TITLE: Free Fall [2/4]
CHALLENGE: Timeline
AUTHOR: Nymue
EMAIL: josette@aol.com
SITE: http://lesanctuaire.dreamhost.com
RATED: PG13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.
DISTRIBUTION: Lex, Pamela, Deede and Lar (if they want it). All others please ask; I'll probably say yes, but ask first.
SUMMARY: Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course ... and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning. AU exploration of what could have happened to Buffy after the portal closed.
SPOILERS: "The Gift"
FEEDBACK: Is much appreciated
***
Part Two: Rough Landing
***
It does not so much matter what happens. It is what one does when it happens that really counts.
-- Laura Ingalls Wilder
***
Hours later Buffy opened her eyes to see the white gabled roof of her bedroom huh, my bedroom illuminated by the diffused light from the partially opened windows. She vaguely remembered Mattie mentioning that the few warm winter days were simply too nice to keep the house shut up, and turned her head to gaze at the long casements. The windows were only raised about eight inches, but it was enough to allow the sheer curtains to flutter in the crisp, late fall breeze and make faint shadows on the walls. When she allowed her eyes to follow the straight lines up the juncture of the roof, she noticed the Venetian blinds completely raised and that iron scrollwork adorned the ends of the curtain rods.
It was strange, this mix of things her own yet not her own. Iron scrollwork occupied space on the same wall as her Van Gogh 'Starry Night' prints and her many ice-skating plaques and pictures, while the antique furniture had been painted in shades of white and yellow and was littered with everything from clothes to CDs to body lotions to scented candles and hair clasps. It was surreal, she decided as she sat up and swung her legs around to dangle off the bed. Padding across the room, she took stock of her clothes for the first time, belatedly noting the now crumpled skirt and coordinating twin-set as she pulled them off and left them where they landed.
A turn to the side offered her a glance into a large, full-length oval mirror, and Buffy studied herself myself in the glass. Technically there were no big differences, no scars or tattoos and pierced eyebrows, but she couldn't help but grimace as she looked in the mirror. "What possessed you to dye your hair platinum and streak it with burgundy?" she asked the picture stuck on the side of the mirror. "Cause I can think of better ways to rebel."
With no answer forthcoming, she shrugged and pulled the shoulder-length tresses into a low ponytail and dug through various drawers until she found a pair of jeans and a cotton camisole that met with her approval. The change of clothes, however, did nothing to stop the feeling that her skin was too tight, and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she paced until she finally dropped into a lotus position and drew a long, deep breath. Another soon followed, then another until she could feel herself calming ... floating within her skin borrowed skin ... reaching deep inside to find her center. The journey, one that she had mastered just within the past year, took her longer than she remembered and the center seemed off somehow.
"Of course," she grumbled, jolting out of the trance. "This isn't my body."
The trance did help, though. Pulling herself off the floor Buffy looked around to find a clock, both surprised yet unsurprised to discover that it was barely 7pm and that she could feel the first rumblings of hunger begin. "I guess I should go eat," she whispered to the empty room.
***
Hours later, stuffed with delicious food and the answers to some of her questions, Buffy made her way back up the stairs while her mind digested the newly acquired information. She had always known that her father was married to his work, but she had never considered that he might actually be good enough to lobby on a national level. It was weird, knowing he had done so well. What made everything worse was Mattie's explanation about her mother's conspicuous absence oh, God, Mommy and her avoidance when presented with subtle pushes about Sunnydale. This Buffy had lived in Sunnydale, she had no doubts about that, but something had happened there that no one wanted to talk about.
Except that it was why her mother was in a hospital.
Eyes closed from the pain of memory, Buffy toed open her door and set a small tray on the nearby dresser before she opened her eyes. Strange, that she knew this room as well as her own. Or not so strange, maybe -- this body still retained its memories, imprints of things that were seeping through her shields despite all attempts to the contrary. Shaking her head to ward off confusion, Buffy stood in the center of the room and tipped her head back to face the ceiling.
"If I were me, where would I hide my diaries?"
The answer welled up deep within her mind and she turned unflinchingly in the correct direction and soon held three small books with leather covers in her hands. She stared at the volumes for a long minute before closing the door and wedging a chair beneath the handle, a provision to insure her privacy as long as possible. Dropping onto the bed she opened one of the diaries and began to read ...
***
--May 12, 1997--
I should've known nothing would be easy. Okay, yeah, I survived the Master because Xander gave me CPR ... and yeah, the old bat's just so much dust and bone along with the Anointed One ... but Angelus and Darla are still out there. Maybe they're a little weaker now -- that fight with the Master hurt both of them -- but they'll be back. There's too much power here for them to just give it up. Giles has promised to keep an eye on things, and I made Xander and Willow promise to lay low, or better yet leave town. Wish I didn't have to go to D.C.; even with Mom, it's always so boring in the summer.
***
Buffy gasped aloud, her eyes widening. Angelus? And *Darla*? Her mind was racing with thoughts as vague images impressed themselves on her like a fuzzy television reception. How was it that the gypsy curse was broken? There seemed no mention, no indication of emotional pain in conjunction to Angelus, something she found quite unnerving for some odd reason. Why am I bothered by that, she wondered as she paged backwards through the diary, searching for answers. A few moments later Buffy found her reason.
There was no mention of Angel.
Nothing at all.
It was as if he never existed, she realized after her heart resumed beating in her throat. A world without Angel. Is this like the world without shrimp? Her mind skirted the implications of what she had found even as she wanted, no needed, to know ... until she realized that the answers were bound between the covers of the diaries. Trembling, she reached for the books once more, determined to read through them and discover just what sort of life she might have had.
***
--August 29, 1997--
Back to school, back to school.
Joy.
Giles said everything was pretty quiet all summer and so sayeth my trusty Slayerettes. God, what a moniker or title, whatever. Can't they see that I want to be alone? Summer in D.C. was just so much wasted time, even if Mattie was there to help. Can we say boring? How am I supposed to *live* there later?
And could Snyder hate me anymore?
Can Cordelia be a bigger bitch?
--August 30, 1997--
I'm the bigger bitch, not Cordelia.
That scares me.
I don't want to feel that way anymore, I just wanna be the girl I was, the Slayer I was. Bashing in the Anointed One's skull really helped matters along, because I spent all summer thinking I'd killed him even though I hadn't. Giles said the fire must have been put out but that all the ashes were the ashes of newbie vamps left to burn. Surprise, surprise, the Anointed cared nothing about his followers.
Anyway, me and Wills and Xander bonded over mochas at the Bronze tonight and made up. Cordelia was eyeing us from her perch, but I could care less. I'm back with my buds and the world's still here, so it was a good night. Oooh, and Willow's sleeping over so we can talk some more. I hated feeling like I didn't want her around, so this is of the good.
***
Guess some things never change, Buffy mused as the first diary fell closed. She flipped open the covers of the next two to find the continuation. It was a lovely piece of work; soft green tooled leather with stamped gold -- that faded classy color, not the brassy stuff found on department store diaries -- patterns along the edges in the shape of climbing vines. It was elegant and sturdy all at once, an older journal that had seen no use until she other me had written on the thick cream-colored pages. Immediately she knew it had to have been a gift from Giles. Only he would have given her such a gift.
Well, he or Angel, but ...
***
--October 27, 1997--
When Giles said he was giving me a diary I had no idea it would be something like this, though I probably should have expected it. After my other little journal burned up in the backfire -- literally -- from Willow's spell, he promised me something to write in that was not loose leaf paper. It's so different from anything I've ever owned ... it's old, a given, but it's classy and sleek and it makes me feel special. Kinda like Giles.
I can't say I miss the old one *too* much. It was just a cheap little something to write in while I looked for a new diary. I gladly sacrificed it to Willow's spell ... she's getting stronger every day, especially now that Ms. Calendar's teaching her the ropes. Giles knows a lot, yeah, but Will needs someone else too, and I think it kinda had to be a woman's touch. Anyway, she babbled an apology even after I told her not to bother -- there was nothing important written in those few pages. Just your typical vamp dusted, Xander and Cordelia in the closet stuff -- you know, the usual.
Come to think, it's probably a good thing that she burned that diary. She's not pining for Xander anymore, but I don't think she's up to knowing about X and C yet. It could hurt her more than she should ever be hurt. And I don't wanna see her hurt.
Ever.
--October 31, 1997--
Talk about a kooky Halloween. Someone tell me why I chose to dress up like an eighteenth century lady, cause I'm at a loss. No, I'm not. It was Cordelia's fault -- again, why am I surprised? -- with all her talk about me being "little miss likes to fight" and Snyder's decree that we all dress up ... I was just suckered in. I needed a costume that wasn't me, and that seemed perfect. How was I supposed to know about Giles and his sordid past with a sorcerer named Ethan?
It could have been worse. Giles might not have been able to break the spell and I would have ended up a vampire. Yeah, that's right. Trust Angelus and Darla to play dirty on Halloween. Especially Angelus. I'm not sure where Darla was most of the night (probably out wreaking havoc), but Angelus found me ... interesting, I guess. I can say now that he was disgusted by the Simpering Lady Buffy, but he stayed with me all evening as we walked through town and acted like the perfect gentleman. But when he had me bent over backwards in that warehouse ... I can shiver now, let myself be afraid now.
He made his minions hold Darla back because she was yelling and spitting and saying he was hers ... The look in his eyes wasn't hate or violence or even bloodlust.
It was just plain lust.
I have never been so scared, not even when the Master killed me. Then the spell broke and I sat up and knocked him back ... and I swear that, just for a minute, he looked even more interested than before. And Darla ... she screeched and pulled at him and dragged him away before we could fight.
I told Giles later, and he polished his glasses for a long time and then told me this would mean trouble. He's been reading up on Angelus' history ever since spring, collecting useful tidbits that might help me kill the Scourge of Europe. Cute title, bet chicks love it. Well, demon chicks. Anyway, apparently Angelus is now officially interested in me, which means I can expect him to sort of ... how did Giles put it? Oh, yes, "he will attempt to eradicate your family and friends as a form of demonic courtship." But wait -- it gets better. Darla's the jealous sort, so I can expect her to want to kill me more, and that much sooner.
Uh huh.
Gee, my life is so interesting.
Not that that was the end of it, no, it got worse. Willow saw X and C kissing after the spell was broken and asked if she could spend the night with me. Mom was still in NY so it was no problem. We talked about all sorts of stuff, from why I chose that damn dress to how she felt when she saw them. Funny, she didn't cry, said she'd shed the last of her tears over Xander that summer and was moving on. She's upset because it *Cordelia* of all people, and I kinda agree. Why Cordelia?
So, a little slumber party to round out a bad evening. And you know, it made it all worthwhile.
--November 10, 1997--
There's only supposed to be one Chosen One! Kinda goes with the whole Chosen *One* thing, right?
Right.
So where does this Kendra chick come from? And why is she here?
--November 12, 1997--
Disaster averted, confusion explained.
Since I died this past spring another Slayer was called, so, Kendra. It makes sense, I guess, and it was a good thing she was around because Angelus is really making a nuisance of himself. He shows up and exchanges a few punches then disappears, then later the next morning I learn that five people turned up dead of the Sunnydale Neck Rupture.
This has gotta stop, but I can't seem to pin him down and so far we've had no luck locating his lair, location, whatever.
What's worse is that I think he's spying on me.
--November 27, 1997--
Oh, God.
Oh, god, oh god, oh god ...
Oh. My. God.
It happened. It finally happened. I finally did it.
I kissed Willow.
Oh, my God.
Then she kissed me back.
Heaven help us both!
It started so innocently, or panicked, depending ... both, I guess. Willow all but flew through my door a couple of hours ago, flushed and terrified because Angelus had been stalking her while she walked over. And why was she out alone after dark? She didn't feel safe at home tonight, though she couldn't say why. I pushed her upstairs so she wouldn't wake Mom (who fell asleep on the couch while watching an old black and white comedy) and got her to calm down. Still, she was fidgety, wanted to stay over because her parents were in San Francisco for the week, so I just grabbed an extra blanket and we cuddled under the covers and talked.
I can't say I did it on purpose. She was worried about this new obsession Angelus has -- namely, me -- scared of the threat he posed, upset, and strangely a bit upset that Xander hadn't told her about him and Cordelia sooner. When I mentioned that it probably never crossed his mind to share about a relationship, period, but especially one with Cordelia, she snorted and said of course it didn't. Just like he never realized that she'd had a crush on him for years.
That threw me. Willow had never referred to her feelings for Xander as a crush; she'd always said that she loved him. When I asked, she sighed and told me that she'd realized over the summer that she was no longer "pining" for Xander, that her feelings had been real for a time, but they had changed without her even knowing. She credits Jesse's death as the beginning of that realization, and said the Hellmouth experience with the Master this spring settled it. I guess a near death experience will do that.
Anyhow, she didn't say anymore. We just sat in silence until I noticed she was still trembling with fear ... she babbled about everything we're facing, all the vague prophecies and the problems with Angelus and Darla ... and it just happened.
I just leaned in and pressed my lips to hers, more than a simple brush but no real action. As soon as I realized what I had done I pulled away, and she was very still as she pressed a finger to her mouth.
And a second later she kissed me back.
It was wonderful. So different from kissing Pike or Owen, but so very nice and ... sparky, was the word she used. Cause sparks started. I tingled all over and I swear I blushed.
Oh, God, what are we gonna do?
--November 28, 1997--
Willow and I talked this afternoon. It was kinda scary, full of awkward silences and we both babbled a lot, but in the end it boiled down to this: we both feel more strongly about each other than anyone else. So, we're going to see where this goes. No dating other guys, just spending more time together and whatever happens, happens. It feels a little odd, but really good all at the same time -- kinda like it was supposed to be like this. Who knows, maybe it was.
In other news ... Giles started me on sword training today, he said I needed every weapon available in case Angelus or Darla (or some new badie) decides that blades are the way to go. Hey, whatever works. And it's fun, too. At least it's better than quarterstaffs.
Nothing's up on the vamp front ... makes me think someone's planning something.
It's just too quiet.
***
The diary slipped from Buffy's numb fingers. Me and Willow, Buffy wondered. How did that happen? Well, how it happened was detailed -- a bit vaguely, but detailed all the same -- in the diaries, but she was shocked at it all the same. So many differences, but so many similarities as well ... it was just too much. Her mind reeling, Buffy listened to the house until she was sure its inhabitants were asleep (and how typical of her Dad not to come by and at least ask her about her day) before finding a pair of boots and a couple of stakes. A tailored leather jacket over the cotton camisole top completed the ensemble, and she stuffed pillows under the covers of her bed before raising the window and carefully climbing down the lattice that would be covered with roses come summer.
She landed on her feet in front of a window and automatically ducked, but sighed with relief when she peered over the sill and took in the darkened formal dining room that was closed off. Mattie had mentioned that they rarely used it, she remembered, the older British born housekeeper quietly bemoaning the way the family had simply fallen apart. As she picked her way through the yard and out of the neighborhood, noting road signs and landmarks although she seemed to know where she was going, she thought about what Mattie had said -- and what she hadn't said. Most of her talk centered around upcoming house renovations and Wesley (whom she found "quite well put together") with tangents that easily included Buffy, but very little was said about her father. And, despite her earlier outburst in the hall, Buffy found it odd that nothing was mentioned about her "illness" or her mother.
Which was damned odd, Buffy thought as she strolled through a busy, well-lit area full of restaurants, theaters and game halls, because Mom was always Mattie's favorite. Hell, Mattie had been her maternal grandparent's housekeeper when her mother was in high school. So what, she wondered, was Mattie doing in Washington with Hank Summers? Was she there because Mom was in the hospital? Still, why? In her memory, Mattie had left after Dawn was born because her mother had decided to stay home with her girls.
But Dawn was a ball of energy, a little voice in her head whispered. Who knows what really happened. Maybe Mattie would have stayed.
Maybe, she thought. But she obviously didn't, or the monks would have manipulated her memories to include Mattie afterwards ... that she had no memories of Mattie after Dawn's birth meant that Mattie must have left for another reason.
Strange, all of this. Would she have done the same things, she wondered, given the same circumstances? Possibly, she finally admitted after staring into the depths of the Potomac for close to a quarter hour. Like Alice after she went through the looking glass, Buffy sighed. Too many things to take in ...
"Something interestin' in the river tonight, pet?"
A chill ran up Buffy's spine as the familiar voice whispered in her ear, the smell of his leather and cigarettes tickling her nose. But before she could answer, he spoke again.
"Or are you thinking about jumping?"
Shocked, angry, happy ... emotions warred as she spun to face Spike, who was leaning against the rail studying her intently. "A bit subtle tonight, aren't we? What happened to those lovely pink leather pants and that gold lace corset, hmmm?"
Buffy's eyes widened as she stared at him. Pink leather and gold lace, she thought incredulously. And a *corset?* "What the hell are you talking about, Spike?"
He took a final draw from the cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot. "You, pet. Your usual attire. What'd you think I meant?"
"Quit kidding, Spike, I would never -- "
However, before she could finish the sentence, Spike had grabbed her arms and spun her around until her back was to the rail. Glaring down into her eyes he growled, "*You* might not ... but Buffy would."
Unable to speak she watched as his face shifted, his yellow demon eyes as demanding as his voice.
"So, who the hell are you?"
[end part 2]
CHALLENGE: Timeline
AUTHOR: Nymue
EMAIL: josette@aol.com
SITE: http://lesanctuaire.dreamhost.com
RATED: PG13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.
DISTRIBUTION: Lex, Pamela, Deede and Lar (if they want it). All others please ask; I'll probably say yes, but ask first.
SUMMARY: Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course ... and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning. AU exploration of what could have happened to Buffy after the portal closed.
SPOILERS: "The Gift"
FEEDBACK: Is much appreciated
***
Part Two: Rough Landing
***
It does not so much matter what happens. It is what one does when it happens that really counts.
-- Laura Ingalls Wilder
***
Hours later Buffy opened her eyes to see the white gabled roof of her bedroom huh, my bedroom illuminated by the diffused light from the partially opened windows. She vaguely remembered Mattie mentioning that the few warm winter days were simply too nice to keep the house shut up, and turned her head to gaze at the long casements. The windows were only raised about eight inches, but it was enough to allow the sheer curtains to flutter in the crisp, late fall breeze and make faint shadows on the walls. When she allowed her eyes to follow the straight lines up the juncture of the roof, she noticed the Venetian blinds completely raised and that iron scrollwork adorned the ends of the curtain rods.
It was strange, this mix of things her own yet not her own. Iron scrollwork occupied space on the same wall as her Van Gogh 'Starry Night' prints and her many ice-skating plaques and pictures, while the antique furniture had been painted in shades of white and yellow and was littered with everything from clothes to CDs to body lotions to scented candles and hair clasps. It was surreal, she decided as she sat up and swung her legs around to dangle off the bed. Padding across the room, she took stock of her clothes for the first time, belatedly noting the now crumpled skirt and coordinating twin-set as she pulled them off and left them where they landed.
A turn to the side offered her a glance into a large, full-length oval mirror, and Buffy studied herself myself in the glass. Technically there were no big differences, no scars or tattoos and pierced eyebrows, but she couldn't help but grimace as she looked in the mirror. "What possessed you to dye your hair platinum and streak it with burgundy?" she asked the picture stuck on the side of the mirror. "Cause I can think of better ways to rebel."
With no answer forthcoming, she shrugged and pulled the shoulder-length tresses into a low ponytail and dug through various drawers until she found a pair of jeans and a cotton camisole that met with her approval. The change of clothes, however, did nothing to stop the feeling that her skin was too tight, and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she paced until she finally dropped into a lotus position and drew a long, deep breath. Another soon followed, then another until she could feel herself calming ... floating within her skin borrowed skin ... reaching deep inside to find her center. The journey, one that she had mastered just within the past year, took her longer than she remembered and the center seemed off somehow.
"Of course," she grumbled, jolting out of the trance. "This isn't my body."
The trance did help, though. Pulling herself off the floor Buffy looked around to find a clock, both surprised yet unsurprised to discover that it was barely 7pm and that she could feel the first rumblings of hunger begin. "I guess I should go eat," she whispered to the empty room.
***
Hours later, stuffed with delicious food and the answers to some of her questions, Buffy made her way back up the stairs while her mind digested the newly acquired information. She had always known that her father was married to his work, but she had never considered that he might actually be good enough to lobby on a national level. It was weird, knowing he had done so well. What made everything worse was Mattie's explanation about her mother's conspicuous absence oh, God, Mommy and her avoidance when presented with subtle pushes about Sunnydale. This Buffy had lived in Sunnydale, she had no doubts about that, but something had happened there that no one wanted to talk about.
Except that it was why her mother was in a hospital.
Eyes closed from the pain of memory, Buffy toed open her door and set a small tray on the nearby dresser before she opened her eyes. Strange, that she knew this room as well as her own. Or not so strange, maybe -- this body still retained its memories, imprints of things that were seeping through her shields despite all attempts to the contrary. Shaking her head to ward off confusion, Buffy stood in the center of the room and tipped her head back to face the ceiling.
"If I were me, where would I hide my diaries?"
The answer welled up deep within her mind and she turned unflinchingly in the correct direction and soon held three small books with leather covers in her hands. She stared at the volumes for a long minute before closing the door and wedging a chair beneath the handle, a provision to insure her privacy as long as possible. Dropping onto the bed she opened one of the diaries and began to read ...
***
--May 12, 1997--
I should've known nothing would be easy. Okay, yeah, I survived the Master because Xander gave me CPR ... and yeah, the old bat's just so much dust and bone along with the Anointed One ... but Angelus and Darla are still out there. Maybe they're a little weaker now -- that fight with the Master hurt both of them -- but they'll be back. There's too much power here for them to just give it up. Giles has promised to keep an eye on things, and I made Xander and Willow promise to lay low, or better yet leave town. Wish I didn't have to go to D.C.; even with Mom, it's always so boring in the summer.
***
Buffy gasped aloud, her eyes widening. Angelus? And *Darla*? Her mind was racing with thoughts as vague images impressed themselves on her like a fuzzy television reception. How was it that the gypsy curse was broken? There seemed no mention, no indication of emotional pain in conjunction to Angelus, something she found quite unnerving for some odd reason. Why am I bothered by that, she wondered as she paged backwards through the diary, searching for answers. A few moments later Buffy found her reason.
There was no mention of Angel.
Nothing at all.
It was as if he never existed, she realized after her heart resumed beating in her throat. A world without Angel. Is this like the world without shrimp? Her mind skirted the implications of what she had found even as she wanted, no needed, to know ... until she realized that the answers were bound between the covers of the diaries. Trembling, she reached for the books once more, determined to read through them and discover just what sort of life she might have had.
***
--August 29, 1997--
Back to school, back to school.
Joy.
Giles said everything was pretty quiet all summer and so sayeth my trusty Slayerettes. God, what a moniker or title, whatever. Can't they see that I want to be alone? Summer in D.C. was just so much wasted time, even if Mattie was there to help. Can we say boring? How am I supposed to *live* there later?
And could Snyder hate me anymore?
Can Cordelia be a bigger bitch?
--August 30, 1997--
I'm the bigger bitch, not Cordelia.
That scares me.
I don't want to feel that way anymore, I just wanna be the girl I was, the Slayer I was. Bashing in the Anointed One's skull really helped matters along, because I spent all summer thinking I'd killed him even though I hadn't. Giles said the fire must have been put out but that all the ashes were the ashes of newbie vamps left to burn. Surprise, surprise, the Anointed cared nothing about his followers.
Anyway, me and Wills and Xander bonded over mochas at the Bronze tonight and made up. Cordelia was eyeing us from her perch, but I could care less. I'm back with my buds and the world's still here, so it was a good night. Oooh, and Willow's sleeping over so we can talk some more. I hated feeling like I didn't want her around, so this is of the good.
***
Guess some things never change, Buffy mused as the first diary fell closed. She flipped open the covers of the next two to find the continuation. It was a lovely piece of work; soft green tooled leather with stamped gold -- that faded classy color, not the brassy stuff found on department store diaries -- patterns along the edges in the shape of climbing vines. It was elegant and sturdy all at once, an older journal that had seen no use until she other me had written on the thick cream-colored pages. Immediately she knew it had to have been a gift from Giles. Only he would have given her such a gift.
Well, he or Angel, but ...
***
--October 27, 1997--
When Giles said he was giving me a diary I had no idea it would be something like this, though I probably should have expected it. After my other little journal burned up in the backfire -- literally -- from Willow's spell, he promised me something to write in that was not loose leaf paper. It's so different from anything I've ever owned ... it's old, a given, but it's classy and sleek and it makes me feel special. Kinda like Giles.
I can't say I miss the old one *too* much. It was just a cheap little something to write in while I looked for a new diary. I gladly sacrificed it to Willow's spell ... she's getting stronger every day, especially now that Ms. Calendar's teaching her the ropes. Giles knows a lot, yeah, but Will needs someone else too, and I think it kinda had to be a woman's touch. Anyway, she babbled an apology even after I told her not to bother -- there was nothing important written in those few pages. Just your typical vamp dusted, Xander and Cordelia in the closet stuff -- you know, the usual.
Come to think, it's probably a good thing that she burned that diary. She's not pining for Xander anymore, but I don't think she's up to knowing about X and C yet. It could hurt her more than she should ever be hurt. And I don't wanna see her hurt.
Ever.
--October 31, 1997--
Talk about a kooky Halloween. Someone tell me why I chose to dress up like an eighteenth century lady, cause I'm at a loss. No, I'm not. It was Cordelia's fault -- again, why am I surprised? -- with all her talk about me being "little miss likes to fight" and Snyder's decree that we all dress up ... I was just suckered in. I needed a costume that wasn't me, and that seemed perfect. How was I supposed to know about Giles and his sordid past with a sorcerer named Ethan?
It could have been worse. Giles might not have been able to break the spell and I would have ended up a vampire. Yeah, that's right. Trust Angelus and Darla to play dirty on Halloween. Especially Angelus. I'm not sure where Darla was most of the night (probably out wreaking havoc), but Angelus found me ... interesting, I guess. I can say now that he was disgusted by the Simpering Lady Buffy, but he stayed with me all evening as we walked through town and acted like the perfect gentleman. But when he had me bent over backwards in that warehouse ... I can shiver now, let myself be afraid now.
He made his minions hold Darla back because she was yelling and spitting and saying he was hers ... The look in his eyes wasn't hate or violence or even bloodlust.
It was just plain lust.
I have never been so scared, not even when the Master killed me. Then the spell broke and I sat up and knocked him back ... and I swear that, just for a minute, he looked even more interested than before. And Darla ... she screeched and pulled at him and dragged him away before we could fight.
I told Giles later, and he polished his glasses for a long time and then told me this would mean trouble. He's been reading up on Angelus' history ever since spring, collecting useful tidbits that might help me kill the Scourge of Europe. Cute title, bet chicks love it. Well, demon chicks. Anyway, apparently Angelus is now officially interested in me, which means I can expect him to sort of ... how did Giles put it? Oh, yes, "he will attempt to eradicate your family and friends as a form of demonic courtship." But wait -- it gets better. Darla's the jealous sort, so I can expect her to want to kill me more, and that much sooner.
Uh huh.
Gee, my life is so interesting.
Not that that was the end of it, no, it got worse. Willow saw X and C kissing after the spell was broken and asked if she could spend the night with me. Mom was still in NY so it was no problem. We talked about all sorts of stuff, from why I chose that damn dress to how she felt when she saw them. Funny, she didn't cry, said she'd shed the last of her tears over Xander that summer and was moving on. She's upset because it *Cordelia* of all people, and I kinda agree. Why Cordelia?
So, a little slumber party to round out a bad evening. And you know, it made it all worthwhile.
--November 10, 1997--
There's only supposed to be one Chosen One! Kinda goes with the whole Chosen *One* thing, right?
Right.
So where does this Kendra chick come from? And why is she here?
--November 12, 1997--
Disaster averted, confusion explained.
Since I died this past spring another Slayer was called, so, Kendra. It makes sense, I guess, and it was a good thing she was around because Angelus is really making a nuisance of himself. He shows up and exchanges a few punches then disappears, then later the next morning I learn that five people turned up dead of the Sunnydale Neck Rupture.
This has gotta stop, but I can't seem to pin him down and so far we've had no luck locating his lair, location, whatever.
What's worse is that I think he's spying on me.
--November 27, 1997--
Oh, God.
Oh, god, oh god, oh god ...
Oh. My. God.
It happened. It finally happened. I finally did it.
I kissed Willow.
Oh, my God.
Then she kissed me back.
Heaven help us both!
It started so innocently, or panicked, depending ... both, I guess. Willow all but flew through my door a couple of hours ago, flushed and terrified because Angelus had been stalking her while she walked over. And why was she out alone after dark? She didn't feel safe at home tonight, though she couldn't say why. I pushed her upstairs so she wouldn't wake Mom (who fell asleep on the couch while watching an old black and white comedy) and got her to calm down. Still, she was fidgety, wanted to stay over because her parents were in San Francisco for the week, so I just grabbed an extra blanket and we cuddled under the covers and talked.
I can't say I did it on purpose. She was worried about this new obsession Angelus has -- namely, me -- scared of the threat he posed, upset, and strangely a bit upset that Xander hadn't told her about him and Cordelia sooner. When I mentioned that it probably never crossed his mind to share about a relationship, period, but especially one with Cordelia, she snorted and said of course it didn't. Just like he never realized that she'd had a crush on him for years.
That threw me. Willow had never referred to her feelings for Xander as a crush; she'd always said that she loved him. When I asked, she sighed and told me that she'd realized over the summer that she was no longer "pining" for Xander, that her feelings had been real for a time, but they had changed without her even knowing. She credits Jesse's death as the beginning of that realization, and said the Hellmouth experience with the Master this spring settled it. I guess a near death experience will do that.
Anyhow, she didn't say anymore. We just sat in silence until I noticed she was still trembling with fear ... she babbled about everything we're facing, all the vague prophecies and the problems with Angelus and Darla ... and it just happened.
I just leaned in and pressed my lips to hers, more than a simple brush but no real action. As soon as I realized what I had done I pulled away, and she was very still as she pressed a finger to her mouth.
And a second later she kissed me back.
It was wonderful. So different from kissing Pike or Owen, but so very nice and ... sparky, was the word she used. Cause sparks started. I tingled all over and I swear I blushed.
Oh, God, what are we gonna do?
--November 28, 1997--
Willow and I talked this afternoon. It was kinda scary, full of awkward silences and we both babbled a lot, but in the end it boiled down to this: we both feel more strongly about each other than anyone else. So, we're going to see where this goes. No dating other guys, just spending more time together and whatever happens, happens. It feels a little odd, but really good all at the same time -- kinda like it was supposed to be like this. Who knows, maybe it was.
In other news ... Giles started me on sword training today, he said I needed every weapon available in case Angelus or Darla (or some new badie) decides that blades are the way to go. Hey, whatever works. And it's fun, too. At least it's better than quarterstaffs.
Nothing's up on the vamp front ... makes me think someone's planning something.
It's just too quiet.
***
The diary slipped from Buffy's numb fingers. Me and Willow, Buffy wondered. How did that happen? Well, how it happened was detailed -- a bit vaguely, but detailed all the same -- in the diaries, but she was shocked at it all the same. So many differences, but so many similarities as well ... it was just too much. Her mind reeling, Buffy listened to the house until she was sure its inhabitants were asleep (and how typical of her Dad not to come by and at least ask her about her day) before finding a pair of boots and a couple of stakes. A tailored leather jacket over the cotton camisole top completed the ensemble, and she stuffed pillows under the covers of her bed before raising the window and carefully climbing down the lattice that would be covered with roses come summer.
She landed on her feet in front of a window and automatically ducked, but sighed with relief when she peered over the sill and took in the darkened formal dining room that was closed off. Mattie had mentioned that they rarely used it, she remembered, the older British born housekeeper quietly bemoaning the way the family had simply fallen apart. As she picked her way through the yard and out of the neighborhood, noting road signs and landmarks although she seemed to know where she was going, she thought about what Mattie had said -- and what she hadn't said. Most of her talk centered around upcoming house renovations and Wesley (whom she found "quite well put together") with tangents that easily included Buffy, but very little was said about her father. And, despite her earlier outburst in the hall, Buffy found it odd that nothing was mentioned about her "illness" or her mother.
Which was damned odd, Buffy thought as she strolled through a busy, well-lit area full of restaurants, theaters and game halls, because Mom was always Mattie's favorite. Hell, Mattie had been her maternal grandparent's housekeeper when her mother was in high school. So what, she wondered, was Mattie doing in Washington with Hank Summers? Was she there because Mom was in the hospital? Still, why? In her memory, Mattie had left after Dawn was born because her mother had decided to stay home with her girls.
But Dawn was a ball of energy, a little voice in her head whispered. Who knows what really happened. Maybe Mattie would have stayed.
Maybe, she thought. But she obviously didn't, or the monks would have manipulated her memories to include Mattie afterwards ... that she had no memories of Mattie after Dawn's birth meant that Mattie must have left for another reason.
Strange, all of this. Would she have done the same things, she wondered, given the same circumstances? Possibly, she finally admitted after staring into the depths of the Potomac for close to a quarter hour. Like Alice after she went through the looking glass, Buffy sighed. Too many things to take in ...
"Something interestin' in the river tonight, pet?"
A chill ran up Buffy's spine as the familiar voice whispered in her ear, the smell of his leather and cigarettes tickling her nose. But before she could answer, he spoke again.
"Or are you thinking about jumping?"
Shocked, angry, happy ... emotions warred as she spun to face Spike, who was leaning against the rail studying her intently. "A bit subtle tonight, aren't we? What happened to those lovely pink leather pants and that gold lace corset, hmmm?"
Buffy's eyes widened as she stared at him. Pink leather and gold lace, she thought incredulously. And a *corset?* "What the hell are you talking about, Spike?"
He took a final draw from the cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot. "You, pet. Your usual attire. What'd you think I meant?"
"Quit kidding, Spike, I would never -- "
However, before she could finish the sentence, Spike had grabbed her arms and spun her around until her back was to the rail. Glaring down into her eyes he growled, "*You* might not ... but Buffy would."
Unable to speak she watched as his face shifted, his yellow demon eyes as demanding as his voice.
"So, who the hell are you?"
[end part 2]