2427
"Stop!" a feminine, heavily-accented voice cries out in the international language over the crowd in the airport. "Buffy Summers, stop where you are!"
Come on. Where is it, where is it, where is it? I tap my foot, play with the ends of my cropped blonde hair, and glance around nervously, my eyes scanning the people around me for the source of the shouts directed at me. Luckily, the international transport had been full, so a dense throng surrounds me, waiting for their eyes to be scanned for identification purposes and for their bags, buying me some time.
Noticing the group rippling to my right, I know my time is dwindling to nothing. At that moment, I spot my bag being transported onto the platform by the particle beams. Snatching the small tote up almost before it materializes completely, I duck past people to avoid the exit eye scan; otherwise, I'll be caught more quickly.
Racing through the transport terminal and thanking the powers that be it is nighttime, I search for any sort of hover vehicle that I can use to lead Vanessa into a less populated area.
Spying a young woman entering her obviously rented vehicle at the curb in front of the terminal, I shove her out of my path and leap into the control seat.
"Hey!" I hear her shout. "That's mine!"
"Sorry," I call out behind me as I start the forward moving system and rise into the air. Fingers dancing over the navigation keyboard, I enter a set of location coordinates, forwarding a copy to the Council's main network.
I glimpse Vanessa's lean form emerging from the terminal and pause to make certain that she sees me. When her eyes land on me, I release the brake and jerk forward, guiding my quarry to an area the Council managed to find for me.
Once I've set the vehicle in motion, the onboard computer does the rest of the work, giving my brain time to recuperate and plan.
The Council has had me on this mission for two years. Vanessa remained hidden for the first year and a half. No signs of her presence were detected by the myriad of identification stops around the world. The Council had me check out several bogus tips received by their agents. None of them panned out until Vanessa herself wanted to be located.
Six months ago, she sent an encrypted message through Council communication channels, announcing that she had found and slain Drusilla and her minion horde. Now she is turning her attention to other prey. . . me.
I took the news of Drusilla's demise with mixed emotions. Part of me remains glad that Dru is dust, but the other part of me aches because I know how much Spike will hurt when he hears the news. . . the way I hurt when Angel died over two hundred years ago.
And somehow, I *know* without a doubt that Spike has received the news about Drusilla. The Council has not told him, but Spike has his resources. He knows.
I regret not being there for him.
Though two years may not seem to be a long time in the course of four hundred years, I have never felt more alone. Each night, I achieve only a minimal amount of sleep, and I cannot count the number of pounds that have melted off my body. And if I am feeling this way with my knowledge of the truth of my situation, I can only imagine how Spike must be feeling.
A sharp crunch resounds in the air, and my vehicle jerks from the original path, almost hitting a nearby speeder. I pull the computer system offline and take manual control of my course.
My pursuer's stolen vehicle flies next to mine, and I catch a flash of Vanessa's reddish hair through the window. She rams sideways into me, and the flexible door bends and snaps back in place easily, so she switches tactics, forcing her vehicle up and over mine. Slamming down on top of me, she shatters the glass on my fore-window. The aftershocks of the blow reverberate through my bones, and the vehicle's computer is damaged, sending sparks into my face.
Time to force a manual landing. I focus my eyes outside the side window and espy a fairly deserted park a few yards away.
Perfect.
Making sure my weapons cache is firmly hooked over my shoulder, I pilot the wobbling machine toward the ground, carefully avoiding any cross air traffic. Several seconds later, I land with a bump similar to an old airplane landing. I whip off my body strap and push open the top of the vehicle, hopping lightly to my feet.
Vanessa has landed not far away, and I have seconds before I am engaged in the fight of my unlife. I shove a muscle paralyzer up my sleeve and pocket a sedative deliverer.
Crouching in a defensive position, I wait for Vanessa to engage me. I want to observe her fighting strategies before I attack. Through endless hours of training with Spike, I am now an expert at discerning the weaknesses of my opponents. While Vanessa has the advantage of power, I have the advantage of years of experience.
The upcoming fight does not intimidate me, but I am not a fool either. Vanessa is no pushover. She approaches battle the way I used to. . . without trepidation. After years of learning to survive and use all my feelings to the greatest advantage, I've learned to harness my anxiety and fear to give me an edge in a battle. Spike assures me acceptance of my feelings is better than ignoring or denying them.
"So, you must be Vanessa," I say, issuing the first communication.
The rogue slayer smirks at me, her features hardened. She does not appear to be only fourteen with her thatch of red hair streaked with burgundy and green. Her eyes flash steel grey when they meet my hazel ones. "And you must be Buffy. You know why I'm after you?"
I try to empathize first. "I understand, Vanessa, what you're going through. Vampires have done despicable things to my family as well." Images of Angelus and his rampage through my life flow into my conscious memory for the first time in years.
Vanessa begins to circle me, power pouring off of her body in waves, and for the first time, I feel strangely like a hunted animal. . . like the vampires I stalked and killed as a human slayer. "You could never understand. You're one of them. . . one of Drusilla's family."
"And I used to be a slayer," I remind her, trying to present myself as more human in her view, "Whose family and friends were tortured and murdered by Angelus."
"He was famous for harming members of his own. Doesn't mean they were innocents." Vanessa's knuckles noticeably whiten as she tightens the grip on her stake. I can feel her getting ready to pounce, so I ready myself for deflecting her attack.
A memory of Angel standing in my kitchen wearing an uncomfortable, pained expression issues forth. "Drusilla was psychologically tortured prior to being turned by Angelus. He killed her family and made her believe that she was evil and sinful. He took everything from her and drove her insane, and when she entered the convent to protect herself, he turned her."
"Doesn't matter. She's still soulless. She still killed my family."
I switch tactics. "Don't let what Drusilla did to your family destroy you, too. I'm here to help you. I know how hard it is to be a slayer."
Vanessa's face melts for a moment but then, resumes its armor. "Don't try to distract me. The world will be a better place when it's free of all demons. . . starting with all members of Drusilla's family."
Before I can reply, she launches herself at me. I anticipate her attack and block her initial flying kick easily.
"You'll have to do better than that, Vanessa."
Her arm swings out a well-timed punch that connects with my abdomen, throwing me back. If I had been human, I would have had the wind knocked out of me. "How's that?"
"Hmmm. Well, it leaves your left side wide open," I note, grasping her left arm and flipping her onto her back.
She kicks out as she falls, sweeping my legs out from under me. "Which I can use to my advantage."
I can tell she still hasn't taken me seriously. Obviously, she doesn't know Buffy Summers.
Rolling over the soft, genetically engineered grass, I land on my feet and whirl to face her as she hurls herself at me. Using her inertia against her, I send her tumbling over my shoulder to the ground. She grunts as her body connects with the unmoving surface, and before she knows what's happening, I am upon her, pinning her down.
"Vanessa, we just want to help you," I assert.
Breathing heavily, she grins. "Who's 'we'? The Council? They're a bunch of idiots who don't know what being a slayer is all about."
I have to agree with her on that point. "Well, even if the Council has ulterior motives, I don't, and I want to help you."
"I don't think so." In a characteristic slayer move, she wraps her legs around my ribcage and uses me to propel herself over my head to land behind me.
For several minutes, words and logic are lost in the fast-paced ballet of exchanged kicks, punches, dance steps, and acrobatics. For the first time since I've been a vampire, I am truly fighting, not just sparring, with a slayer, and I note with irony that I now understand exactly what Spike meant when he said that all we ever did was dance.
Loneliness shoots through my muscles, and I experience a momentary longing for Spike's presence.
Vanessa uses my lapse to her advantage and manages to pin me against a nearby tree trunk, which is more synthetic than actual wood, so I am not afraid of being staked on a stray branch. However, Vanessa jams what I am sure is a stake made of pure wood grain between my ribs, almost but not quite puncturing my flesh.
Sweat dripping off the young slayer's forehead, and her chest is slightly heaving. Her unidentifiable accent is thicker when she is tired. "So, I've got you now. I've defeated the legendary Buffy Summers."
Without warning, a lithe form clothed in a replica of the black leather duster he wore so many years ago crashes into Vanessa's left side, and the stake in her hand spins through the air. I pick the wooden instrument out of the air with a renewed ease and turn my attention back to. . .
Spike! My Spike is here!
TBC. . . still in 2427 *g* thanks everyone for continuing with the reading. . .
"Stop!" a feminine, heavily-accented voice cries out in the international language over the crowd in the airport. "Buffy Summers, stop where you are!"
Come on. Where is it, where is it, where is it? I tap my foot, play with the ends of my cropped blonde hair, and glance around nervously, my eyes scanning the people around me for the source of the shouts directed at me. Luckily, the international transport had been full, so a dense throng surrounds me, waiting for their eyes to be scanned for identification purposes and for their bags, buying me some time.
Noticing the group rippling to my right, I know my time is dwindling to nothing. At that moment, I spot my bag being transported onto the platform by the particle beams. Snatching the small tote up almost before it materializes completely, I duck past people to avoid the exit eye scan; otherwise, I'll be caught more quickly.
Racing through the transport terminal and thanking the powers that be it is nighttime, I search for any sort of hover vehicle that I can use to lead Vanessa into a less populated area.
Spying a young woman entering her obviously rented vehicle at the curb in front of the terminal, I shove her out of my path and leap into the control seat.
"Hey!" I hear her shout. "That's mine!"
"Sorry," I call out behind me as I start the forward moving system and rise into the air. Fingers dancing over the navigation keyboard, I enter a set of location coordinates, forwarding a copy to the Council's main network.
I glimpse Vanessa's lean form emerging from the terminal and pause to make certain that she sees me. When her eyes land on me, I release the brake and jerk forward, guiding my quarry to an area the Council managed to find for me.
Once I've set the vehicle in motion, the onboard computer does the rest of the work, giving my brain time to recuperate and plan.
The Council has had me on this mission for two years. Vanessa remained hidden for the first year and a half. No signs of her presence were detected by the myriad of identification stops around the world. The Council had me check out several bogus tips received by their agents. None of them panned out until Vanessa herself wanted to be located.
Six months ago, she sent an encrypted message through Council communication channels, announcing that she had found and slain Drusilla and her minion horde. Now she is turning her attention to other prey. . . me.
I took the news of Drusilla's demise with mixed emotions. Part of me remains glad that Dru is dust, but the other part of me aches because I know how much Spike will hurt when he hears the news. . . the way I hurt when Angel died over two hundred years ago.
And somehow, I *know* without a doubt that Spike has received the news about Drusilla. The Council has not told him, but Spike has his resources. He knows.
I regret not being there for him.
Though two years may not seem to be a long time in the course of four hundred years, I have never felt more alone. Each night, I achieve only a minimal amount of sleep, and I cannot count the number of pounds that have melted off my body. And if I am feeling this way with my knowledge of the truth of my situation, I can only imagine how Spike must be feeling.
A sharp crunch resounds in the air, and my vehicle jerks from the original path, almost hitting a nearby speeder. I pull the computer system offline and take manual control of my course.
My pursuer's stolen vehicle flies next to mine, and I catch a flash of Vanessa's reddish hair through the window. She rams sideways into me, and the flexible door bends and snaps back in place easily, so she switches tactics, forcing her vehicle up and over mine. Slamming down on top of me, she shatters the glass on my fore-window. The aftershocks of the blow reverberate through my bones, and the vehicle's computer is damaged, sending sparks into my face.
Time to force a manual landing. I focus my eyes outside the side window and espy a fairly deserted park a few yards away.
Perfect.
Making sure my weapons cache is firmly hooked over my shoulder, I pilot the wobbling machine toward the ground, carefully avoiding any cross air traffic. Several seconds later, I land with a bump similar to an old airplane landing. I whip off my body strap and push open the top of the vehicle, hopping lightly to my feet.
Vanessa has landed not far away, and I have seconds before I am engaged in the fight of my unlife. I shove a muscle paralyzer up my sleeve and pocket a sedative deliverer.
Crouching in a defensive position, I wait for Vanessa to engage me. I want to observe her fighting strategies before I attack. Through endless hours of training with Spike, I am now an expert at discerning the weaknesses of my opponents. While Vanessa has the advantage of power, I have the advantage of years of experience.
The upcoming fight does not intimidate me, but I am not a fool either. Vanessa is no pushover. She approaches battle the way I used to. . . without trepidation. After years of learning to survive and use all my feelings to the greatest advantage, I've learned to harness my anxiety and fear to give me an edge in a battle. Spike assures me acceptance of my feelings is better than ignoring or denying them.
"So, you must be Vanessa," I say, issuing the first communication.
The rogue slayer smirks at me, her features hardened. She does not appear to be only fourteen with her thatch of red hair streaked with burgundy and green. Her eyes flash steel grey when they meet my hazel ones. "And you must be Buffy. You know why I'm after you?"
I try to empathize first. "I understand, Vanessa, what you're going through. Vampires have done despicable things to my family as well." Images of Angelus and his rampage through my life flow into my conscious memory for the first time in years.
Vanessa begins to circle me, power pouring off of her body in waves, and for the first time, I feel strangely like a hunted animal. . . like the vampires I stalked and killed as a human slayer. "You could never understand. You're one of them. . . one of Drusilla's family."
"And I used to be a slayer," I remind her, trying to present myself as more human in her view, "Whose family and friends were tortured and murdered by Angelus."
"He was famous for harming members of his own. Doesn't mean they were innocents." Vanessa's knuckles noticeably whiten as she tightens the grip on her stake. I can feel her getting ready to pounce, so I ready myself for deflecting her attack.
A memory of Angel standing in my kitchen wearing an uncomfortable, pained expression issues forth. "Drusilla was psychologically tortured prior to being turned by Angelus. He killed her family and made her believe that she was evil and sinful. He took everything from her and drove her insane, and when she entered the convent to protect herself, he turned her."
"Doesn't matter. She's still soulless. She still killed my family."
I switch tactics. "Don't let what Drusilla did to your family destroy you, too. I'm here to help you. I know how hard it is to be a slayer."
Vanessa's face melts for a moment but then, resumes its armor. "Don't try to distract me. The world will be a better place when it's free of all demons. . . starting with all members of Drusilla's family."
Before I can reply, she launches herself at me. I anticipate her attack and block her initial flying kick easily.
"You'll have to do better than that, Vanessa."
Her arm swings out a well-timed punch that connects with my abdomen, throwing me back. If I had been human, I would have had the wind knocked out of me. "How's that?"
"Hmmm. Well, it leaves your left side wide open," I note, grasping her left arm and flipping her onto her back.
She kicks out as she falls, sweeping my legs out from under me. "Which I can use to my advantage."
I can tell she still hasn't taken me seriously. Obviously, she doesn't know Buffy Summers.
Rolling over the soft, genetically engineered grass, I land on my feet and whirl to face her as she hurls herself at me. Using her inertia against her, I send her tumbling over my shoulder to the ground. She grunts as her body connects with the unmoving surface, and before she knows what's happening, I am upon her, pinning her down.
"Vanessa, we just want to help you," I assert.
Breathing heavily, she grins. "Who's 'we'? The Council? They're a bunch of idiots who don't know what being a slayer is all about."
I have to agree with her on that point. "Well, even if the Council has ulterior motives, I don't, and I want to help you."
"I don't think so." In a characteristic slayer move, she wraps her legs around my ribcage and uses me to propel herself over my head to land behind me.
For several minutes, words and logic are lost in the fast-paced ballet of exchanged kicks, punches, dance steps, and acrobatics. For the first time since I've been a vampire, I am truly fighting, not just sparring, with a slayer, and I note with irony that I now understand exactly what Spike meant when he said that all we ever did was dance.
Loneliness shoots through my muscles, and I experience a momentary longing for Spike's presence.
Vanessa uses my lapse to her advantage and manages to pin me against a nearby tree trunk, which is more synthetic than actual wood, so I am not afraid of being staked on a stray branch. However, Vanessa jams what I am sure is a stake made of pure wood grain between my ribs, almost but not quite puncturing my flesh.
Sweat dripping off the young slayer's forehead, and her chest is slightly heaving. Her unidentifiable accent is thicker when she is tired. "So, I've got you now. I've defeated the legendary Buffy Summers."
Without warning, a lithe form clothed in a replica of the black leather duster he wore so many years ago crashes into Vanessa's left side, and the stake in her hand spins through the air. I pick the wooden instrument out of the air with a renewed ease and turn my attention back to. . .
Spike! My Spike is here!
TBC. . . still in 2427 *g* thanks everyone for continuing with the reading. . .