Disclaimer:  I don't now, and never have owned Buffy, or the universe Mr. Whedon created.  This is a story about a character shown for about ten seconds in "Chosen" who, I felt, had a story which needed telling.

Chapter 9

Dee was still unnerved that afternoon as she threw a series of devastating strikes at the wooden dummy in front of her.  She'd had somewhat disturbing dreams before, obviously, but this one had her really riled up.  She couldn't shake the feeling that she had some connection with the strange, red-headed vampire she'd seen in her dreams.

She shook her head.  It's just a dream, she thought angrily to herself.

She turned her attention to the dummy in front of her (what had Anders called it? a Wing Chun dummy?).  It looked more like a log with a few sticks sticking out of it in strategic locations, but it definitely trained her to move quickly and strike with rather outstanding speed and precision.

"The Bak Fu Pai style of Kung Fu dates back to the 17th century."  Anders voice droned in the background as Dee launched another barrage of strikes and blocks.  "It is one of the first styles of self defense which made the fundamental assumption that your opponent is both larger and stronger than you are."

Dee threw a snap kick at what would have been the head of the dummy, if it had one.

"In 1644, the Chiang dynasty, a dynasty of non-Chinese came to power in China."  Anders went on, "For over two hundred years, a small society of Chinese set about developing a style of defense which would allow them to repel the invading Manchurians.  They ultimately succeeded in 1911."

Dee stopped, "Look, Anders, I really don't want a history lesson."  She looked over at him, "I would just really like not to die if someone gets it in their mind to try to kill me again."

"Bak Fu Pai isn't that simple.  You can't truly learn this art without understanding the history and the philosophy behind it."

Dee frowned, "Watch me."

Anders struggled to hide his annoyance.  Anne never gave me this much trouble, the thought drifted through his mind before he could eliminate it.  He immediately felt the inevitable pang of remorse and sadness which always accompanied any thoughts he had of her.  He was fairly certain that he'd never be able to forgive himself for losing her.  Part of him would always wonder if there was something more he could have done to prepare her.  Part of him would always feel that he had failed, somehow.

Dee looked down at her arms, where large blue welts were already beginning to form.  "Don't suppose these dummies come with padding, do they?"

"Do vampires come with padding?"  Anders raised an eyebrow.

"Are vampires made of hardwood?"  Dee retorted, angrily.

"Nobody's making you hit it so hard."  Anders pointed out.

Dee rubbed her bruised knuckles, "nobody but my own will to live.  I won't learn to hit vampires if I keep pulling my punches on the dummy."

"Point."  Anders conceded.  "Your training's going well.  Another week and you'll be a full-fledged slayer…"

Dee held up a hand, silencing him, "now, hold it right there," she rebuked him, "Let's get one thing perfectly clear here: I'm not in this for your war.  I'm here because I want to live through the week.  After this order of whatchamacallit leaves me alone, I'm getting my butt out of here."

Anders cocked his head slightly to one side: "Even if," he emphasized the word, "you're able to keep the Order of Taraka away from you, Osiris is never going to stop until you're dead.  For you, he's the most dangerous creature in existence: he's determined to kill you, and he has a virtually unlimited number of minions willing to do it for him."

Dee glared at him.

"Like it or not, you're in this for the duration."

Dee contemplated the fact that Anders body would probably hurt her knuckles a lot less than the Wing Chun dummy.  She doubted that beating up your manager was grounds for being dismissed from the whole slayer gig.  Instead, she decided to turn her aggression back to the dummy.  At least that wouldn't get her fired from her job.

Who was that red-headed vampire?

The thought ploughed into her mind, catching her by surprise.  It seemed out of place somehow, as though it had been forcibly inserted into her consciousness.  At the same time, it seemed perfectly natural.  As though it was something she was meant to pursue…  Something part of her wanted to pursue.

She was a figment of your imagination, shut up.

That was her rational mind, the part she'd cultivated and exercised so extensively during her undergraduate studies.  The part of her that was still having a problem with the existence of the supernatural.  The part that was still trying to rationalize everything.

She'd killed a vampire that night in her apartment.  It seemed sensible that her mind would construct a dream in which she lived out the last moments of a vampire's unlife.

That explained the dream.  It didn't explain why she was playing the role of a vampire in Beijing, and why she could speak and understand Chinese.  Or at least she thought it was Chinese.

And where did that red-headed vampire come from?

That dream had seemed so real.  She could still feel the holy water burning through every vein and capillary, tearing mercilessly over every nerve and though every organ.  She could remember feeling her skin burn and peel away.  She'd had vivid dreams before, but never anything that vivid.

What had her name been in the dream?  Xia?  Where had that name come from?  She didn't know any Xia.

She still shuddered at the utter lack of remorse she— Xia had shown in her dream.  Asking herself almost casually what her own daughter's blood would have tasted like.  A twelve year old girl was little more than a snack to her.

Her attacks and blocks were becoming steadily more vicious.  The hard wood dummy was groaning under the strain.

She could remember every feature of the redhead's face.  Both her vampiric face and her human face had been burned inexorably into her mind.

It was just a dream.  Dreams can't hurt you.

That was her father's voice.  Whenever she'd have dreams about monsters, vampires, ghosts or goblins, that was always what her father told her.

She remembered one dream she had, it would have been a couple of days before that day at the baseball diamond, it was a series of dreams, actually.  She was always some girl somewhere in the world being chased down by dark, hooded men with no eyes.  She remembered once she was something of a punk in Germany, another time she was a girl somewhere in Turkey.  Each time she'd woken up, practically in tears.

It's just a dream.  Dreams can't hurt you.

"Dee," Anders voice rose gently above the rhythmic banging of flesh on wood.

Dee ignored it.  She ignored the insistent complaints of her abused knuckles and feet as they connected again and again with the unyielding wood.  She ignored the cries of her aching muscles, begging her to stop.

Physical pain is the easy kind.

"Dee, stop."

She ignored him again.  She threw another kick at the dummy, all but oblivious to the jarring pain which shot up her shin all the way to her hip.  She followed it with a blurred barrage of punches.  She didn't realize that she was grinding her teeth together.

"Dee!"  Anders swung an arm up against her chest, restraining her before she could launch another attack.

The punch hit him just below his left cheekbone, snapping his head around and backwards.  The force wasn't sufficient to actually knock him out, but it stunned him enough that his legs collapsed under him.

He reached up to the place where the punch had landed, and his fingers came away bloody.  It took him a moment to realize the blood wasn't his.

"Dee, your hands."

Dee looked down at her hands.  Blood was flowing freely from all of her knuckles.  If she hadn't been a— It was pure luck that she hadn't broken every bone in both of her hands.

"Go to the company nurse and have your hands bandaged.  We're done here today."

Anders could almost see the tension drain out of her body as she walked silently past him to leave.

"So, who won?"  Oz looked up at the forming bruise under Anders left cheek as he walked into the room.

"Well, I got knocked off my feet, but she was the only one bleeding."

"You made her bleed?  You've only been training her for two days.  Most Watchers wait a week before they draw blood from their slayers."

"I didn't make her bleed, the wooden dummy did."

Oz nodded, taking that in for a moment "I can't say I'm surprised."

"Something's eating at her."

"I know."  Oz replied.

"What did Angel say?"

Oz looked up at him, "I don't know."

"You don't know, or you won't say?"

"There's an ancient prophecy that speaks of a slayer borne of anger and fury," Oz started.

"That certainly sounds like our girl."

Oz nodded, "and the timing is right too.  The astrology matches the day she was attacked by the demon on the tower."

"What does it say about her?"

"Well, the fact that she's specifically mentioned is impressive in and of itself.  After Buffy activated all of 'em, most of the slayers don't get much prophetic attention."

"So, what does it say?"

"It's vague.  It speaks of someone borne of anger and fury, who will know darkness but be of the light, another borne of peace and tranquility who will know light but be of darkness.  The eternal matching of equal and opposites.  Sort of a Yin and Yang principle."

"Osiris?"

"I'm not sure.  The prophecy doesn't say.  And it doesn't explain why Osiris would want her dead so badly."

"Well, whatever his motives are, we'd better figure them out fast."

Oz nodded, "Dee's life may depend on it."