.
It's....it's all I have to look forward to, anyway. Can I go in now?"
Convinced that he had said what was needed, Giles opened the door and
went inside, followed by Spike.
********
"Hello, Giles. Ready for another day of making money and selling magic
stuff to the unknowing?"
"Yes, right. Morning to you too, Anya." Anya's exuberant greeting did
nothing to lift Giles' mood, but at least it wasn't making it worse. They
were both outside the Magic Box magic shop as Giles unlocked the door and
let them in. He had left Dawn with Spike, as he had almost daily the last
few months, and she had seemed somewhat chipper as he had left for work.
Still, he felt some guilt for wanting to mind the store instead of being
supportive to Dawn. The store had kept him busy over the last months, and
that had given him less time to think, and to remember.
Anya, not the most empathic ex-demon, kept up her cheerful banter as she
headed to the cash registers to prepare them for the day. "Seems like sales
keep going up and up. At the rate things are going, you might be able to
give me a raise soon."
"Yes, well, the lack of a Slayer does tend to force people into
protecting themselves through alternative means," Giles replied.
The mention of the Slayer took Anya's mood down a notch. "Well, I mean,
sales could be up for any number of reasons. Lice epidemic, mice epidemic,
flea epidemic...."
"Anya!" Giles interrupted. "It doesn't have to always be about curses,
don't you think?"
Somewhat glumly, Anya looked down toward the floor. "Sorry. I just going
with my knowledge base." She left it at that and continued sorting the cash.
Giles walked toward the back rooms for other preparations, but then
stopped and turned around to face Anya. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be sour.
I'm just a bit distracted today."
Anya turned her face up towards Giles and wore a concerned expression.
"It's Dawn, right? She's still not doing well?"
"No." Giles might have said more, but just then someone came through the
door. Willow was standing in the doorway, and Giles wondered if she might
have heard the last comment about Dawn. But if she had, she made no
indication.
"Hey, Giles. Just coming in to stock up on all things Wicca, as
usual," Willow said in a fairly bright but tempered fashion.
Giles allowed a small smile onto his face. "Morning, Willow. We haven't
gotten the fresher stuff in yet, shipping delays and all, but if you want to
wait a little bit the truck should be along soon."
"Oh, I have time. Tara's getting school supplies and I still have to
make out my final class schedule. I'll bum around here for a bit if you
don't mind.
"Of course not. I have a new copy of Wicca Weekly if you need some
reading material."
"Thanks, but I already subscribe to it." She said a quick hello to Anya
and settled at one of the tables at the rear of the store.
The front door opened again and Xander popped through, dressed in his
work clothes and holding a small paper sack. Anya immediately went over to
see him and the two of them kissed. With a smile, she says, "Xander. You
came to wish me a good work day?"
With a goofy grin on his face, Xander replied, "Actually, I came to wish
you a good lunch." He gave the sack to Anya, who took it rather
less-than-enthusiastically.
"Oh, yes. I did forget that. I wouldn't want to miss the tuna sandwich
and apple combo. I wouldn't want to have to buy my lunch or anything."
"Yes, well, remember we're trying to be economical now. Saving up for
other things, you know?" Xander and Anya hadn't told anyone about their
engagement yet. Recent events had fouled the mood a bit, and neither of them
had felt right about making plans so soon after their friend's death. Xander
was still thinking ahead, though, and trying to save for a nice ceremony.
Anya tended to have expensive tastes.
Anya's face went from disappointment back to cheerful. "Well, the good
news is that maybe I can get a raise soon and we won't have to be so
'economical' in the future."
Xander was a little disbelieving about a raise, but decided to let Anya
have her moment. He then saw Willow and Giles in the back. "I'm going to go
say hi before I head to work. You want to do lunch in the park?"
Anya, as cheerfully as she could muster, said, "Sure. You bring your
bag, I'll bring mine." Then an actual customer came through the door and she
headed off to greet him.
Xander went to the rear of the store and greeted Giles and Willow. "It's
getting kinda rare for us to meet like this. I'm not sure I like that."
Giles took a seat at Willow's table and motioned Xander to sit down as
well. In a quieter voice, he said, "We all have divergent lives now, and
that by itself isn't a bad thing. Still, I think we may have lost some of
our cohesion when we lost..." He paused in quiet reflection, as did Willow
and Xander. "Anyway, if you have a moment, there's something I should
discuss with you two."
"Uh, actually, Giles," Willow spoke out first, "I wanted to say first
that I sorta heard you and Anya talking about Dawn. I was wondering if
there's anything I could do."
At Dawn's mention, Xander also spoke up, "Yeah. I know she's taken all
of it pretty hard. I mean, this whole summer basically sucked rocks. I felt
like finding a cave and hiding from the world, and if it wasn't for the fact
that the caves around here are full of demons, I might have tried it. I
can't imagine how she's dealing."
"Dawn was what I was going to talk about," Giles said. "She seems to be
having trouble coping, and I'm at a loss as to what to do. I thought about a
counselor for her, but I don't know any here in Sunnydale that would read
talk about demons and vampires as anything other than psychological
delusion. The Council has a couple of psychologists in their employ, but
they're hard to reach."
Xander and Willow were silent. It had been hard enough for them to come
to terms with Buffy's death. The idea of trying to find some counselor that
understood what they had gone through and wouldn't treat Dawn or any of them
like complete loons sounded next to impossible. Willow piped up with, "At
the very least, we could get the gang together tonight, throw a little
dinner together. Show a little love. We haven't done that for a few weeks."
"Yes, though..." Giles paused, then decided he better not beat around
the bush now. "I might as well tell you. The Council is planning on
reassigning me soon, perhaps in the next two weeks. Most likely, it will be
away from Sunnydale and back in London."
Willow and Xander exchanged shocked stares, first between themselves,
then at Giles. Xander broke his shock first. "You're leaving? I mean, just
like that?"
"It's not just like that, Xander. The Council has been debating the
issue since Buffy's death. A Watcher needs a Slayer to look after. If I'm
going to work for the Council, I have to go where they send me. Since I'm
not very popular at the moment, I'll probably get a research position back
in London." He looked away from the others and said, "After all this, I
don't think I have the heart to take on another charge."
"But, what about the store? What about the Hellmouth? What about Dawn?"
said Willow, her face falling.
Giles looked at Willow sternly. "The store will either be sold or" --
with
a little hesitation -- "handed over to Anya. The Hellmouth will still be
here.
Nothing I do will change that. I can only hope that it keeps as quiet as it
has been, since we may not get another Slayer for a long time. And as for
Dawn, her father will eventually surface and take custody of her."
"Yeah, great," Xander said with a bitter tone, "he doesn't show for
Joyce's funeral, and then he doesn't show for Buffy's. But we hand Dawn over
to him lickety-split when he does show up."
"He's made himself hard to reach, I agree," Giles said. "But he's still
Dawn's father, and I'm sure he'll respond quickly enough when he gets word
of what has happened. But, until then, she may have to go into foster care."
Willow looked horrified at the idea. "What? That's nuts. We can take
care of her. We're adults. I pay bills and taxes and stuff."
"You might recall how hard it was for me to gain temporary custody of
her," Giles said flatly. "I hope they will allow her to stay with one of
you, but I'm not optimistic."
"It's because we're weird role-models, right?" Xander said. "I can just
see Anya trying to act normal during some interview with a social worker."
He sighed.
Crestfallen, Giles sighed himself. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do
about this. The Council would make my life unpleasant if I refused them this
time around." With that, the table fell silent, the three of them trapped in
their thoughts, remembering what they had lost and what they were about to
lose.
********
The Jeep 4X4 was coming down the cracked highway, heading south to
Sunnydale. It was just starting to enter the outskirts of the city when it
pulled off the road near the dusty remains of an Exxon gas station. The rear
door opened and Valmont exited the vehicle, pulling out a gray duffel bag
and slinging it over his shoulder. The front passenger side door opened, and
out came Blue Suit as well. He held up his right hand to Valmont, motioning
him to wait.
"Are you sure you don't want us to drive you in?" Blue Suit said. "It's
still several miles to the downtown sections."
Looking off into the distance, Valmont sniffed the air repeatedly,
getting a feel of the land. "This is how I always start out. You guys can
go. I'm on the job now."
Blue Suit hesitated a few seconds, then reached into his coat pocket and
pulled out a slip of paper. He then gave it to Valmont and said, "That's the
address of the current Watcher in the city. He won't be here much longer,
but he'll be our liaison to you for now. I suggest you contact him ASAP."
With that, he got back in the Jeep. The Jeep then turned back onto the
highway and sped on into the city.
Valmont was relieved to be rid of those two. He had spent two long and
annoying days traveling from his Oregon cabin down to Sunnydale. Now, he had
some recon work to do. He started walking along the highway, taking in the
view and the smells. He didn't like cities much, but he could deal with it.
It was just another wilderness to him, though one made of fabricated
materials instead of natural growth. It was already getting warm, even at
9:00am in the morning. He was almost starting to regret wearing his usual
gray and black ensemble. He usually dressed for more northern climates, not
late summer in southern California.
He stopped thinking about climate and worked out his itinerary for the
day. By the afternoon, he should hit downtown and have gotten a good feel of
the layout of the city. He'd find a low-key motel room to make his base of
operations and grab a bite to eat.
Then, it would be night. And the real work would begin.
CONTINUED IN PART TWO