TITLE: Free Fall [3/4]
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 Three: Gaining a Foothold
***
I do not want to keep to myself,
but none see the brand on my forehead
save you and the few who can look me in the face.
I pass unseen, my shawl wrapped around me.
Choosing to walk alone, I return to myself.
-- Gloria Anzaldua, from "Cancion de la Diosa de la Noche"
***
In less than a space of a heartbeat Buffy realized several things. That the cold spray on the back of her neck was due to the wind whipping across the water, that her position was precarious as long as she inhabited this body because her senses were dulled and her reaction time slightly off ...
And that even in this world she knew Spike in a more-than-enemy sense.
Hazel-green eyes met yellow and held the gaze for an indeterminable amount of time, watching as demonic amber slowly faded back to the human blue to which she was more accustomed. It was odd, she reflected, the way it happened. She had once watched Angel's eyes change, so she knew it was not an instantaneous transformation, yet it was not one that was easily observable either. It was a slow shift, one to the other. It started with the spark of the demonic, that flare that foretold death and pain, disappearing from the orbs and was followed by tiny amber flecks slowly being replaced by the human blue. Eventually every speck of amber was replaced, but whereas with Angel she could see his soul in those fathomless depths in Spike there was none to shine through ... yet his cerulean orbs were still full of emotion.
His face was blank except for those expressive eyes until he lifted the scarred eyebrow. Buffy tried desperately to blank her own face but failed, her emotions too explosive and close to the surface of this body that was just ever so slightly wrong.
"You're not Buffy," he said slowly. "But you are Buffy."
Gee, he's good, she thought, almost too good. How does he know me her so well? And do I want to know? "I'm Buffy Summers," she replied, unconsciously deciding to trust him with the truth that she could tell no one else. "I'm just not the Buffy you know ... I mean, this is her body, yeah, but I'm in the driver's seat and I don't know why ... "
"How?"
Buffy shook her head, platinum and burgundy locks whipping about wildly. "I'm not sure ... I don't know!"
"Still," he countered. "There must have been something ... maybe a spell?"
Mention of a spell, and the reason she was standing in front of him and not in whatever constituted the afterlife, catapulted Buffy's already tumultuous thoughts into a head spin. Her thoughts were all but unrecognizable as various conflicting memories flitted across her mindscape --
Mattie left when Dawn was born because Mom decided to quit working and stay home ...
Mattie left because Mom and Dad had a fight about Mom working ... Mom chose to stay home ... and Mattie hated the fights ... she thought Mom deserved better ...
Mattie never left, she just moved to Sunnydale with us and when we finally moved to Washington after ... after Mom was attacked she came with us to take care of me and Dad 'til Mom's better ...
"What the hell?" she whispered, raising a hand to her head.
"Pet?" came the concerned voice of her companion. "You okay?"
"No," she whispered. "No, I'm not okay. I'm as far from 'okay' as it's possible to get!"
"You look fine, a bit peaked, but fine," he replied, crossing his arms and staring.
"I'm not fine!" she yelled. "I'm not even supposed to be here! I should be dead, Spike. Dead! Do you understand? Dead! I made that jump to close the portal because death is my gift, and I don't know how I got here or why I'm here or what is going on! Do you understand?"
Exhausted, Buffy collapsed onto the pavement and cried, mourning her life and her loved ones and once more giving voice to all the frustrations and confusion she had felt over the past seven hours. Tears streamed from her eyes and her chest heaved with the force of her grief as she let it all out, careless that she was showing weakness in front of her enemy.
For his part, Spike took all this in with a mind that had seen innumerable oddities in his 126 years as a vampire. However, seeing his erstwhile mortal enemy, drinking partner and all-around nemesis crying at his feet didn't fill him with any sort of pleasure. No, not even a shred, he realized with something akin to shock. All those years with Drusilla must have rubbed off, he thought wryly, otherwise he would have considered this the ultimate wet dream.
"Finished?" he asked, sinking down on his haunches and lifting the stray strands of hair away from her face so that he could see her eyes.
Buffy lifted haunted eyes to his and sniffed, but she nodded all the same. He gave her a hand up and motioned to the concrete bench a few feet away and a few minutes later they both sat staring at each other until Spike produced a bottle of brandy. She took a long draw and winced at the burning sensation as it traveled through her system, but managed to croak out her thanks regardless.
"You're welcome," he said, knocking back a long draw of his own. "Now, tell me."
Hesitantly, faltering in places, pausing to cry and take needed gulps of brandy, she told him. Everything, from her birth until the jump to save Dawn and waking up in the doctor's office. She left nothing out; Buffy spoke candidly about her life, her Calling, Giles, Angel and Angelus, Willow and Xander and the Spike she had known. He listened as she detailed her failed relationship with Riley, Dawn, Glory, her mother's illness and death ... and about her own death wish. When she finally lapsed into silence her throat was scratchy, and when the watch strapped to her wrist beeped two times she realized after a quick glance that what had been a fairly busy place a few hours ago was nearly deserted. The only ones remaining were the prostitutes and the johns, and it startled her to know that she and Spike could easily be considered the same thing.
As if sensing the turn in her thoughts, he smirked and shook his head. "Sorry, pet, they don't see us that way. Even though you -- or the other you -- dresses the part we're always seen together, never with anyone else ... not around here, at least."
"Oh," she whispered.
Spike laughed. "No, with that outfit you look like Daddy's slightly angst-ridden little girl out meeting her punk boyfriend. No street whore wears jeans with a hip-length tailored leather coat and boots, not around here."
Buffy snorted then gave a tiny smile. "I guess not."
Silence reigned between the two until Buffy took a deep breath an asked, "Why are you here, Spike? I mean, why do you care?"
"Maybe you're not the only one with a death wish, pet. Both of us -- or maybe I should say all three of us -- are in a similar state."
"Except my body is dead and buried in another dimension," she pointed out.
"Yeah," he chuckled bitterly as he lit another cigarette.
"So ... "
"So ... wanna take a walk, get another drink?"
Buffy narrowed her eyes, but a gust of wind blew her hair flat against the back of her head and she all but growled as she pushed her the strands out of her face. Spike snickered and she sighed, nodding. "Okay, let's be elsewhere."
The walk through back alleys and side streets was mostly quiet, the silence broken only by the fizzing of neon signs, distant car horns and the vague sounds of life what kind of life? that came from the few residential buildings they passed. Buffy tuned into these things on some unknown level, skirting holes and obstructions with barely a glance, wondering as she did why she was able to do so. Perhaps it's because this body remembers, she thought, kind of like being on autopilot when you're too upset or too tired to pay attention to the usual things. But that would mean that the other Buffy did this regularly, and for some reason that bothered her even if Spike was acting a bit differently from the Spike she remembered. And speaking of ...
"Why are you here?" she asked again.
At first she thought he wasn't going to answer, but he blew out the last of the smoke and tossed the cigarette into a puddle of water then started to speak. "I'm here because ... where else should I be?" He shrugged. "Things happened a bit differently here, Slayer."
Buffy started slightly at that. Obviously there had been differences but she hadn't thought that would extend to everyone which, she realized suddenly, was very shortsighted of her. "Oh ... I mean, of course things are different. I got that much from my -- *her* -- diaries. I guess what I'm trying to ask is, what changed? What else is different?"
"And," her voice cracked. "Could you ... can you tell me about Sunnydale?"
Spike stopped in front of a recessed door that she wouldn't have noticed had she not been looking for it. He stared down at her, eyebrow raised. "I thought you read the diaries."
Buffy shook her head, her eyes full of sadness and confusion. "Not all of them," she confessed. "I just ... couldn't. Everything is different ... and those diaries are so very personal ... I just *can't.*"
"Yeah, I can see that," he nodded, then pounded on the door. A moment later an imposing Fyarl demon opened the door a crack and grunted a few words, to which Spike responded in the same language. The demon's eyes flicked over Buffy and she would swear she saw him grin, but the look was quickly gone -- if it had ever existed.
The bar was a sanctuary of sorts, she realized, remembering Angel telling her about a place he occasionally patronized in Los Angeles. Unlike his description of that place, this one was very different; more a pool hall slash biker bar than a karaoke lounge. It was almost clichéd, with dim lighting, smoke clouds instead of air and an assemblage of patrons from trendy to Goth to overtly demonic and everything in between. A long bar spanned nearly the entire length of the room, complete with round tattered leather topped stools and two bartenders that were all but caricatures of Mutt and Jeff. Buffy stifled her laughter as Spike led her past a pool table to a secluded booth in the back of the room, far from the prying ears in the front, only allowing the smile to play along her lips as she settled into the springy seat. Before she could speak, however, a young light blue skinned demon appeared in front the table, head cocked to the side.
"Any preferences?" Spike asked as he flicked the metal lid of the lighter closed.
Buffy shrugged. "Whatever."
"Whiskey, then," he told the demon, who nodded and disappeared as silently as she'd arrived.
They said nothing until the waitress returned not with two shot glasses of whiskey, as Buffy expected, but with two empty faded glass tumblers and a bottle of Glenfidich single malt. Though she knew little about alcohol in general -- other than that drinking usually resulted in something wiggy happening -- she did recognize the bottle and label as one her mother had kept back. 'A little something special,' she'd said when Buffy had asked. Too fine to be wasted, it was something to savored, and her eyes stung with barely repressed tears as she thought of her mother. After the funeral, after Angel had gone back to LA and she was alone, she had found that bottle and consumed half of its contents in an effort to both remember her mother and yet forget her mother's death. She didn't regret her indulgence either, even after the heady daze she had floated in had disappeared. Perhaps Dawn would find that half-drunk bottle and do the same, she thought wryly. And the family tradition
will continue.
"Problem?"
"No," she replied, sliding her finger along the rim of her now full glass. "Just a bit surprised, that's all."
"That's the beauty of this place," he said, gesturing to the dingy place around them. "It's not much, and I still don't know how they pass health inspections -- got my suspicions, though -- but they stock some of the best damn liquor on the planet."
Buffy nodded. "This is good stuff ... my mother kept a bottle up in the cabinet, saving it for a special occasion. I drank half of it in one sitting after her funeral."
"Really?"
"Yeah ... I just wanted ... "
Spike shook his head. "I get it, pet. So, you want to know what's what?"
She nodded.
"Not too much to tell, really," he began, sipping from the cracked tumbler. "Here it was Drusilla that those thrice damned gypsies cursed, not Angelus, though I think you got that already."
"Yeah ... "
"Darla, the wicked bitch of the west, managed to convince Angelus to stake her ... she was still mad, madder even, afterwards because her demon was so strong, but her mad, innocent soul was ascendant. The two were constantly fighting, so in one instant she'd be my ripe wicked plum, ready to hunt and in the next she was throwing herself on church altars, begging her Christ's forgiveness."
"And the visions," he whispered bleakly. "The visions were the worst because she just sort of fell to pieces ... nothing made any sense anymore."
Buffy exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Drusilla's ... dust?"
"No."
"But, you said ... "
"I said Darla managed to convince Angelus to stake her," he corrected. "Not that he did so. It took months too, because Angelus was always fond of Dru ... but in the end Darla prevailed."
"Bitch," Buffy muttered.
"Still," Spike continued. "It was Angelus that hurt us the most. He was really ready to do it, you know. My Sire, the demon I ... oh yeah, Dru turned me, but he trained me, shared his blood with me, molded me into the type of killer he thought I should be. I'd never really hated him before that day ... "
"What happened?"
"I heard him agree," he said abruptly. "It was close to dawn and Darla was 'needy' so he decided to wait until sundown. I waited 'til after the noon bells, then grabbed Dru and a few of our things and escaped the house through the tunnels. Nabbed us a closed hackney right before dusk and was on a train bound for Russia before the sun had set. They followed us for a while but gave up. No one to party with in Russia, after all, and that's all Darla cared about. She had her darling boy all to herself again, until last year."
Buffy frowned. "What happened?"
"To whom?"
"To Drusilla," she replied softly.
He sighed unnecessarily. "She was injured in Prague and needed her Sire's blood to heal."
"Sounds familiar."
"Thought it might." He lit another cigarette. "I heard he was living on the Hellmouth and decided to try approaching him about helping her ... it'd been a hundred years, nearly. Bygones, you know? And if he was willing to help her, then the ritual wouldn't kill him. I found him in a war with his Dam and obsessed with a certain blonde Slayer," he said pointedly.
Buffy jerked out of her story-induced daze. "Huh? I mean, the diaries hinted, but ... "
"Where'd you stop reading?"
"November 28," Buffy frowned.
He nodded. "I hit Sunnydale on December 12, and it was very messy. All out war, pet. Darla and Angelus were vying for leadership of the Order and dragging the town into it. Normally, I'd stay out of it, never really cared for politics, but I went to Angelus and offered my services if he'd help Dru."
Buffy looked at him.
"Fuck," he whispered. "I wanted to blame you, afterwards. You were the reason I had to help him, and since I couldn't leave Dru on her own I had to take her with me."
"What did he do?"
"He helped her," Spike laughed bitterly. "Onto a stake."
Buffy was so shocked she nearly dropped the tumbler. "He ... staked her?"
"Oh, yeah. You -- or rather, the other Buffy -- came in right after that ... I'll never forget the look on her face," he said as he shook his head.
"Why?"
"Angelus just smiled at her, so damn smug, so confident ... told her that he was in the process of destroying his past lovers and was doing the same for her, and wasn't she happy for his assistance? She looked so utterly vicious, yet so pained ... "
"What happened?" Buffy asked again. "What do you know?"
Spike leveled his eyes to hers. "I know that his obsession drove him and Darla over the edge very quickly. He started picking off your little friends one by one, starting with the werewolf and moving on from there. Meanwhile, Darla was raising Acathla and once you -- she -- stopped her, my GrandDam decided to attack her on a more ... familial level."
"My mother," she whispered.
He nodded. "Put her in a coma, where she is to this day."
Buffy shuddered and fought back the tears that threatened to fall. "Who," she started only to hear her voice crack. "Did anyone ... besides me, her, whatever ... make it out alive?"
"Just the Watcher and your -- her -- redheaded lover, the little witch."
Buffy's eyes widened at this revelation, and tears fell unashamedly in that instance before she angrily brushed them away and gulped her drink, wincing at the sting. "What else," she demanded hoarsely. "If I'm stuck here I've gotta know."
"If you're stuck here you'll have to read the diaries."
"Damn you! Tell me!"
Spike was about to open his mouth and retort when a chair was plunked down at the end of the table, and a body that would be the envy of any WWF wrestler took up residence. Buffy gasped at his eyes -- steel gray with no pupil or whites. It could have been contacts, but she knew without being told that contacts were not responsible for this ... it was a purely inhuman trait. "To begin with," he told them. "She ain't stuck here ... and you oughta tell 'er."
"Fuck," Spike snarled. "You always interrupt private conversations, Fraxis?"
"Not always," he drawled. "Just when I need to."
"Would one of you tell me what's going on?" Buffy demanded.
Spike snarled again but leaned back and lit another cigarette. "Fraxis is a Seer. Not clairvoyant, like Dru, and not like the bird you told me about. He and the rest of his kind are born that way, able to See things about people, demons, places ... you name, they see it. Of course, it doesn't always mean that it happens the way they see it."
"Free will, Spike," Fraxis said, sounding to Buffy like an oft-repeated phrase. "Everyone's got free will and that changes things."
Spike snorted. "Yeah, mate, right."
"Take this Slayer for example," he continued as Buffy stiffened. "She chose to jump, to take her sister's place, even though said sister is really just a ball of energy. And right now she's inhabiting the body of one of her doppelgangers, but the soul that belongs to this body is still in there, trapped deep inside by whatever force brought your drinking companion here."
"So she is still here," Buffy whispered. "That's why I seem to know some things, right?"
"Yep, that's her getting through," Fraxis confirmed. "But you're in the driver's seat and you'll stay there until you leave, which'll be within the month."
Spike perked up. "How'd you know that?"
"I'm a Seer."
"Bugger it all, you git, just tell us how you know."
Fraxis sighed. "Both souls are Buffy, but only one has a claim to this body and she's still here. The two souls cannot cohabitate for more than a month without merging, and whatever force brought you here is keeping this dimension's Buffy trapped. In short, it's preventing a merger, but it has its limits. You will move on before a month is gone, to where I can't say, but I don't know exactly when it will happen ... and whatever happens between now and the time you leave will be determined by *your* free will. Clear?"
"Sorta," Buffy frowned.
"Good enough," he replied. "My work here is through. Spike, tell her, then take her home."
Spike cursed under his breath as the Seer departed, then looked at the confused Slayer and cursed again. "Fuck it all," he muttered. "Okay, pet, here goes: Buffy killed Darla and stopped Acathla while the Watcher and the redhead cast a protection spell around the hospital where Joyce was being kept. However, Angelus went ape-shit and started raiding businesses and clubs, chasing you all over town. Eventually the sun came up and lots of idiot minions were fried and Buffy staked Angelus ... but missed the heart. When I got up that night everyone -- you, your Mum, your housekeeper, the Watcher and your girlfriend -- was gone. Angelus took a while to recover and is now at odds with the Mayor of Sunnydale, the Watcher is in England for reasons unknown and the redhead's parents put her in a private school. And your Dad moved you here even though the house wasn't finished."
Buffy swallowed.
"The rest is a Slayer with teenage angst or a borderline personality disorder, depending on who you ask," he finished. "Now, drink up so I can get you home before sunrise."
***
Buffy winced as the sun glinted off the steel chrome work of the stair rail in front of the hospital, and once more swallowed back all her doubts as to what she was about to do. Somewhere in this massive structure her mother lay in a coma, too far away to be reached but indubitably still alive. The very thought of seeing her mother again filled her with such conflicting emotions, none of which belonged to the other soul buried deep within -- all her worries and hang-ups were her own. As Fraxis had said, free will; this decision was hers to make, as were all the things she had done so far and everything she would until she left.
So here she stood, readying herself to do something that she knew would hurt. Mommy, she thought desperately, why do you keep leaving me? Why am I always so alone with these burdens? Was Whistler right all those years ago, she wondered, when he told her that in the end all that she had was herself?
As the light reflected off the glass she acknowledged that maybe he had been right, but in many different ways. Yes, she had had to face both Angelus and Angel by herself that sunny May morning, and there had been other moments when it was just her. But when she fought the Mayor she was not alone, and it had taken a combined effort to allow her to channel the First Slayer and defeat Adam. And while the decision to jump had been her own, her sister had been there with her, a comforting presence that allowed her to do what she had longed to do for so long. Yes, she acknowledged, she wanted to let go, to give in to the maelstrom of life and let it wash her away as she had the night of her seventeenth birthday ... to fall and fall as she had never since that night.
It was about control, she realized. Only once had she allowed her control of life to falter and the results had been fatal and emotionally catastrophic, so afterwards she pulled at all the strands to keep them from unraveling. She ignored the thunderous rush of life that threatened to consume her at every turn, especially once she saw how giving in to the maelstrom had affected Faith. It was funny, so damned funny ... Faith had accused her of not knowing what it was like to be out of control, unable to stop, but that wasn't the truth. Buffy knew all about the lack of control, it was why she clung to control and fought so desperately to control as much of her life as she could. She knew she feared that powerlessness, that lack of control, because she feared its repercussions.
But another conversation with Fraxis had imparted some startling advice that she was beginning to understand ... or at least realizing something that she'd had glimpses of. "You can only control the power, the maelstrom, for so long," he'd told her the following day after she'd sought him out. "Eventually you'll lose control and die, which is what you did. Or you just get swept away until you nearly die, which is what happened to your Faith. What you've got to learn -- and what you'd already begun to experience before you jumped -- is that it's not really about controlling the power or letting it control you. *You* are the power. It's a part of you that you don't fully understand yet, but you felt it when you called the First Slayer. In those minutes you were her, and she you. You didn't hesitate to act and you didn't regret your actions, nor did you have to control or be controlled. You simply were. It's that simple and that complicated. You know what that message said,
that you've only just begun? It's the truth. You touched the power, felt the truth of that union for a short time and the Powers took notice. Why? Because no other Slayer has done that in over three thousand years -- not in your dimension or any other. You, my dear, are special and that's why you're here, to learn. Granted, you can't stay *here* but I imagine you'll just keep jumping into the Buffies of other dimensions 'til you get it straightened out."
Unfortunately, Fraxis hadn't had any clue as to what would happen once she finished with her Magical Body Hopping Tour. Maybe she'd be reborn or she might just move on, though he doubted the latter. Why go to the trouble of allowing the Slayer to learn, to master her abilities only to have her depart the mortal plane? His money was on rebirth, but Buffy wasn't quite sure how she felt about that; would she even be herself, then, or just the ideal Slayer?
It was neither here nor there, she decided as she tossed her drink in the trash and started up the steps. She was here to see her mother not debate her metaphysical condition and she pushed all those thoughts aside as she navigated the hallways and corridors, unerringly finding her way to the private room on the eighth floor. The door to room 816 was closed but Buffy didn't open it immediately, instead laying both her palms flat against the cool surface and trying to clear her mind of all extraneous thoughts. No one knew she was here and she wanted to keep it that way for now; she needed some privacy.
The handle twisted without conscious thought or intention, and when her mind caught up with her body she found herself standing at the foot of the bed staring down at its sole occupant. Mommy. She swallowed convulsively, forcing back the bile that was rising in her throat. Here was her vibrant, loving mother ... as still as death but still alive. Tears pricked her eyes as she dragged a chair closer to the bed, taking her mother's hand in her own even as her knees no longer supported her slight frame. Joy and sorrow raced through her as the pale, thin face before her was replaced by a fuller face tinged with death, and she let out a shuddering breath and bowed her head.
"I love you," she whispered. "I miss you so much ... I had no idea how hard it would be to take your place. I know *you* don't know what I'm talking about, but it doesn't really matter ... cause I think you understand. I'm Buffy and I'm hurting, that's all that ever mattered, and I know you'd try to make it better if you could. You loved Dawn even when you knew she wasn't a child of your body, you loved her because you were her mother ... like you love me. I tried, but I'm not you, Mommy ... I wanted to be you for her but I couldn't. And I know now that I was wrong to try."
Buffy shuddered and took a deep breath. "I love you, but I won't apologize for being me, not any more. I'm not perfect and I'll never be the little girl you wanted me to be ... but I know you'll love me regardless."
"Well said."
Buffy swiveled in her seat to a nurse standing in the doorway and swallowed. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough," she said, pushing a cart into the room and around to the other side of the bed. "Long enough to know that regardless of what's said, that you're nothing but a teenager who's been through some horrible experiences and all but lost her mother, not the mental patient some people around here think you are."
Buffy snorted at the thought. "They're just ... "
"Idiots," the nurse finished. "Go ahead and say it. Frankly, I think your father should have gotten a second opinion when you were admitted this past spring, but he was so upset that he grabbed the first explanation that made any sense. He loves you and your mother so much, it's so obvious, and he hates that he's had to be away ... he blames himself."
"You studying psychology on the side?" Buffy asked dryly.
"Nah," the nurse replied. "It's just observable humanity. You made a mistake, got tangled up in something bad while you were still grieving -- and who'd blame you? But it was easy for them to write off your experiences as a mental illness, especially since no one really knows what happened and no one's willing to accept your side of the story."
"How'd you learn so much?"
The nurse, Janice Hardesty -- Buffy glimpsed her identification -- gave her a small smile. "My sister's a nurse, too. She works at Sunnydale General."
"Oh ... OH!"
Janice sighed. "Yeah, I wish she'd come home. Lots of weird stuff happens in that town, but she told me when I asked about you and your mom that you were a good kid. I trust her judgment."
"So ... "
"So," Janice repeated. "Look, I'm sorry but visiting hours on this floor are over for today. New policy instituted by new management. Those of us who work up here did our best to appeal the decision, but they pretty much ignored us. Try to get here a few hours earlier next time, okay?"
"S-sure," Buffy stuttered. "Can I ... say goodbye?"
Janice's face softened and her eyes filled with pity. "Go ahead. I'll wait outside and make sure no one climbs on your back about not knowing the new policy."
"Thanks," Buffy said softly.
As the door clicked shut Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, exhaling to the sound of the various monitors attached to her mother. Opening her eyes she leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother's forehead, brushing her lips against the warm, dry flesh in farewell. Sniffling she drew back and pushed a stray burgundy lock of hair behind her ear, noticing how lank her mother's own dark blonde locks were in comparison to the vibrant hues her daughter was sporting. Smiling sadly, Buffy reached down and brushed her mother's hair back from her check, instinctively knowing that the nurses would wash it soon. She was just about to turn away when she saw something just behind her mother's ear, and frowned as she gently lifted the hair away to see better. A small black circle with a wavy 'U' shaped line through it graced her mother's neck and Buffy's frown deepened, becoming worry when the line shifted position.
She blinked, sure that it was a hallucination brought on by stress. When she looked again, however, the line had changed; it was now more of a 'V' pattern. Buffy backed away slowly and nibbled on her lower lip, unsure of what to do. It was magick, it had to be, she thought hazily as she fumbled with the handle, fully on autopilot as Janice walked her to the elevator.
Spike had said Darla attacked her mother, but not how, and it almost made sense. Angelus had been using force to kill her friends, so it followed that Darla wanted to do something that would tell Buffy exactly who was responsible. A little different from the Darla she remembered, the one who was willing to let Angel take the blame for her mother's attack. At least she's consistent, Buffy fumed inwardly as she descended the steps outside the hospital. She was so caught up in her own personal thoughts and worries, racking her brain to remember if Wesley had left a number where she could reach him and, if not, if she could find a way to contact him, that she didn't even notice the guy she ran into.
The collision took her breath away and she took a few quick steps back, stuttering out an apology. An older man just stared back at her for a few seconds, then his lips twisted into a grimace and he walked away muttering about idiot teenagers who had no sense of respect. Buffy resisted the urge to race after him and demand an apology for the cruel words that struck her more deeply than before, instinctively knowing that no good would come of it. Instead she looked to the side, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a store window. Not exactly confidence inspiring, she thought, looking away as a nearby sign caught her eye.
'Walk-ins welcome.'
Buffy started toward the building before she even recognized what she was doing, but she didn't even hesitate as she stepped through the door. Free will, she reminded herself. Until I leave this dimension this might as well be my life, so I might as well take some responsibility for it.
A red-haired stylist looked up from her magazine as Buffy walked in. "I need some help," she told the other woman.
"I'll say," the redhead answered. "But this is my specialty, so take a seat."
Buffy sank into the chair and stared at the woman in the mirror, who asked, "What do you want?"
"A change, a good change," she replied. "This is just so not me."
The stylist chewed her lip as she studied Buffy from all angles, taking in the dark roots and burgundy streaked platinum. "A good cut, layered, I think ... yes, that'll work," she said, brushing out the hair and separating it into sections.
Buffy said nothing as the woman cut her hair, instead staring at her reflection. She was still so young, she realized suddenly, not yet eighteen, but full of horror and eyes that told almost anyone that she had seen too much in her few short years. It was a bit disconcerting, but she put it aside as the scissors gave their final snip and the stylist, Annie, faced her in the mirror. "What next?"
"Next, we condition this mop and pray it doesn't fall out," Annie told her. "Then we go from there."
***
Three hours later and several dollars poorer, Buffy stepped out of the salon and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in months. Her head felt lighter in more than one sense although she knew she was far from okay, but just seeing the soft, sleek locks brush the tops of her shoulders made her feel better. The second layer curved in just under her chin; it was a little similar to the style she'd worn her junior year, but the rich chestnut brown with lighter golden highlights and lack of bangs were more upscale and sophisticated and less in need of styling products. At the thought of styling products she shook the bag she carried, hearing the plastic bottles of shampoo and conditioner bump one another as she recalled Annie's firm advice.
"No curling irons, blow-dryers or hot rollers," she repeated to herself as she entered her father's neighborhood. "Just use a simple round brush and a small amount of gel to style, with just enough hairspray to hold if absolutely necessary. Wash with the shampoo and conditioner and come back in a month for touch-ups. Nope, not hard."
As Buffy let herself in the front door she could hear voices coming from the kitchen and stopped, cocking her head. Mattie's voice she recognized easily even after all these years, but who else ...
Her question was answered when her father stepped into the entryway and stopped, staring at her. Buffy took a deep breath and shut the door as she stepped further into the room, watching his face for signs of ... something. Anything. Her perusal was returned; he was looking her over carefully, from the boots and jacket from the night before to the tailored sage green sweater and another pair of jeans. Most of his attention rested on her face, however, and she knew that her eyes told him things he didn't know, didn't want to know.
Then there was the hair.
"You changed your hair," he said softly, his voice the same as the father she vaguely remembered but the timbre and feeling were vastly different.
Buffy gave him a lopsided smile. "Yeah, I did. It was ... this is more me, you know?"
He smiled at her then, a smile full of love and affection, one she remembered only from her childhood and from Giles. "I'm glad," he told her. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you yesterday, sweetheart, I just got caught in a long debate with the Senate committee ... I had to stay or risk losing a year's worth of work. Mattie told me what happened ... I'm so sorry, Buffy. I should have been here for you. There's really no excuse ... "
Buffy had to remind herself to breathe. He was so different, so unlike the father she'd known that for a minute she felt adrift and unable to form coherent thoughts. Then the veil lifted and she realized that many, many things had gone differently here, both good and ill. "It's okay," she whispered, then cleared her throat. "I mean, Mattie was here and you're here now, so ... can we talk, Daddy? Really talk?"
Hank smiled softly, his eyes radiant despite the weariness etched on face. "Sure, sweetie. Just let me change and we'll talk."
[end part 3]
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 Three: Gaining a Foothold
***
I do not want to keep to myself,
but none see the brand on my forehead
save you and the few who can look me in the face.
I pass unseen, my shawl wrapped around me.
Choosing to walk alone, I return to myself.
-- Gloria Anzaldua, from "Cancion de la Diosa de la Noche"
***
In less than a space of a heartbeat Buffy realized several things. That the cold spray on the back of her neck was due to the wind whipping across the water, that her position was precarious as long as she inhabited this body because her senses were dulled and her reaction time slightly off ...
And that even in this world she knew Spike in a more-than-enemy sense.
Hazel-green eyes met yellow and held the gaze for an indeterminable amount of time, watching as demonic amber slowly faded back to the human blue to which she was more accustomed. It was odd, she reflected, the way it happened. She had once watched Angel's eyes change, so she knew it was not an instantaneous transformation, yet it was not one that was easily observable either. It was a slow shift, one to the other. It started with the spark of the demonic, that flare that foretold death and pain, disappearing from the orbs and was followed by tiny amber flecks slowly being replaced by the human blue. Eventually every speck of amber was replaced, but whereas with Angel she could see his soul in those fathomless depths in Spike there was none to shine through ... yet his cerulean orbs were still full of emotion.
His face was blank except for those expressive eyes until he lifted the scarred eyebrow. Buffy tried desperately to blank her own face but failed, her emotions too explosive and close to the surface of this body that was just ever so slightly wrong.
"You're not Buffy," he said slowly. "But you are Buffy."
Gee, he's good, she thought, almost too good. How does he know me her so well? And do I want to know? "I'm Buffy Summers," she replied, unconsciously deciding to trust him with the truth that she could tell no one else. "I'm just not the Buffy you know ... I mean, this is her body, yeah, but I'm in the driver's seat and I don't know why ... "
"How?"
Buffy shook her head, platinum and burgundy locks whipping about wildly. "I'm not sure ... I don't know!"
"Still," he countered. "There must have been something ... maybe a spell?"
Mention of a spell, and the reason she was standing in front of him and not in whatever constituted the afterlife, catapulted Buffy's already tumultuous thoughts into a head spin. Her thoughts were all but unrecognizable as various conflicting memories flitted across her mindscape --
Mattie left when Dawn was born because Mom decided to quit working and stay home ...
Mattie left because Mom and Dad had a fight about Mom working ... Mom chose to stay home ... and Mattie hated the fights ... she thought Mom deserved better ...
Mattie never left, she just moved to Sunnydale with us and when we finally moved to Washington after ... after Mom was attacked she came with us to take care of me and Dad 'til Mom's better ...
"What the hell?" she whispered, raising a hand to her head.
"Pet?" came the concerned voice of her companion. "You okay?"
"No," she whispered. "No, I'm not okay. I'm as far from 'okay' as it's possible to get!"
"You look fine, a bit peaked, but fine," he replied, crossing his arms and staring.
"I'm not fine!" she yelled. "I'm not even supposed to be here! I should be dead, Spike. Dead! Do you understand? Dead! I made that jump to close the portal because death is my gift, and I don't know how I got here or why I'm here or what is going on! Do you understand?"
Exhausted, Buffy collapsed onto the pavement and cried, mourning her life and her loved ones and once more giving voice to all the frustrations and confusion she had felt over the past seven hours. Tears streamed from her eyes and her chest heaved with the force of her grief as she let it all out, careless that she was showing weakness in front of her enemy.
For his part, Spike took all this in with a mind that had seen innumerable oddities in his 126 years as a vampire. However, seeing his erstwhile mortal enemy, drinking partner and all-around nemesis crying at his feet didn't fill him with any sort of pleasure. No, not even a shred, he realized with something akin to shock. All those years with Drusilla must have rubbed off, he thought wryly, otherwise he would have considered this the ultimate wet dream.
"Finished?" he asked, sinking down on his haunches and lifting the stray strands of hair away from her face so that he could see her eyes.
Buffy lifted haunted eyes to his and sniffed, but she nodded all the same. He gave her a hand up and motioned to the concrete bench a few feet away and a few minutes later they both sat staring at each other until Spike produced a bottle of brandy. She took a long draw and winced at the burning sensation as it traveled through her system, but managed to croak out her thanks regardless.
"You're welcome," he said, knocking back a long draw of his own. "Now, tell me."
Hesitantly, faltering in places, pausing to cry and take needed gulps of brandy, she told him. Everything, from her birth until the jump to save Dawn and waking up in the doctor's office. She left nothing out; Buffy spoke candidly about her life, her Calling, Giles, Angel and Angelus, Willow and Xander and the Spike she had known. He listened as she detailed her failed relationship with Riley, Dawn, Glory, her mother's illness and death ... and about her own death wish. When she finally lapsed into silence her throat was scratchy, and when the watch strapped to her wrist beeped two times she realized after a quick glance that what had been a fairly busy place a few hours ago was nearly deserted. The only ones remaining were the prostitutes and the johns, and it startled her to know that she and Spike could easily be considered the same thing.
As if sensing the turn in her thoughts, he smirked and shook his head. "Sorry, pet, they don't see us that way. Even though you -- or the other you -- dresses the part we're always seen together, never with anyone else ... not around here, at least."
"Oh," she whispered.
Spike laughed. "No, with that outfit you look like Daddy's slightly angst-ridden little girl out meeting her punk boyfriend. No street whore wears jeans with a hip-length tailored leather coat and boots, not around here."
Buffy snorted then gave a tiny smile. "I guess not."
Silence reigned between the two until Buffy took a deep breath an asked, "Why are you here, Spike? I mean, why do you care?"
"Maybe you're not the only one with a death wish, pet. Both of us -- or maybe I should say all three of us -- are in a similar state."
"Except my body is dead and buried in another dimension," she pointed out.
"Yeah," he chuckled bitterly as he lit another cigarette.
"So ... "
"So ... wanna take a walk, get another drink?"
Buffy narrowed her eyes, but a gust of wind blew her hair flat against the back of her head and she all but growled as she pushed her the strands out of her face. Spike snickered and she sighed, nodding. "Okay, let's be elsewhere."
The walk through back alleys and side streets was mostly quiet, the silence broken only by the fizzing of neon signs, distant car horns and the vague sounds of life what kind of life? that came from the few residential buildings they passed. Buffy tuned into these things on some unknown level, skirting holes and obstructions with barely a glance, wondering as she did why she was able to do so. Perhaps it's because this body remembers, she thought, kind of like being on autopilot when you're too upset or too tired to pay attention to the usual things. But that would mean that the other Buffy did this regularly, and for some reason that bothered her even if Spike was acting a bit differently from the Spike she remembered. And speaking of ...
"Why are you here?" she asked again.
At first she thought he wasn't going to answer, but he blew out the last of the smoke and tossed the cigarette into a puddle of water then started to speak. "I'm here because ... where else should I be?" He shrugged. "Things happened a bit differently here, Slayer."
Buffy started slightly at that. Obviously there had been differences but she hadn't thought that would extend to everyone which, she realized suddenly, was very shortsighted of her. "Oh ... I mean, of course things are different. I got that much from my -- *her* -- diaries. I guess what I'm trying to ask is, what changed? What else is different?"
"And," her voice cracked. "Could you ... can you tell me about Sunnydale?"
Spike stopped in front of a recessed door that she wouldn't have noticed had she not been looking for it. He stared down at her, eyebrow raised. "I thought you read the diaries."
Buffy shook her head, her eyes full of sadness and confusion. "Not all of them," she confessed. "I just ... couldn't. Everything is different ... and those diaries are so very personal ... I just *can't.*"
"Yeah, I can see that," he nodded, then pounded on the door. A moment later an imposing Fyarl demon opened the door a crack and grunted a few words, to which Spike responded in the same language. The demon's eyes flicked over Buffy and she would swear she saw him grin, but the look was quickly gone -- if it had ever existed.
The bar was a sanctuary of sorts, she realized, remembering Angel telling her about a place he occasionally patronized in Los Angeles. Unlike his description of that place, this one was very different; more a pool hall slash biker bar than a karaoke lounge. It was almost clichéd, with dim lighting, smoke clouds instead of air and an assemblage of patrons from trendy to Goth to overtly demonic and everything in between. A long bar spanned nearly the entire length of the room, complete with round tattered leather topped stools and two bartenders that were all but caricatures of Mutt and Jeff. Buffy stifled her laughter as Spike led her past a pool table to a secluded booth in the back of the room, far from the prying ears in the front, only allowing the smile to play along her lips as she settled into the springy seat. Before she could speak, however, a young light blue skinned demon appeared in front the table, head cocked to the side.
"Any preferences?" Spike asked as he flicked the metal lid of the lighter closed.
Buffy shrugged. "Whatever."
"Whiskey, then," he told the demon, who nodded and disappeared as silently as she'd arrived.
They said nothing until the waitress returned not with two shot glasses of whiskey, as Buffy expected, but with two empty faded glass tumblers and a bottle of Glenfidich single malt. Though she knew little about alcohol in general -- other than that drinking usually resulted in something wiggy happening -- she did recognize the bottle and label as one her mother had kept back. 'A little something special,' she'd said when Buffy had asked. Too fine to be wasted, it was something to savored, and her eyes stung with barely repressed tears as she thought of her mother. After the funeral, after Angel had gone back to LA and she was alone, she had found that bottle and consumed half of its contents in an effort to both remember her mother and yet forget her mother's death. She didn't regret her indulgence either, even after the heady daze she had floated in had disappeared. Perhaps Dawn would find that half-drunk bottle and do the same, she thought wryly. And the family tradition
will continue.
"Problem?"
"No," she replied, sliding her finger along the rim of her now full glass. "Just a bit surprised, that's all."
"That's the beauty of this place," he said, gesturing to the dingy place around them. "It's not much, and I still don't know how they pass health inspections -- got my suspicions, though -- but they stock some of the best damn liquor on the planet."
Buffy nodded. "This is good stuff ... my mother kept a bottle up in the cabinet, saving it for a special occasion. I drank half of it in one sitting after her funeral."
"Really?"
"Yeah ... I just wanted ... "
Spike shook his head. "I get it, pet. So, you want to know what's what?"
She nodded.
"Not too much to tell, really," he began, sipping from the cracked tumbler. "Here it was Drusilla that those thrice damned gypsies cursed, not Angelus, though I think you got that already."
"Yeah ... "
"Darla, the wicked bitch of the west, managed to convince Angelus to stake her ... she was still mad, madder even, afterwards because her demon was so strong, but her mad, innocent soul was ascendant. The two were constantly fighting, so in one instant she'd be my ripe wicked plum, ready to hunt and in the next she was throwing herself on church altars, begging her Christ's forgiveness."
"And the visions," he whispered bleakly. "The visions were the worst because she just sort of fell to pieces ... nothing made any sense anymore."
Buffy exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Drusilla's ... dust?"
"No."
"But, you said ... "
"I said Darla managed to convince Angelus to stake her," he corrected. "Not that he did so. It took months too, because Angelus was always fond of Dru ... but in the end Darla prevailed."
"Bitch," Buffy muttered.
"Still," Spike continued. "It was Angelus that hurt us the most. He was really ready to do it, you know. My Sire, the demon I ... oh yeah, Dru turned me, but he trained me, shared his blood with me, molded me into the type of killer he thought I should be. I'd never really hated him before that day ... "
"What happened?"
"I heard him agree," he said abruptly. "It was close to dawn and Darla was 'needy' so he decided to wait until sundown. I waited 'til after the noon bells, then grabbed Dru and a few of our things and escaped the house through the tunnels. Nabbed us a closed hackney right before dusk and was on a train bound for Russia before the sun had set. They followed us for a while but gave up. No one to party with in Russia, after all, and that's all Darla cared about. She had her darling boy all to herself again, until last year."
Buffy frowned. "What happened?"
"To whom?"
"To Drusilla," she replied softly.
He sighed unnecessarily. "She was injured in Prague and needed her Sire's blood to heal."
"Sounds familiar."
"Thought it might." He lit another cigarette. "I heard he was living on the Hellmouth and decided to try approaching him about helping her ... it'd been a hundred years, nearly. Bygones, you know? And if he was willing to help her, then the ritual wouldn't kill him. I found him in a war with his Dam and obsessed with a certain blonde Slayer," he said pointedly.
Buffy jerked out of her story-induced daze. "Huh? I mean, the diaries hinted, but ... "
"Where'd you stop reading?"
"November 28," Buffy frowned.
He nodded. "I hit Sunnydale on December 12, and it was very messy. All out war, pet. Darla and Angelus were vying for leadership of the Order and dragging the town into it. Normally, I'd stay out of it, never really cared for politics, but I went to Angelus and offered my services if he'd help Dru."
Buffy looked at him.
"Fuck," he whispered. "I wanted to blame you, afterwards. You were the reason I had to help him, and since I couldn't leave Dru on her own I had to take her with me."
"What did he do?"
"He helped her," Spike laughed bitterly. "Onto a stake."
Buffy was so shocked she nearly dropped the tumbler. "He ... staked her?"
"Oh, yeah. You -- or rather, the other Buffy -- came in right after that ... I'll never forget the look on her face," he said as he shook his head.
"Why?"
"Angelus just smiled at her, so damn smug, so confident ... told her that he was in the process of destroying his past lovers and was doing the same for her, and wasn't she happy for his assistance? She looked so utterly vicious, yet so pained ... "
"What happened?" Buffy asked again. "What do you know?"
Spike leveled his eyes to hers. "I know that his obsession drove him and Darla over the edge very quickly. He started picking off your little friends one by one, starting with the werewolf and moving on from there. Meanwhile, Darla was raising Acathla and once you -- she -- stopped her, my GrandDam decided to attack her on a more ... familial level."
"My mother," she whispered.
He nodded. "Put her in a coma, where she is to this day."
Buffy shuddered and fought back the tears that threatened to fall. "Who," she started only to hear her voice crack. "Did anyone ... besides me, her, whatever ... make it out alive?"
"Just the Watcher and your -- her -- redheaded lover, the little witch."
Buffy's eyes widened at this revelation, and tears fell unashamedly in that instance before she angrily brushed them away and gulped her drink, wincing at the sting. "What else," she demanded hoarsely. "If I'm stuck here I've gotta know."
"If you're stuck here you'll have to read the diaries."
"Damn you! Tell me!"
Spike was about to open his mouth and retort when a chair was plunked down at the end of the table, and a body that would be the envy of any WWF wrestler took up residence. Buffy gasped at his eyes -- steel gray with no pupil or whites. It could have been contacts, but she knew without being told that contacts were not responsible for this ... it was a purely inhuman trait. "To begin with," he told them. "She ain't stuck here ... and you oughta tell 'er."
"Fuck," Spike snarled. "You always interrupt private conversations, Fraxis?"
"Not always," he drawled. "Just when I need to."
"Would one of you tell me what's going on?" Buffy demanded.
Spike snarled again but leaned back and lit another cigarette. "Fraxis is a Seer. Not clairvoyant, like Dru, and not like the bird you told me about. He and the rest of his kind are born that way, able to See things about people, demons, places ... you name, they see it. Of course, it doesn't always mean that it happens the way they see it."
"Free will, Spike," Fraxis said, sounding to Buffy like an oft-repeated phrase. "Everyone's got free will and that changes things."
Spike snorted. "Yeah, mate, right."
"Take this Slayer for example," he continued as Buffy stiffened. "She chose to jump, to take her sister's place, even though said sister is really just a ball of energy. And right now she's inhabiting the body of one of her doppelgangers, but the soul that belongs to this body is still in there, trapped deep inside by whatever force brought your drinking companion here."
"So she is still here," Buffy whispered. "That's why I seem to know some things, right?"
"Yep, that's her getting through," Fraxis confirmed. "But you're in the driver's seat and you'll stay there until you leave, which'll be within the month."
Spike perked up. "How'd you know that?"
"I'm a Seer."
"Bugger it all, you git, just tell us how you know."
Fraxis sighed. "Both souls are Buffy, but only one has a claim to this body and she's still here. The two souls cannot cohabitate for more than a month without merging, and whatever force brought you here is keeping this dimension's Buffy trapped. In short, it's preventing a merger, but it has its limits. You will move on before a month is gone, to where I can't say, but I don't know exactly when it will happen ... and whatever happens between now and the time you leave will be determined by *your* free will. Clear?"
"Sorta," Buffy frowned.
"Good enough," he replied. "My work here is through. Spike, tell her, then take her home."
Spike cursed under his breath as the Seer departed, then looked at the confused Slayer and cursed again. "Fuck it all," he muttered. "Okay, pet, here goes: Buffy killed Darla and stopped Acathla while the Watcher and the redhead cast a protection spell around the hospital where Joyce was being kept. However, Angelus went ape-shit and started raiding businesses and clubs, chasing you all over town. Eventually the sun came up and lots of idiot minions were fried and Buffy staked Angelus ... but missed the heart. When I got up that night everyone -- you, your Mum, your housekeeper, the Watcher and your girlfriend -- was gone. Angelus took a while to recover and is now at odds with the Mayor of Sunnydale, the Watcher is in England for reasons unknown and the redhead's parents put her in a private school. And your Dad moved you here even though the house wasn't finished."
Buffy swallowed.
"The rest is a Slayer with teenage angst or a borderline personality disorder, depending on who you ask," he finished. "Now, drink up so I can get you home before sunrise."
***
Buffy winced as the sun glinted off the steel chrome work of the stair rail in front of the hospital, and once more swallowed back all her doubts as to what she was about to do. Somewhere in this massive structure her mother lay in a coma, too far away to be reached but indubitably still alive. The very thought of seeing her mother again filled her with such conflicting emotions, none of which belonged to the other soul buried deep within -- all her worries and hang-ups were her own. As Fraxis had said, free will; this decision was hers to make, as were all the things she had done so far and everything she would until she left.
So here she stood, readying herself to do something that she knew would hurt. Mommy, she thought desperately, why do you keep leaving me? Why am I always so alone with these burdens? Was Whistler right all those years ago, she wondered, when he told her that in the end all that she had was herself?
As the light reflected off the glass she acknowledged that maybe he had been right, but in many different ways. Yes, she had had to face both Angelus and Angel by herself that sunny May morning, and there had been other moments when it was just her. But when she fought the Mayor she was not alone, and it had taken a combined effort to allow her to channel the First Slayer and defeat Adam. And while the decision to jump had been her own, her sister had been there with her, a comforting presence that allowed her to do what she had longed to do for so long. Yes, she acknowledged, she wanted to let go, to give in to the maelstrom of life and let it wash her away as she had the night of her seventeenth birthday ... to fall and fall as she had never since that night.
It was about control, she realized. Only once had she allowed her control of life to falter and the results had been fatal and emotionally catastrophic, so afterwards she pulled at all the strands to keep them from unraveling. She ignored the thunderous rush of life that threatened to consume her at every turn, especially once she saw how giving in to the maelstrom had affected Faith. It was funny, so damned funny ... Faith had accused her of not knowing what it was like to be out of control, unable to stop, but that wasn't the truth. Buffy knew all about the lack of control, it was why she clung to control and fought so desperately to control as much of her life as she could. She knew she feared that powerlessness, that lack of control, because she feared its repercussions.
But another conversation with Fraxis had imparted some startling advice that she was beginning to understand ... or at least realizing something that she'd had glimpses of. "You can only control the power, the maelstrom, for so long," he'd told her the following day after she'd sought him out. "Eventually you'll lose control and die, which is what you did. Or you just get swept away until you nearly die, which is what happened to your Faith. What you've got to learn -- and what you'd already begun to experience before you jumped -- is that it's not really about controlling the power or letting it control you. *You* are the power. It's a part of you that you don't fully understand yet, but you felt it when you called the First Slayer. In those minutes you were her, and she you. You didn't hesitate to act and you didn't regret your actions, nor did you have to control or be controlled. You simply were. It's that simple and that complicated. You know what that message said,
that you've only just begun? It's the truth. You touched the power, felt the truth of that union for a short time and the Powers took notice. Why? Because no other Slayer has done that in over three thousand years -- not in your dimension or any other. You, my dear, are special and that's why you're here, to learn. Granted, you can't stay *here* but I imagine you'll just keep jumping into the Buffies of other dimensions 'til you get it straightened out."
Unfortunately, Fraxis hadn't had any clue as to what would happen once she finished with her Magical Body Hopping Tour. Maybe she'd be reborn or she might just move on, though he doubted the latter. Why go to the trouble of allowing the Slayer to learn, to master her abilities only to have her depart the mortal plane? His money was on rebirth, but Buffy wasn't quite sure how she felt about that; would she even be herself, then, or just the ideal Slayer?
It was neither here nor there, she decided as she tossed her drink in the trash and started up the steps. She was here to see her mother not debate her metaphysical condition and she pushed all those thoughts aside as she navigated the hallways and corridors, unerringly finding her way to the private room on the eighth floor. The door to room 816 was closed but Buffy didn't open it immediately, instead laying both her palms flat against the cool surface and trying to clear her mind of all extraneous thoughts. No one knew she was here and she wanted to keep it that way for now; she needed some privacy.
The handle twisted without conscious thought or intention, and when her mind caught up with her body she found herself standing at the foot of the bed staring down at its sole occupant. Mommy. She swallowed convulsively, forcing back the bile that was rising in her throat. Here was her vibrant, loving mother ... as still as death but still alive. Tears pricked her eyes as she dragged a chair closer to the bed, taking her mother's hand in her own even as her knees no longer supported her slight frame. Joy and sorrow raced through her as the pale, thin face before her was replaced by a fuller face tinged with death, and she let out a shuddering breath and bowed her head.
"I love you," she whispered. "I miss you so much ... I had no idea how hard it would be to take your place. I know *you* don't know what I'm talking about, but it doesn't really matter ... cause I think you understand. I'm Buffy and I'm hurting, that's all that ever mattered, and I know you'd try to make it better if you could. You loved Dawn even when you knew she wasn't a child of your body, you loved her because you were her mother ... like you love me. I tried, but I'm not you, Mommy ... I wanted to be you for her but I couldn't. And I know now that I was wrong to try."
Buffy shuddered and took a deep breath. "I love you, but I won't apologize for being me, not any more. I'm not perfect and I'll never be the little girl you wanted me to be ... but I know you'll love me regardless."
"Well said."
Buffy swiveled in her seat to a nurse standing in the doorway and swallowed. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough," she said, pushing a cart into the room and around to the other side of the bed. "Long enough to know that regardless of what's said, that you're nothing but a teenager who's been through some horrible experiences and all but lost her mother, not the mental patient some people around here think you are."
Buffy snorted at the thought. "They're just ... "
"Idiots," the nurse finished. "Go ahead and say it. Frankly, I think your father should have gotten a second opinion when you were admitted this past spring, but he was so upset that he grabbed the first explanation that made any sense. He loves you and your mother so much, it's so obvious, and he hates that he's had to be away ... he blames himself."
"You studying psychology on the side?" Buffy asked dryly.
"Nah," the nurse replied. "It's just observable humanity. You made a mistake, got tangled up in something bad while you were still grieving -- and who'd blame you? But it was easy for them to write off your experiences as a mental illness, especially since no one really knows what happened and no one's willing to accept your side of the story."
"How'd you learn so much?"
The nurse, Janice Hardesty -- Buffy glimpsed her identification -- gave her a small smile. "My sister's a nurse, too. She works at Sunnydale General."
"Oh ... OH!"
Janice sighed. "Yeah, I wish she'd come home. Lots of weird stuff happens in that town, but she told me when I asked about you and your mom that you were a good kid. I trust her judgment."
"So ... "
"So," Janice repeated. "Look, I'm sorry but visiting hours on this floor are over for today. New policy instituted by new management. Those of us who work up here did our best to appeal the decision, but they pretty much ignored us. Try to get here a few hours earlier next time, okay?"
"S-sure," Buffy stuttered. "Can I ... say goodbye?"
Janice's face softened and her eyes filled with pity. "Go ahead. I'll wait outside and make sure no one climbs on your back about not knowing the new policy."
"Thanks," Buffy said softly.
As the door clicked shut Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, exhaling to the sound of the various monitors attached to her mother. Opening her eyes she leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother's forehead, brushing her lips against the warm, dry flesh in farewell. Sniffling she drew back and pushed a stray burgundy lock of hair behind her ear, noticing how lank her mother's own dark blonde locks were in comparison to the vibrant hues her daughter was sporting. Smiling sadly, Buffy reached down and brushed her mother's hair back from her check, instinctively knowing that the nurses would wash it soon. She was just about to turn away when she saw something just behind her mother's ear, and frowned as she gently lifted the hair away to see better. A small black circle with a wavy 'U' shaped line through it graced her mother's neck and Buffy's frown deepened, becoming worry when the line shifted position.
She blinked, sure that it was a hallucination brought on by stress. When she looked again, however, the line had changed; it was now more of a 'V' pattern. Buffy backed away slowly and nibbled on her lower lip, unsure of what to do. It was magick, it had to be, she thought hazily as she fumbled with the handle, fully on autopilot as Janice walked her to the elevator.
Spike had said Darla attacked her mother, but not how, and it almost made sense. Angelus had been using force to kill her friends, so it followed that Darla wanted to do something that would tell Buffy exactly who was responsible. A little different from the Darla she remembered, the one who was willing to let Angel take the blame for her mother's attack. At least she's consistent, Buffy fumed inwardly as she descended the steps outside the hospital. She was so caught up in her own personal thoughts and worries, racking her brain to remember if Wesley had left a number where she could reach him and, if not, if she could find a way to contact him, that she didn't even notice the guy she ran into.
The collision took her breath away and she took a few quick steps back, stuttering out an apology. An older man just stared back at her for a few seconds, then his lips twisted into a grimace and he walked away muttering about idiot teenagers who had no sense of respect. Buffy resisted the urge to race after him and demand an apology for the cruel words that struck her more deeply than before, instinctively knowing that no good would come of it. Instead she looked to the side, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a store window. Not exactly confidence inspiring, she thought, looking away as a nearby sign caught her eye.
'Walk-ins welcome.'
Buffy started toward the building before she even recognized what she was doing, but she didn't even hesitate as she stepped through the door. Free will, she reminded herself. Until I leave this dimension this might as well be my life, so I might as well take some responsibility for it.
A red-haired stylist looked up from her magazine as Buffy walked in. "I need some help," she told the other woman.
"I'll say," the redhead answered. "But this is my specialty, so take a seat."
Buffy sank into the chair and stared at the woman in the mirror, who asked, "What do you want?"
"A change, a good change," she replied. "This is just so not me."
The stylist chewed her lip as she studied Buffy from all angles, taking in the dark roots and burgundy streaked platinum. "A good cut, layered, I think ... yes, that'll work," she said, brushing out the hair and separating it into sections.
Buffy said nothing as the woman cut her hair, instead staring at her reflection. She was still so young, she realized suddenly, not yet eighteen, but full of horror and eyes that told almost anyone that she had seen too much in her few short years. It was a bit disconcerting, but she put it aside as the scissors gave their final snip and the stylist, Annie, faced her in the mirror. "What next?"
"Next, we condition this mop and pray it doesn't fall out," Annie told her. "Then we go from there."
***
Three hours later and several dollars poorer, Buffy stepped out of the salon and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in months. Her head felt lighter in more than one sense although she knew she was far from okay, but just seeing the soft, sleek locks brush the tops of her shoulders made her feel better. The second layer curved in just under her chin; it was a little similar to the style she'd worn her junior year, but the rich chestnut brown with lighter golden highlights and lack of bangs were more upscale and sophisticated and less in need of styling products. At the thought of styling products she shook the bag she carried, hearing the plastic bottles of shampoo and conditioner bump one another as she recalled Annie's firm advice.
"No curling irons, blow-dryers or hot rollers," she repeated to herself as she entered her father's neighborhood. "Just use a simple round brush and a small amount of gel to style, with just enough hairspray to hold if absolutely necessary. Wash with the shampoo and conditioner and come back in a month for touch-ups. Nope, not hard."
As Buffy let herself in the front door she could hear voices coming from the kitchen and stopped, cocking her head. Mattie's voice she recognized easily even after all these years, but who else ...
Her question was answered when her father stepped into the entryway and stopped, staring at her. Buffy took a deep breath and shut the door as she stepped further into the room, watching his face for signs of ... something. Anything. Her perusal was returned; he was looking her over carefully, from the boots and jacket from the night before to the tailored sage green sweater and another pair of jeans. Most of his attention rested on her face, however, and she knew that her eyes told him things he didn't know, didn't want to know.
Then there was the hair.
"You changed your hair," he said softly, his voice the same as the father she vaguely remembered but the timbre and feeling were vastly different.
Buffy gave him a lopsided smile. "Yeah, I did. It was ... this is more me, you know?"
He smiled at her then, a smile full of love and affection, one she remembered only from her childhood and from Giles. "I'm glad," he told her. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you yesterday, sweetheart, I just got caught in a long debate with the Senate committee ... I had to stay or risk losing a year's worth of work. Mattie told me what happened ... I'm so sorry, Buffy. I should have been here for you. There's really no excuse ... "
Buffy had to remind herself to breathe. He was so different, so unlike the father she'd known that for a minute she felt adrift and unable to form coherent thoughts. Then the veil lifted and she realized that many, many things had gone differently here, both good and ill. "It's okay," she whispered, then cleared her throat. "I mean, Mattie was here and you're here now, so ... can we talk, Daddy? Really talk?"
Hank smiled softly, his eyes radiant despite the weariness etched on face. "Sure, sweetie. Just let me change and we'll talk."
[end part 3]