Disclaimer: I was hanging outside the Quick Stop with my hetro-life-partner
Silent Bob, when this snooched out son of a bitch comes over to us. "Hey,
you cock-faced mother fucker, you wanna nickel bag or what?" I says. "No,"
says the ass-cock, "I'm Joss Whedon, and I own everything that has to do
with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, so I've got my own stash of blunts." Then I
says, "FUCK YOU, YOU ARE A BALL-LICKER!" Then Silent Bob performed his Jedi
mind trick, and this Joss bastard gave me James Marster's home address.
Rating: R (I know, you're probably all "Hey, when is it gonna get all R- rated?" Don't worry, I have a very dirty mouth, and an incredibly dirty mind.)
Summary: After a horrifying incident, Buffy leaves Sunnydale, vowing never to return. Well, we all know she can't stay away forever.
Author's Notes: Sorry, I would have updated sooner, but homework took over my life. I HATE CALCULUS!!!!! Oh, and European history bites balls too. Anyway, thank you sooo much for the wonderful reviews. This, as I said before, is my first fan fiction ever, and it's great to know that people like it. I'll try to update it at least twice a week, a chapter at a time.
PS: Faith Drusilla, I'll do whatever the hell I want, bitch! LOL, and I love ya much.
Chapter Three- Help
"Why did they even bother to open it up?" Phoenix sighed as she fiddled on top of a barstool. Uranium was a ghost town. No Doubt was in town this evening, so every drinking individual in Chicago was trying to score tickets. She would have gone herself, but Terry demanded she work.
Across the club sat a group of women, celebrating a bachlorette party or something like that. A few other couples danced on the floor. Of course, Terry's regular "customers" hung out in the back room, trying whatever new illegal substance he had gotten his hands on.
For the thousandth time, she sighed while twirling her tray on the bar. Leaning her head on her fist, she let out an enormous belch.
"Nice one," a voice next to her commented. Phoenix turned her head to study her neighbor.
He was an older man, nearing fifty, his silver hair neatly parted and slicked down. Five o'clock shadow covered his face like it was sand. Leaning down, he pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his battered raincoat, lighting the end of one with a cheap lighter. When he offered her one, she merely shook her head.
"Never been one for the smoking," she sighed. "So, is it a waste to ask if you want something?"
"No, you can get me a beer." His head turned towards the young girl, offering a brief smile.
Phoenix stood slowly then went around the bar to fix the guy a drink. $6.50, a pretty expensive beer.
The man leaned his head backwards, gulping the beer. He then wiped the foam off of his lips with the back of his hand.
"What's your name, cutie?" the stranger asked when his breath returned to him.
Shaking her head, she gave an annoyed grin. *Every single night. . * "Phoenix."
He looked at her in disbelief. "That your real name? How the hell do ya get a name like that?"
"Well, my mom was some dippy flower child, and felt the name gave me power."
Chuckling, he took a drag from his cigarette. "Well, you don't look like a Phoenix."
"Then what do I look like?"
The man smiled as he squished his cigarette out in the ashtray.
"You look like a Buffy."
Phoenix felt her heart drop into her stomach. Her eyes grew large as her mouth fell open.
"Who the hell are you?"
The strange man reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Todd Dirnt, Private Investigator. I was hired by a few of your friends in Sunnydale." Phoenix began to protest. "Honey, don't try to deny it. I've done all the necessary things to figure out who you are. Photo ID, fingerprints, old newspaper clippings, records. I found ya, Buffy Summers."
Phoenix leaned in, whispering to the man. "That's not me. Buffy doesn't exist anymore."
"What happened to her?" Todd's face was filled with concern for the young woman.
Phoenix sighed. "Reality. The fact that you can't protect everyone. You catching my drift?"
His eyes began to well up with tears. Before him was a poor, lost girl who didn't understand how much she was loved by the people at home. "Buffy. . . Phoenix, I don't know what happened to you; your friends didn't tell me a lot about you. But, they DO need you. It's pretty obvious. For the past nine weeks, this Willow girl calls me, always asking 'Did you find her?'. They need your help, something's wrong, and they say only you can stop it or something like that."
Her heart began to beat a bit faster while the possibilities raced through her head. Maybes Giles was sick, or Xander got hurt, or maybe, God, please don't let it be, maybe it was the end of the world all over again.
Turning her head away from the man, she began to quietly speak. "You don't know how hard it is. I left because I was hurting the people I love. Every time I think of Sunnydale, I think I'm going to vomit."
Todd reached out to pat her hand. "Sorry honey, it has to be tough. I should know. . ."
The young girl whipped her head towards Todd. "What?"
He sighed while pulling out another cigarette. "When I was about nineteen, I ran away from home. My family was awful and I needed to leave. Then, about three years later, my mom died. They found me and brought me back for the funeral. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." He stopped to take a long drag off his cigarette, wincing at the memory. "But, I realized that I needed to go home, sort out the stuff I left behind."
Phoenix looked away again, and Todd could see tears sprouting from the corner of her eyes. "How about this: Let's pretend that I haven't found you. Your friends at home still don't know. I'll give you a few days to think things over, and you can decide what to do. But, I'm still gonna call them. Just not right now." Todd stood up, and pulled out a ten from his coat pocket. Setting it down on the bar counter, he leaned towards Phoenix. "I know you'll do the right thing." With that, he turned around and left the bar. The young girl looked down at the money, and didn't move for a long time.
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
Phoenix grabbed a suitcase from the closet and ran back to the bedroom, throwing it down on the bed. Scooping up clothes from the dresser, she stuffed them into the suitcase and other bags she'd found. In a frenzy, she ran around the apartment, gathering items she had collected over the past years.
I'm not running, I'm not running, I'm not running. . .
Her little encounter with the private investigator spooked her. No way in hell was she going back to Sunnydale. Her plan was to catch a plane, skip around the country for a few weeks, change identities, and find a different place to live. Maybe she'd travel to Mexico, or even Europe.
She raced into the closet again, looking for the box which held her expensive jewelry. As she pulled it from the mass of boxes that cluttered the top shelf, a rain of junk came pouring down.
"GOD DAMN IT!" She really didn't need this. The contents of the closet littered the floor, and she bent down to sift through them.
It was near her favorite pair of Prada sandals that she found it. The picture of her, Xander, and Willow. They had fallen asleep after watching a movie. Xander slept at the end of the couch, feet on the table, and head back, obviously snoring. Willow was next to him, legs curled underneath her, and her head lying on Xander's shoulder. As for her, she was lounging against the other end of the couch, her legs draping over Willow and Xander's thighs.
Phoenix smiled sadly at the picture, remembering the love she felt for her friends. And here she was, packing up and ditching them when they needed her the most.
She stood up, placing the photo on the dresser, and dumped her belongings out of the suitcases and bags. Then, she began to repack, choosing with care the things she would take.
A few hours later, she was ready to leave. The airport had an eight AM flight to Los Angeles, and she could rent a car to drive to Sunnydale. Checking that everything in her apartment was turned off, she picked up her bags and left the apartment. Walking down the stairs, the realization of what she was doing slowly came to her.
Oh God. . . I'm going home!
Rating: R (I know, you're probably all "Hey, when is it gonna get all R- rated?" Don't worry, I have a very dirty mouth, and an incredibly dirty mind.)
Summary: After a horrifying incident, Buffy leaves Sunnydale, vowing never to return. Well, we all know she can't stay away forever.
Author's Notes: Sorry, I would have updated sooner, but homework took over my life. I HATE CALCULUS!!!!! Oh, and European history bites balls too. Anyway, thank you sooo much for the wonderful reviews. This, as I said before, is my first fan fiction ever, and it's great to know that people like it. I'll try to update it at least twice a week, a chapter at a time.
PS: Faith Drusilla, I'll do whatever the hell I want, bitch! LOL, and I love ya much.
Chapter Three- Help
"Why did they even bother to open it up?" Phoenix sighed as she fiddled on top of a barstool. Uranium was a ghost town. No Doubt was in town this evening, so every drinking individual in Chicago was trying to score tickets. She would have gone herself, but Terry demanded she work.
Across the club sat a group of women, celebrating a bachlorette party or something like that. A few other couples danced on the floor. Of course, Terry's regular "customers" hung out in the back room, trying whatever new illegal substance he had gotten his hands on.
For the thousandth time, she sighed while twirling her tray on the bar. Leaning her head on her fist, she let out an enormous belch.
"Nice one," a voice next to her commented. Phoenix turned her head to study her neighbor.
He was an older man, nearing fifty, his silver hair neatly parted and slicked down. Five o'clock shadow covered his face like it was sand. Leaning down, he pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his battered raincoat, lighting the end of one with a cheap lighter. When he offered her one, she merely shook her head.
"Never been one for the smoking," she sighed. "So, is it a waste to ask if you want something?"
"No, you can get me a beer." His head turned towards the young girl, offering a brief smile.
Phoenix stood slowly then went around the bar to fix the guy a drink. $6.50, a pretty expensive beer.
The man leaned his head backwards, gulping the beer. He then wiped the foam off of his lips with the back of his hand.
"What's your name, cutie?" the stranger asked when his breath returned to him.
Shaking her head, she gave an annoyed grin. *Every single night. . * "Phoenix."
He looked at her in disbelief. "That your real name? How the hell do ya get a name like that?"
"Well, my mom was some dippy flower child, and felt the name gave me power."
Chuckling, he took a drag from his cigarette. "Well, you don't look like a Phoenix."
"Then what do I look like?"
The man smiled as he squished his cigarette out in the ashtray.
"You look like a Buffy."
Phoenix felt her heart drop into her stomach. Her eyes grew large as her mouth fell open.
"Who the hell are you?"
The strange man reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Todd Dirnt, Private Investigator. I was hired by a few of your friends in Sunnydale." Phoenix began to protest. "Honey, don't try to deny it. I've done all the necessary things to figure out who you are. Photo ID, fingerprints, old newspaper clippings, records. I found ya, Buffy Summers."
Phoenix leaned in, whispering to the man. "That's not me. Buffy doesn't exist anymore."
"What happened to her?" Todd's face was filled with concern for the young woman.
Phoenix sighed. "Reality. The fact that you can't protect everyone. You catching my drift?"
His eyes began to well up with tears. Before him was a poor, lost girl who didn't understand how much she was loved by the people at home. "Buffy. . . Phoenix, I don't know what happened to you; your friends didn't tell me a lot about you. But, they DO need you. It's pretty obvious. For the past nine weeks, this Willow girl calls me, always asking 'Did you find her?'. They need your help, something's wrong, and they say only you can stop it or something like that."
Her heart began to beat a bit faster while the possibilities raced through her head. Maybes Giles was sick, or Xander got hurt, or maybe, God, please don't let it be, maybe it was the end of the world all over again.
Turning her head away from the man, she began to quietly speak. "You don't know how hard it is. I left because I was hurting the people I love. Every time I think of Sunnydale, I think I'm going to vomit."
Todd reached out to pat her hand. "Sorry honey, it has to be tough. I should know. . ."
The young girl whipped her head towards Todd. "What?"
He sighed while pulling out another cigarette. "When I was about nineteen, I ran away from home. My family was awful and I needed to leave. Then, about three years later, my mom died. They found me and brought me back for the funeral. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." He stopped to take a long drag off his cigarette, wincing at the memory. "But, I realized that I needed to go home, sort out the stuff I left behind."
Phoenix looked away again, and Todd could see tears sprouting from the corner of her eyes. "How about this: Let's pretend that I haven't found you. Your friends at home still don't know. I'll give you a few days to think things over, and you can decide what to do. But, I'm still gonna call them. Just not right now." Todd stood up, and pulled out a ten from his coat pocket. Setting it down on the bar counter, he leaned towards Phoenix. "I know you'll do the right thing." With that, he turned around and left the bar. The young girl looked down at the money, and didn't move for a long time.
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
Phoenix grabbed a suitcase from the closet and ran back to the bedroom, throwing it down on the bed. Scooping up clothes from the dresser, she stuffed them into the suitcase and other bags she'd found. In a frenzy, she ran around the apartment, gathering items she had collected over the past years.
I'm not running, I'm not running, I'm not running. . .
Her little encounter with the private investigator spooked her. No way in hell was she going back to Sunnydale. Her plan was to catch a plane, skip around the country for a few weeks, change identities, and find a different place to live. Maybe she'd travel to Mexico, or even Europe.
She raced into the closet again, looking for the box which held her expensive jewelry. As she pulled it from the mass of boxes that cluttered the top shelf, a rain of junk came pouring down.
"GOD DAMN IT!" She really didn't need this. The contents of the closet littered the floor, and she bent down to sift through them.
It was near her favorite pair of Prada sandals that she found it. The picture of her, Xander, and Willow. They had fallen asleep after watching a movie. Xander slept at the end of the couch, feet on the table, and head back, obviously snoring. Willow was next to him, legs curled underneath her, and her head lying on Xander's shoulder. As for her, she was lounging against the other end of the couch, her legs draping over Willow and Xander's thighs.
Phoenix smiled sadly at the picture, remembering the love she felt for her friends. And here she was, packing up and ditching them when they needed her the most.
She stood up, placing the photo on the dresser, and dumped her belongings out of the suitcases and bags. Then, she began to repack, choosing with care the things she would take.
A few hours later, she was ready to leave. The airport had an eight AM flight to Los Angeles, and she could rent a car to drive to Sunnydale. Checking that everything in her apartment was turned off, she picked up her bags and left the apartment. Walking down the stairs, the realization of what she was doing slowly came to her.
Oh God. . . I'm going home!