Part 13 - Returned
Buffy opened her eyes, slowly raised her head. And looked at Faith, gaze tracing the dark hair, the pale skin, looking at the closed eyes, the slightly parted lips. The grey sweatsuit that Cordelia had leant her. That she'd been wearing until – Wesley had done the spell. As soon as she moved, Angel had hurried forward, Wesley restraining him gently with a hand on his shoulder. Angel shrugged him off impatiently, frowing, and leaned down to look into her eyes. Nearby, Faith stirred, eyes opening, flickering, head rising slowly. She moaned.
Buffy smiled shakily, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. Opened her mouth - shook her head as she realised she couldn't speak. She nodded frantically, trying to convey with her eyes that she was herself again, that they were no longer looking at Faith in her body.
Angel straightened and looked at Wesley, who nodded confirmation. "A handy little thing," he began. "Built into the spell itself. It enables the caster," he touched his chest, "in this case, me, to see the – aura, if you like, of the switchees, I suppose you'd call them. Remember the spell I did to make sure her claim in the beginning was real, that she was Buffy in Faith's body?" Angel nodded slightly, gesturing for him to hurry up. Cordelia sighed, bored now with the whole thing. The switch was done, she thought, why did he always have to – lecture? He was too much like Giles that way. "Well, it's a mini version of that. Their auras? Are now perfect matches for the bodies they inhabit." He frowned. "Except for that gaping whole in Buffy's, of course. But we can put her powers back and plug that one up." He smiled widely, folding his arms, thoroughly pleased with himself.
He turned then to look at Faith, who was glaring, screaming obscenities at them, now that she could speak. "My, my. Where did you learn that language?" he said, disapprovingly. "Well" he continued, "as we agreed before, I think I have something that might – help her." He paused.
"Mmmph – mmmph mpmphhm mmphmmph," Buffy tried to speak over the din of Faith's curses and threats.
"Wesley? The charm?" Angel queried.
"Charm?" Wesley said vaguely. He glanced at Buffy and blushed. "Oh, yes, sorry." He spoke a single word and Buffy's voice was released. He made a curious gesture, almost as though catching something – and flung it at Faith with another word. Her face reddened as her voice was abruptly cut off, struggling futilely to speak for a moment, then screaming wordlessly in anger.
"Thank you! Thank you all - so much," Buffy whispered, still almost disbelieving that she was herself again, completed, whole. She looked down at her body, wriggling slightly against the chains that still held her. "Can you let me go now? Please?" she asked. She turned her head to look up at Wesley. Angel had moved behind her and begun to release her. "Are you going to do – that thing, you said? The spell you found?" She looked at Faith, silent now, who was staring at them in anger and alarm, eyes dark and smouldering with impotent rage, listening intently to their words.
Cordelia sighed loudly. "Well, can we get on with it? You've sorted out all the stuff, so let's do it! Give Buffy back her Slayer-whatever and make Faith a nice, good girl, and we can all get back to normal, already."
"Well," Wesley said, glaring at Cordelia, "I was going to suggest a break but if you want to carry on – I mean," he gestured at Faith, "she's not going anywhere for a little while. It's not easy, doing these large spells, you know." He sniffed. "It does take some effort."
Angel rose from behind Buffy, holding a length of chain. He dropped it, listening to it clatter as it hit the floor and said slowly, "Stop it." He looked at them, staring longest at the dark haired, sultry Faith. He shook his head briefly. "I think we should do it all now. Finish everything." He smiled down at Buffy. "I'll finish this in a moment. But now – I think we ought to carry on with Faith. Before any last minute crisis starts, or Cordelia suddenly has another vision or it all goes wrong in some way."
Buffy nodded quickly. "OK – sounds good to me. Wouldn't want her to – break loose, or anything. I can wait. It's, you know, quite comfortable really. 'Cept for the chains, and all," she responded, smiling slightly, already slipping back to be her old self.
Wesley shrugged. "Well, as you wish." He crossed the room, picking up the heavy yet strangely fragile Orb from its cushion on a table. Age radiated from it. Carefully he handed it to Angel. "You know what to do with this," he said. "To return to Buffy what was stolen from her, and make sure it can never be used again." He nodded at Angel who took the Orb solemnly, reverently. "You have to break it – as I speak the last word of the invocation. Exactly as I say it."
Angel nodded again, impatiently. "We've been through this, Wesley. Let's do it." He looked at Faith, who closed her eyes and slumped back in the chair, perhaps realising finally that she was defeated. "And then – it's your turn."
Wesley stood silently for a moment, eyes closed, lamplight shining from the surface of his glasses. He took a deep breath, raised both arms, and began to chant, voice rising and falling. Buffy watched worriedly. This was it? This would turn her – back into a Slayer?
She questioned briefly if this was what she wanted, but it was too late, too late, too late to speak, Wesley's voice rising towards the conclusion, Angel readying the Orb above his head, face taut with concentration as he watched Wesley. The final word boomed out, and Angel brought the Orb down with all his considerable strength, smashing it into the floor at Buffy's feet. She jerked back in the chair, stiff, slammed by the force the emanated from the broken silver shards, something dark and glittering pouring from it, rising, flowing into her mouth, filling her. She could feel the warmth rising up inside her. Abruptly the flow ended, leaving her gasping for breath.
Wesley peered intently at her again. "Healed," he pronounced with satisfaction. "The aura is healed. Everything is as it should be. Now – we just have her," he nodded at Faith, face serious, voice clipped and cold, "to deal with."
