Twist of Fate: Chapter 32
by Lisette

Legalese: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers and ratings.

With a gentle care that seemed almost foreign to her, or at least to the image that she portrayed, Miss Parker closed the bedroom door with a soft click. Not even Broots could understand the strange bond that she shared with his small daughter, but try as she may to avoid it, the little girl had wormed her way into Miss Parker's cold and empty heart. And now that she was there, Miss Parker was loathe to admit that she wouldn't have it any other way. While she displayed a cold indifference to the child while in the presence of others, alone with Debbie she could finally allow the walls down for a brief moment - walls that hadn't been lowered since Tommy's death.

Sighing, Miss Parker left the door and moved down the short hall until she was standing in the entryway to the living room of the large mansion. The scene before her caused a small smile to lift her lips, as it was a picture of utter chaos and confusion - a chaos that the others seemed to thrive in. After leaving the hospital, the group had decided to return to the old mansion that contained so many of the books that were going to be needed. Since then, the group had quickly set to work to clear the massive table that had sat to one side. Then, within minutes its surface was scattered with medical texts before Jarod and with what the others had described as demon texts, magic books, and Watcher's diaries - all spread before Xander and Oz who were busy flipping through the old tomes. Adding to the chaos were two laptops set up in a miniscule clear spot on the table, Broots and Willow working side by side through wireless internet connections and pouring through databases, fingers flying faster than her eyes could follow. In the main bedroom off of the living room, Miss Parker knew that Sydney continued to work with Buffy, trying his hand at physical therapy in hopes of starting the long process of getting Faith's body back in shape - though according to the others, the timeframe for Faith's atrophied muscles to regain their usual strength would be far less than for anyone who wasn't a Slayer.

It seemed that everyone had a purpose and mission in their quest to find a solution. While Jarod worked at gathering the information needed to fix the damage done to Buffy's brain, the others worked on finding a way to get her back into her own body before Faith decided that it was time to leave her coma behind and join the land of the living - something that was bound to happen sooner, rather than later, according to Buffy. And seeing as how the girl was currently occupying the comatose slayer's body, they weren't really in a place to argue the validity of her statement. They just had to work quickly... which left Miss Parker with the realization that in this case, she was useless - a feeling that she wasn't accustomed to.

Sighing once again, Miss Parker's eyes roamed across the people that she could no longer classify as strangers, not yet friends, her eyes finally taking note of the one person that seemed to be absent. Frowning slightly, she stepped further in the room, her eyes catching movement from the windows that adorned the glass doors that led out to a garden, long since withered in the cold January weather. Without making a conscious decision, she crossed the living room in a few long strides and slipped unnoticed from the mansion, her brown eyes lighting on the figure who stood alone, his eyes staring at nothing while his wire-rimmed glasses dangled from one hand. "Giles?" she asked, her voice causing him to start, turning quickly with a question in his green eyes. "What are you doing out here?" she asked as she crossed her arms across her chest, shivering slightly in the chill air. "Without a coat, no less," she added as she eyed the thin sweater that adorned his lean frame.

"Thinking," Giles replied as he slowly replaced his glasses on their usual perch. "And you?"

Shrugging slightly, Miss Parker stepped further into the garden, her eyes drifting up until they locked on the sliver of a moon so high above them. "I guess I'm out of my element," she admitted with a small frown, eyes tracing the invisible lines of the many constellations that dotted the heavens above.

Nodding in understanding, Giles slowly turned, his eyes alighting on the back of the Pretender that sat on the other side of the glass that divided them. "Can Jarod really do this? Repair the damage that has been wrought?" he asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue ever since he learned of the damage that had been done to his Slayer - to Buffy.

Turning, Miss Parker followed Giles' eyes, hers taking in his broad shoulders and the soft tufts of hair that spiked in all directions. "If anyone can, it's Jarod," she admitted, startled by the feelings of warmth that stirred deep within her cold heart - feelings that she dared not acknowledge - feelings that she barely recognized as it had been so long since she had felt anything like it. Sighing, she closed her eyes and wondered idly why her thoughts kept returning to Tommy this night. Was it because of the decisions that she had made? The ones that had finally turned her forever away from her life at the Centre and more in the direction that he had wanted for her - the direction that her mother had always intended for her to take. Or was it another man that caused her to remember the first man that she had ever loved? In either case, her dead love haunted her this night and she didn't know whether to be comforted or frightened by his presence.

Shaking away her heavy thoughts, Miss Parker turned her attention back to the man that stood beside her. "Can you really help guide Buffy back?" she asked, returning his question and hoping for the same assurances. Yet as his expression fell, a tired hand lifting to massage a lined forehead, Miss Parker knew she had her answer.

"Quite honestly? No," he replied, his tone hollow. "None of us have the magical abilities nor the knowledge of such a spell that could work. I know without looking through the tomes that we have nothing here in Sunnydale that could help... however," he added, his expression turning thoughtful, "I may know of someone who can."

Blowing a frustrated sigh through pinched lips, Buffy's gaze skipped to the large clock mounted on the wall across from her for what had to have been the thousandth time that hour. And like always, to Buffy it seemed as though the hands on the clock were moving with a slowness that was absurd, at best. Forcing her eyes away, remembering her mother's old adage of a watched pot never boiling, she turned back to the magazine that sat on her lap - the magazine whose page hadn't been turned in the past hour. And then, with another glance at the wall clock, Buffy finally had enough. "It's been over eight hours, already!" she whined, her voice sounding like a thunderclap in the hospital waiting room, the eyes of her friends and strangers instantly turning towards her.

"Are you tired?" Giles quickly asked, his voice low and full of concern as he began towards her. "Should we bring you back to the mansion?"

"No, no," Buffy quickly argued, her pale hands lifting and waving her Watcher away before weakly reaching back and tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear. "This is my brain we're fixing," she added with a small frown. "It's not like I can leave now."

At the confused glance of another hospital patron, Willow quickly babbled nervously. "She and the patient are really, really close," she tried to explain as the person discreetly gathered their things and then moved to another set of chairs across the room.

Unconcerned, Buffy shrugged at her Watcher's glare before her attention was drawn to the tall man who wearily entered the room, his hospital scrubs immaculate. At that thought, a small grimace creased her features. At least Jarod had the decency to change before coming out to give them the news. She didn't think that she could have stomached the sight of the Pretender covered in her blood or brain matter. That would have gone beyond the rapidly approaching line of too weird for comfort.

Following her gaze, the rest of her friends slowly climbed to their feet, their expressions anxious as Jarod collapsed in Willow's recently vacated seat.

"Well?" Buffy finally asked, unable to stand the tension as her fingers nervously began shredding the magazine page.

Sighing, Jarod slowly rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks that eight hours of surgery generated. "The surgery went well," he said, pausing long enough to answer the girl's unasked question.

"Well goodie," she replied, her tone sharper than she had intended, "but were you able to make my brain work or not?"

"I think so," Jarod replied with a tired frown, "but when it comes to the brain, you can never be completely sure. I can say for certain that everything went as we expected - better even, and I think we were able to repair all of the damage that was done. However, the only real way to know for sure is to see what happens when you get back into your own body." At the heavy silence that fell over the group, Jarod couldn't help but wish that he had better news to give them. "Would you like to see... yourself?" he asked, stumbling over the oddity of the words as he met the girl's dark brown eyes. "She'll... you'll, ah, be under the effects of the anesthesia for quite a few hours yet, but you can see ... her, if you'd like."

Grimacing, Buffy quickly shook her head. "If it was that hard for you to get the words out, then you can imagine how weird it'd be to actually see... myself," she murmured, her nose wrinkling slightly. Once again, everyone was struck by how odd it was to see an expression that was so Buffy on the face of Faith, the girl they had all come to fear. "'Sides," Buffy added, oblivious to her friends' discomfort, "it's not like there's anyone really there to visit anyway," she murmured, the group falling silent until a startled gasp brought all eyes to the Slayer once again, her pale features twisted and her mouth hanging slack in horror. "You didn't have to cut my hair, did you?" she squeaked, her grip tightening on the magazine as Willow quickly hid a snort of laughter behind one hand.

"Ah," Jarod mumbled, faltering at the panic that was consuming the girl. "Honestly? Well, no, we didn't cut your hair," he said, grinning slightly as Buffy sagged in relief. "We shaved your head," he added, the entire group laughing as Buffy nearly fell out of her chair, her brown eyes wide and unblinking.

"You shaved my head?" she groaned, weakly lifting a hand to her current head-full of brown hair. "I'm bald?" she added, moaning quietly.

Snickering at his slayer's distress, Giles turned away as he heard a throat clear pointedly behind him. Startled, his gaze swept over the two men, one dressed in a starched business suit while the other drifted in a flowing set of robes of the deepest black. "Samuel," Giles greeted, his eyes lighting briefly on his friend before turning his gaze pointedly to the stranger beside him.

"Rupert," Samuel acknowledged with a small nod before turning to his companion. "I would like for you to meet Mr. Magnus Fletcher."

But instead of shaking the man's outstretched hand, Giles quickly turned back to his old friend, his eyes blazing. "I don't understand," he quickly protested, "I was expecting-"

"I'm sorry, old friend, but he was unable to make the voyage," Samuel quickly explained, his eyes drifting back to the group that watched them. "He was able to find a spell, but things aren't... well, back home," he added, eyes returning to the Watcher. "However, Mr. Fletcher comes on his personal recommendation in his stead. He really is very talented - he can do the spell."

Sighing, Giles knew that arguing was fruitless. They would just have to be grateful for any help that they could get. "Very well," he acknowledged before beckoning the men to join the little group that had tried their hardest to eavesdrop from behind them. "Buffy," he said, meeting the rogue slayer's curious brown eyes, "I would like for you to meet Mr. Magnus Fletcher and Mr. Samuel Fellows, the new head of the Watcher's Council."

For a moment, Buffy sat in silence as her dark eyes locked on the tired eyes of the stranger. "So, you're Giles' friend?" she asked, skipping right to the point, her patience long since lost.

"Old friend, yes," Samuel replied simply, resisting the urge to turn away from the girl's piercing stare.

"And you've come to do the hocus pocus to get me back to where I belong?" she persisted, arching a fine brow in his direction.

Even in this new body, it was easy for Samuel to recognize the fiery slayer that Giles had spoken so much about, so fondly of, in his diaries for the Council. Right away he saw the spirit that he knew Travers' had despised and the will that had allowed this mere slip of a girl to survive far worse encounters than many of her predecessors. "No," he finally replied, answering the girl's question. "It will be Mr. Fletcher who will be doing the actual spell-casting."

And then his attention was drawn to the slim redhead that bounced on the balls of her feet, her green eyes shining with excitement. "Ooh, magic!" she squealed, earning herself a sharp glare from the group. Ignoring them, she turned eager eyes to his companion. "Do you need any special supplies for the spell? 'Cause we have a really cool magic shop in town that sells the best kind of witchy stuff - any ingredients that you need!"

For a moment, Fletcher looked at Willow with obvious confusion, his brow crinkling slightly as he shifted his hands inside his voluminous robe. "I'm not doing a potion," he murmured, his British accent clipped while he withdrew a tightly rolled scroll in one hand and a long, thin piece of wood with the other. "This is all I need."

Now it was the Scoobies' turn to be confused as Xander stared at the tiny of piece of wood. "That unsharpened and overgrown pencil is all you need?" Xander asked skeptically as he stepped forward to inspect the piece of timber. "It wouldn't even make a good stake!"

Sighing, Giles wearily shook his head as his fellow Brits looked at the teens with amusement. "Not a pencil, Xander," he said, his tone indicating that he was reaching the end of his limit. "It's a wand."

"Ooh, a magic wand!" Willow squealed yet again, causing Giles to sigh even more dramatically. And then, the redhead's excitement died away as she turned back and forth between aforementioned wand and to the Watcher. "Wait a minute, how come he has a wand? More importantly, why don't I get a wand? And why don't you have a wand?"

Before Giles' could respond, Buffy quickly jumped in, her eyes darting between her Watcher and the strangers. "And since when do people need a magic wand to do magic?" she asked, her eyes searching his. "And why didn't we know about this?"

Sighing again, Giles brushed away their questions with a wave of his hand. "A story better left for another time," he said, his eyes pleading with Buffy to listen to him, just this once.

And amazingly enough, his slayer did just that as she shrugged her borrowed shoulders. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's do it."

"I beg your pardon?" came Giles' stammered reply, obviously flustered yet again. "Now?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jarod began, his forehead wrinkling as he went to make his protests.

"Hey," Buffy interrupted, all eyes returning to the worn slayer. "Do I really need to remind you all that it's not as though we have a lot of time, here? Remember? Faith wanting to wake up soon?" she asked as she paused, her brown eyes losing focus for a moment before clearing once again. "And that would be an affirmative," she added, a small frown pulling at her lips. "I'm definitely wearing out my welcome - Faith can't stay back much longer," she murmured, feeling the truth of her words with every fiber of her being. Faith's body was nearly screaming this fact to her. Turning, her eyes drifted over the man in the funky clothes. "So, can you do the mojo now?" she asked, straight to the point.

"Whenever you are ready," Fletcher affirmed with a small nod.

"Good, then let's get this show on the road," Buffy said, her voice hard as she slowly got to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her weight.

Instantly Jarod followed suit, one arm wrapping around the girl's waist and helping to support her. "Alright then," he said, knowing that it was no use arguing. If there was one thing he had learned about Buffy Summers during the short time that he had known her, it was that without a doubt if she got something in her head, there was no getting her to back down from it. Even if it was a risk to her own well-being. From the way that Buffy kept disappearing into herself and coming back with dire predictions of Faith's eminent return... well, maybe she understood her precarious position a little better than the rest of them. He'd just have to trust her that she knew what she was doing. They all would. "Just follow me," he sighed as he turned and began making his way across the room, supporting Buffy as they went, aware of the group that rose as one and began following him.

"Perhaps it would be best if the rest of us waited out here," Samuel's voice rang out, interrupting the group's progress. Ignoring the frustrated and annoyed glares he was receiving, he quickly continued. "It really is a very difficult spell and Mr. Fletcher is going to need all of the concentration that he can muster."

"And how come he gets to go?" Xander whined, nodding towards Jarod's departing back - only to still as Jarod paused at the open doorway, his hand indicating something down the hall before Fletcher took over as Buffy's support, freeing the Pretender to come back and join them in the waiting chairs. "Okay, shutting up now," Xander sighed, finally relenting as he prepped himself for yet another long wait.

As they entered the hospital room, Buffy couldn't help her morbid curiosity as she abandoned her support and moved on shaky legs until she was standing beside the only bed with an occupant. As Fletcher moved behind her and began preparing for the spell, Buffy slowly lifted her hand - Faith's hand - and gently reached forward and laid it softly against the cheek of the girl that lay sleeping in the bed before her. No, she laid the hand on her cheek. It was the weirdest, most disturbing thing she had ever seen to see her body lying before her, still and unmoving with only the steady rise and fall of her chest to indicate that there was still life. At her earlier insistence, her body was clothed in a green pair of hospital scrubs, at least sparing her the humiliation of the backless gowns most patients wore. Yet her skin was deathly pale and dark rings lined her closed eyes - not to mention the mountain of bandages that completely encased her head in every place but her face. Yep, that would be the result of intense brain surgery, would it not? It was strange, she had never known anyone that had undergone brain surgery before, yet here she was... or rather, there she was, laid up with the evidence of the procedure all too apparent. And despite everything, despite that it was like looking in a mirror but not... the person on the bed seemed a stranger.

Startled, Buffy quickly withdrew her hand as though burned. Idly, she realized that this was the first time that she had seen herself since before she was taken. This was the first time that she had seen her reflection, a thing that she had always taken for granted, in over six months. And while one would think that she would be gratified by the sight of her body before her, Buffy instead slowly began backing away, unable to fully understand the feelings that threatened to drown her. For excluding the bandages that encased her head, she looked just as she had always looked - a fact that immediately struck her as so wrong she couldn't even begin to fathom it. After all that she had been through, after months of endless torture and after everything that she had lost, it felt like there should be scars on her body to match the scars that she knew she carried within. It seemed wrong that her body carried no evidence of the hells that she had endured - as though it had never happened. It almost made her time in the Centre seem trivial - unimportant. As tears burned her eyes, she couldn't help but think that she should be just as marked on the outside as within.

"You may want to lay down," Fletcher spoke softly from behind her, interrupting her reverie as he indicated the empty hospital bed that lay adjacent to her own. At her questioning look, he quickly explained what should have been obvious. "When you wake up next, you will be in your own body, still suffering from the effects of an intensive surgery. It may be quite a while before that happens, and in addition, until Miss Faith awakens, there will be no one to take control of her own form."

Sighing softly, Buffy quickly did as ordered, accepting the man's help into the hard bed, lying still and tilting her head until her brown eyes were locked on her own form. "Let's do it then," she murmured, eyes never wavering from her own unmoving body.

Nodding once, Fletcher used a couple of bandage packages to weigh down the ends of the aged scroll, lying it open before him, his lips moving silently as he ran through the words of the spell once again, assuring himself that he had the pronunciations in order. Then with a soft sigh his eyes slipped shut, his mind stilling as he cleared everything away except for the well of power that he contained within himself. Concentrating on that source of power, he allowed his eyes to open once again, lifting his wand before him.

"Lux lucis Addo quod Atrum Addo,
Exorior mens cuius somes est inops,
Veho suus ex obscurum quo est inopis,
Veho suus mens continuo quod ut somes ut exspecto,
Restituo quod iunctum utriusque mens quod somes."

As the last of the old Latin words fell from his lips, a blinding light flew from the tip of his wand and connected with the temple of the dark-haired slayer. Then, another burst of light flew from that point and connected with the temple of the blonde-haired slayer before joining with his wand once again, forming a triangle of light between the three points. As sweat poured down his cheeks, Fletcher continued to murmur the words of the spell, unaware of everything around him. Then, at the pinnacle of the spell both slayers' bodies arched in the air, muscles taught and mouths open in silent screams before they collapsed back onto their hard beds, the light dying away.

Gasping for breath, Fletcher fell back against the far wall of the room, feeling exhausted and completely spent from his efforts. Samuel Fellows hadn't been lying when he said that the spell was difficult, and even Fletcher himself had been unaware of exactly how much concentration and energy it would take. He just had to hope that it was enough. Sighing, he slowly straightened, pulling his robes back into place as the door swung open beside him. Startled, he watched as two men swept into the small room, one tall and black and dressed in an immaculate business suit while the other was old and bent, towing two small oxygen tanks behind him.

"Excuse me," he began, his words dying away as the black man calmly lifted a small black gun, the end lengthened by a piece of metal. Confused, he looked at the strange object blankly before a soft report and a whistle of air erupted from the object, ending his life in a spray of blood as a single slug tore through his chest and sent him tumbling to the ground in a quickly growing pool of his own blood.

Moving quickly, Raines crossed over to the bed of the blonde girl, his eyes taking in the machinery that recorded her vitals. Smiling grimly, he noted that Jarod seemed to have done good work, for not only was the girl breathing on her own, but the brain monitor was recording movement. He beckoned Willie to his side and the men quickly rid the girl of all nodes and modules before the black man swept the small girl into his arms. Together, they quickly moved towards the door, Raines stopping only briefly as his eyes swept over the dark- haired girl that lay unmoving in the other bed. He recognized her from the previous night at the hospital - the night that the Slayer had showed her true prowess. Curious, he nonethless shrugged his shoulders before leaving the room, Willie in tow - neither noticing as the girl's dark lashes slowly began to flutter.