TITLE: "Said she'd be back"
AUTHOR: Betty Woo (lwa@rocketmail.com)
RATING: PG, non-specific reference to violence & sex in some chapters
SPOILERS: post-episode 7.3
FEEDBACK: Five by five. I don't have a beta reader for this fic, so comments about how I can improve the story are always much appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: Mutant Enemy made this universe, I'm just taking a non-profit tour. Poetry adapted from lyrics by Maria McKee for "My Girlhood among the Outlaws".
CHARACTERS: Willow & Buffy, Spike
CHAPTER ELEVEN - By the Book
Willow yawned and stretched once more, less to wake herself up and more for the sheer comfort of the familiar routine. Early Saturday morning at the Summers household and here she was, sitting at the kitchen table in her pajamas, hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee. Dawn was loading up on her morning fix of sugary cereal, while Buffy mixed up some weird protein shake next to the sink.
It was just like old times. At least, so long as Willow overlooked the way that Dawn was carefully ignoring her. After yesterday's meditation session, Buffy had been all smiles and warm greetings, but the younger girl had pointedly avoided her for the past two days. Willow wasn't surprised at how quickly Dawn polished off her breakfast and stormed out of the house.
"It's so nice to have a proper cup of coffee again," Willow said, taking another sip.
Buffy pushed Dawn's abandoned dishes to one side and sat down at the table. "England's more of a tea place, isn't it?"
"Tea. Crumpets. Cucumber sandwiches. Fried Mars bars."
"Ew."
"It explains a lot about the English, though. Anyone who'd commit such crimes against chocolate, well, they must be big on the self-punishment."
Willow winced slightly as the words left her mouth. Bringing up English guys, not a good around the Buffster right now. Hopefully she'd assume that Willow had been referring to Giles.
"Speaking of self-punishment, you ready for some research?" Buffy polished off her shake quickly, dropping the empty glass and Dawn's bowl into the sink.
Right, thought Willow. New topic, safe topic. Certainly safer than English blokes. Willow hesitated, wondering for the fifth time since she'd woken up if she should mention what she'd seen in Buffy's mind while they were linked during the meditation.
"Just let me get changed, and I'm good to go."
Buffy shook her head. "No need to dress in order to fight the forces of badness."
She led Willow over to her mom's old office space, the small nook next to the living room where Joyce used to keep her files for the gallery. The shelves that once held catalogues and art guides were now laden down with occult texts, the remnants of the collection Giles had left behind when he moved to England. Willow's old laptop was set up on the table. From the candy wrappers piled next to it, she guessed that Dawn had taken over hacking duties during her absence.
Willow ran her hand along the spines of the books, luxuriating in their texture. Pulling one out at random, she let the pages fall open, enjoying the musty smell. As fast and useful as computer research had always been, Willow had grown to love the physicality of immersing herself in these battered tomes.
Buffy flicked on the computer, waiting for the screen to warm up. "You sure you're going to be okay with this?"
Willow started, replacing the book with a slightly guilty expression. "Yeah, sure."
"The watcher's council sent over some books, to replace the ones." Buffy paused long enough for Willow to mentally add the unspoken words, destroyed in your Magic Box rampage. "It's nowhere near as complete as Giles's collection was, but there's a couple of databases online that have been good at filling in the gaps."
"Right." Willow sat at the computer, setting down her coffee. "So where do you want me to start?"
"Everywhere." Buffy pulled out a book at random and sat down at the table. "Those faces, for one. And from beneath, it devours, for two."
"Huh?"
"It's something I've been hearing, in dreams. For a couple of weeks now. I should probably have researched it before now, but you know me and the research, it's like coffee and, uh. Some unmixy things."
Willow felt a twinge of guilt, thinking of her friend trying to hold the hellmouth at bay all by herself. Well, not all alone. Xander had been around, and Dawn had obviously been pitching in a lot more. Still, trying to do the work of a Slayer and a Watcher all at once was obviously wearing Buffy down more than she was letting on.
"Nothing else strange that needs researching?"
"Not that I can think of, unless you can find some prophesy that tells me the boots I saw last week at Neiman Marcus will be going on sale soon."
Right, thought Willow, connecting to a bookmarked website that claimed to be a prophesy reference site. Female faces and nasties from below, she could find that.
Just as soon as she looked up some stuff about vampires with souls.
* * *
Willow stretched, creaking her neck from side to side. She'd forgotten just how physically demanding research could be. Buffy had hung around for a while in the morning, looking stuff up, mostly old Watcher journals about slayer training techniques. Then she'd bailed to do some training of her own, in the makeshift gym that had been erected in the basement. Translating Sumerian texts with the background noise of Buffy whaling away on a punching bag, that had been nice. Like the old days, before Warren and Tara and bad deals with Osiris.
Then Buffy had gone out for groceries, leaving Willow alone. That hadn't been as nice, but focusing on the text that scrolled past on the computer screen had helped her block out the loneliness, the occasional leap of her heart when the wind brushed against the house and she thought, just for a second, that she could hear Tara coming up the porch.
Buffy would be back soon, she hoped, glancing at the notes she'd made on a pad of paper beside the computer. Not much to report yet, especially since she hadn't exactly been following the research trail that Buffy had outlined. A snippet of prophesy about a vampire and son, but she didn't quite see how that would apply to Spike, unless it was a reference to Angel killing Spike.
Willow glanced outside the window, realizing that dusk was fast approaching. She'd spent the whole day at the computer, still in her pajamas. Comfortable as they were, it was probably time for a shower and something fresher to wear. She left the computer on while she stood and headed towards the stairs.
The mouse moved. She caught the motion out of the corner of her eye, turning to stare as the keys on the computer began depressing one by one, as if being typed upon by an invisible hand. A protective chant came unbidden to her thoughts as she walked slowly back towards the computer.
A new website, one she hadn't seen before, was loading on the screen. Willow could sense the spirit as she approached, felt it leave the computer and brush by her with a gentle touch along her cheek.
The way Tara had touched her face, after they made love.
"Tara," she whispered, but the presence was already gone, nothing there anymore but the faint glow of the laptop screen in the darkening room. Willow glanced at the screen, taking in the words.
Sitting down, she called up her translation software and started piecing together the prophesy on the screen, her shower forgotten.
* * *
Buffy perched on the edge of the table, hoping it was just her slayer senses that made staying downwind from Willow seem like such a good idea. Her friend had the same enthused expression she always wore when she'd made a major research breakthrough, although events of the last year had made Buffy a bit more wary about Willow's enthusiasm about all things occultish.
"Okay, so I still need to run this by Giles, cause I'm not too sure about the translation. Sanskrit grammar is pretty tricky, and there's a couple of words that I still haven't figured out."
"No prob, Will. Just give with the gist."
"The hellmouth's getting all rumbly."
"Do we know who's doing the rumbling?"
Willow fidgeted with her computer mouse. "The hellmouth."
"Got that part. Who's the baddies?"
"That's what I've been saying." Buffy let the notion sink in slowly while Willow rustled through her notes. "The mouth beneath opens, bringing. I can't be sure of the rest of this translation, Buffy."
Willow had on bad-news face, which was never reassuring. "So you're saying the hellmouth is opening. Been there, done that, will do again."
"Not opening. Waking. Um, here."
Willow handed over her notepad to Buffy, who scanned through the scrawled annotations. "The thrice-born death rises from the grave, awakening the sleeping gate. The mouth beneath opens, bringing closure to the final Chosen One. Sounds like a party."
"Sunnydale style." Willow forced herself to smile. "I've been cross-referencing the thrice-born death thing, but so far no leads."
"Funny, that. She's standing right in front of you."
English accent, faint. Buffy and Willow turned together, staring at the peroxide blonde vampire lounging against the doorframe. Buffy sighed, mentally chastising herself for not locking the door when she'd gotten in. "Spike. Come with good news, I hope."
"No such luck." He took two steps towards them, hesitant, holding his hands behind his back. Looking to his right, he smiled faintly. "Giving it to her now, pet."
More with the crazy, Buffy thought, then remembered how he'd seen Willow when she hadn't, in the basement just a few days ago. Maybe not so much with the crazy. "Who's there, Spike?"
"You. Died twice. Born thrice." Spike stared down at the floor, crossing the room with a hesitant shuffle. From behind his back, he brought forward a scrap of parchment that had obviously seen better centuries. He chanced a brief glance at Buffy, then looked down again, holding the paper out towards Willow. She took it from him, glancing at the strange lettering.
"You'll want to check the slip, for authorization." He stepped back a few paces, giving Buffy room to move past him and study the paper over Willow's shoulder.
"I think this is in Hebrew." Willow laid the paper down on the table and turned to the computer. "It'll take me a while to translate, whatever it is."
"Before her, youth locked and unlocked. Behind her, love and death entwined eternal. On her right side, faith and loyalty. On her left side, life and death summoned." Spike hesitated, as if unwilling to continue. "At the center, the prophesy undone, shattering the final Chosen One."
Buffy stared at the paper intently. She didn't want to see him like this, unraveled like a ball of yarn battered too often by a playful kitten. "Willow?"
The redhead was busy typing away at her laptop. "Sounds like a ritual description, calling a circle or something. But I need to check the translation, and then do a ton of research to figure out what the heck it might mean. It's not a lot to go on. Where'd you get this, anyway?"
Willow glanced over to Spike, but he was already gone, vanished from the room as quietly as he'd arrived. Buffy realized from her friend's sigh that it was safe to look up again. "Tell you what, Willow. I'll do the food thing, you do the shower thing, and we can deal with the research thing later."
"That bad, huh?"
"Didn't want to say anything, but pjs at dinner, not your best look." Buffy picked up the parchment, flipping it over. There were letters scrawled across the back as well, faintly written in pencil, a careful, upright script.
IMy unlife among the outlaws was salty bittersweet
The things I did, I can't escape now
Though nights of lousy dreams
Took a leap of faith and I stumbled
Tried to change the bad man but I was humbled
These visions gather in my head
I find it hard to live with the things I did and said.
But for you my pet, I'd live it all again
And love you til the end/I
"Huh. Don't get many prophesies in plain old English," Willow said, reading the text over Buffy's shoulder.
Buffy shook her head, turning the page back over as she laid it down. Willow might not recognize the careful Victorian handwriting, but she did, from countless notes left on the fridge for Dawn, from shopping lists and poker tallies tucked away in corners of a dim crypt. "It's not prophesy. It's nothing."
Buffy shut her eyes and hoped her friend would leave before noticing the way her hands had begun to tremble.
AUTHOR: Betty Woo (lwa@rocketmail.com)
RATING: PG, non-specific reference to violence & sex in some chapters
SPOILERS: post-episode 7.3
FEEDBACK: Five by five. I don't have a beta reader for this fic, so comments about how I can improve the story are always much appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: Mutant Enemy made this universe, I'm just taking a non-profit tour. Poetry adapted from lyrics by Maria McKee for "My Girlhood among the Outlaws".
CHARACTERS: Willow & Buffy, Spike
CHAPTER ELEVEN - By the Book
Willow yawned and stretched once more, less to wake herself up and more for the sheer comfort of the familiar routine. Early Saturday morning at the Summers household and here she was, sitting at the kitchen table in her pajamas, hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee. Dawn was loading up on her morning fix of sugary cereal, while Buffy mixed up some weird protein shake next to the sink.
It was just like old times. At least, so long as Willow overlooked the way that Dawn was carefully ignoring her. After yesterday's meditation session, Buffy had been all smiles and warm greetings, but the younger girl had pointedly avoided her for the past two days. Willow wasn't surprised at how quickly Dawn polished off her breakfast and stormed out of the house.
"It's so nice to have a proper cup of coffee again," Willow said, taking another sip.
Buffy pushed Dawn's abandoned dishes to one side and sat down at the table. "England's more of a tea place, isn't it?"
"Tea. Crumpets. Cucumber sandwiches. Fried Mars bars."
"Ew."
"It explains a lot about the English, though. Anyone who'd commit such crimes against chocolate, well, they must be big on the self-punishment."
Willow winced slightly as the words left her mouth. Bringing up English guys, not a good around the Buffster right now. Hopefully she'd assume that Willow had been referring to Giles.
"Speaking of self-punishment, you ready for some research?" Buffy polished off her shake quickly, dropping the empty glass and Dawn's bowl into the sink.
Right, thought Willow. New topic, safe topic. Certainly safer than English blokes. Willow hesitated, wondering for the fifth time since she'd woken up if she should mention what she'd seen in Buffy's mind while they were linked during the meditation.
"Just let me get changed, and I'm good to go."
Buffy shook her head. "No need to dress in order to fight the forces of badness."
She led Willow over to her mom's old office space, the small nook next to the living room where Joyce used to keep her files for the gallery. The shelves that once held catalogues and art guides were now laden down with occult texts, the remnants of the collection Giles had left behind when he moved to England. Willow's old laptop was set up on the table. From the candy wrappers piled next to it, she guessed that Dawn had taken over hacking duties during her absence.
Willow ran her hand along the spines of the books, luxuriating in their texture. Pulling one out at random, she let the pages fall open, enjoying the musty smell. As fast and useful as computer research had always been, Willow had grown to love the physicality of immersing herself in these battered tomes.
Buffy flicked on the computer, waiting for the screen to warm up. "You sure you're going to be okay with this?"
Willow started, replacing the book with a slightly guilty expression. "Yeah, sure."
"The watcher's council sent over some books, to replace the ones." Buffy paused long enough for Willow to mentally add the unspoken words, destroyed in your Magic Box rampage. "It's nowhere near as complete as Giles's collection was, but there's a couple of databases online that have been good at filling in the gaps."
"Right." Willow sat at the computer, setting down her coffee. "So where do you want me to start?"
"Everywhere." Buffy pulled out a book at random and sat down at the table. "Those faces, for one. And from beneath, it devours, for two."
"Huh?"
"It's something I've been hearing, in dreams. For a couple of weeks now. I should probably have researched it before now, but you know me and the research, it's like coffee and, uh. Some unmixy things."
Willow felt a twinge of guilt, thinking of her friend trying to hold the hellmouth at bay all by herself. Well, not all alone. Xander had been around, and Dawn had obviously been pitching in a lot more. Still, trying to do the work of a Slayer and a Watcher all at once was obviously wearing Buffy down more than she was letting on.
"Nothing else strange that needs researching?"
"Not that I can think of, unless you can find some prophesy that tells me the boots I saw last week at Neiman Marcus will be going on sale soon."
Right, thought Willow, connecting to a bookmarked website that claimed to be a prophesy reference site. Female faces and nasties from below, she could find that.
Just as soon as she looked up some stuff about vampires with souls.
* * *
Willow stretched, creaking her neck from side to side. She'd forgotten just how physically demanding research could be. Buffy had hung around for a while in the morning, looking stuff up, mostly old Watcher journals about slayer training techniques. Then she'd bailed to do some training of her own, in the makeshift gym that had been erected in the basement. Translating Sumerian texts with the background noise of Buffy whaling away on a punching bag, that had been nice. Like the old days, before Warren and Tara and bad deals with Osiris.
Then Buffy had gone out for groceries, leaving Willow alone. That hadn't been as nice, but focusing on the text that scrolled past on the computer screen had helped her block out the loneliness, the occasional leap of her heart when the wind brushed against the house and she thought, just for a second, that she could hear Tara coming up the porch.
Buffy would be back soon, she hoped, glancing at the notes she'd made on a pad of paper beside the computer. Not much to report yet, especially since she hadn't exactly been following the research trail that Buffy had outlined. A snippet of prophesy about a vampire and son, but she didn't quite see how that would apply to Spike, unless it was a reference to Angel killing Spike.
Willow glanced outside the window, realizing that dusk was fast approaching. She'd spent the whole day at the computer, still in her pajamas. Comfortable as they were, it was probably time for a shower and something fresher to wear. She left the computer on while she stood and headed towards the stairs.
The mouse moved. She caught the motion out of the corner of her eye, turning to stare as the keys on the computer began depressing one by one, as if being typed upon by an invisible hand. A protective chant came unbidden to her thoughts as she walked slowly back towards the computer.
A new website, one she hadn't seen before, was loading on the screen. Willow could sense the spirit as she approached, felt it leave the computer and brush by her with a gentle touch along her cheek.
The way Tara had touched her face, after they made love.
"Tara," she whispered, but the presence was already gone, nothing there anymore but the faint glow of the laptop screen in the darkening room. Willow glanced at the screen, taking in the words.
Sitting down, she called up her translation software and started piecing together the prophesy on the screen, her shower forgotten.
* * *
Buffy perched on the edge of the table, hoping it was just her slayer senses that made staying downwind from Willow seem like such a good idea. Her friend had the same enthused expression she always wore when she'd made a major research breakthrough, although events of the last year had made Buffy a bit more wary about Willow's enthusiasm about all things occultish.
"Okay, so I still need to run this by Giles, cause I'm not too sure about the translation. Sanskrit grammar is pretty tricky, and there's a couple of words that I still haven't figured out."
"No prob, Will. Just give with the gist."
"The hellmouth's getting all rumbly."
"Do we know who's doing the rumbling?"
Willow fidgeted with her computer mouse. "The hellmouth."
"Got that part. Who's the baddies?"
"That's what I've been saying." Buffy let the notion sink in slowly while Willow rustled through her notes. "The mouth beneath opens, bringing. I can't be sure of the rest of this translation, Buffy."
Willow had on bad-news face, which was never reassuring. "So you're saying the hellmouth is opening. Been there, done that, will do again."
"Not opening. Waking. Um, here."
Willow handed over her notepad to Buffy, who scanned through the scrawled annotations. "The thrice-born death rises from the grave, awakening the sleeping gate. The mouth beneath opens, bringing closure to the final Chosen One. Sounds like a party."
"Sunnydale style." Willow forced herself to smile. "I've been cross-referencing the thrice-born death thing, but so far no leads."
"Funny, that. She's standing right in front of you."
English accent, faint. Buffy and Willow turned together, staring at the peroxide blonde vampire lounging against the doorframe. Buffy sighed, mentally chastising herself for not locking the door when she'd gotten in. "Spike. Come with good news, I hope."
"No such luck." He took two steps towards them, hesitant, holding his hands behind his back. Looking to his right, he smiled faintly. "Giving it to her now, pet."
More with the crazy, Buffy thought, then remembered how he'd seen Willow when she hadn't, in the basement just a few days ago. Maybe not so much with the crazy. "Who's there, Spike?"
"You. Died twice. Born thrice." Spike stared down at the floor, crossing the room with a hesitant shuffle. From behind his back, he brought forward a scrap of parchment that had obviously seen better centuries. He chanced a brief glance at Buffy, then looked down again, holding the paper out towards Willow. She took it from him, glancing at the strange lettering.
"You'll want to check the slip, for authorization." He stepped back a few paces, giving Buffy room to move past him and study the paper over Willow's shoulder.
"I think this is in Hebrew." Willow laid the paper down on the table and turned to the computer. "It'll take me a while to translate, whatever it is."
"Before her, youth locked and unlocked. Behind her, love and death entwined eternal. On her right side, faith and loyalty. On her left side, life and death summoned." Spike hesitated, as if unwilling to continue. "At the center, the prophesy undone, shattering the final Chosen One."
Buffy stared at the paper intently. She didn't want to see him like this, unraveled like a ball of yarn battered too often by a playful kitten. "Willow?"
The redhead was busy typing away at her laptop. "Sounds like a ritual description, calling a circle or something. But I need to check the translation, and then do a ton of research to figure out what the heck it might mean. It's not a lot to go on. Where'd you get this, anyway?"
Willow glanced over to Spike, but he was already gone, vanished from the room as quietly as he'd arrived. Buffy realized from her friend's sigh that it was safe to look up again. "Tell you what, Willow. I'll do the food thing, you do the shower thing, and we can deal with the research thing later."
"That bad, huh?"
"Didn't want to say anything, but pjs at dinner, not your best look." Buffy picked up the parchment, flipping it over. There were letters scrawled across the back as well, faintly written in pencil, a careful, upright script.
IMy unlife among the outlaws was salty bittersweet
The things I did, I can't escape now
Though nights of lousy dreams
Took a leap of faith and I stumbled
Tried to change the bad man but I was humbled
These visions gather in my head
I find it hard to live with the things I did and said.
But for you my pet, I'd live it all again
And love you til the end/I
"Huh. Don't get many prophesies in plain old English," Willow said, reading the text over Buffy's shoulder.
Buffy shook her head, turning the page back over as she laid it down. Willow might not recognize the careful Victorian handwriting, but she did, from countless notes left on the fridge for Dawn, from shopping lists and poker tallies tucked away in corners of a dim crypt. "It's not prophesy. It's nothing."
Buffy shut her eyes and hoped her friend would leave before noticing the way her hands had begun to tremble.