***A/N: Okay, so this chapter was up for less than 24 hours when I got, not one, but two e-mails telling me my French was crap (though one was nice about it, the other was not very helpful. I did say it was probably gonna suck the big). Anyways, thanks a lot from spikesevilsoul666 for the translation and the offer of future help. I just might take you up on it. Hope y'all enjoy the new and improved French!****
Buffy stood back and watched as the five Slayers in training went through their drills. They moved around the basement, hitting stationary targets, weaving between poles, throwing knives at the dart board, and fighting tête-à-tête, all to improve their paltry combat skills.
Kennedy was the oldest of the group, and the most experienced at fighting. Following her example, the others were advancing quickly. All, that is, except Chloe.
The young brunette struggled to do even the most basic manoeuvres, and Buffy recognized that she would need special attention if she was to become part of her army. Training them will be much easier when Spike can help.
Dawn came down the stairs then, a tray of lemonade-filled glasses balanced on her upturned palm. The SiT's took a welcome break from their rigours and accepted multiple glasses of drink. They plopped themselves down in a pseudo-circle and began chattering about their progress.
Buffy decided to leave the girls to talk amongst themselves and followed her sister to the kitchen. She sat at the island and watched distractedly as Dawn began cleaning up the sugar and lemon rinds she had left out.
"How are they doing?" Dawn asked. Buffy looked down at her hands as she clasped them in her lap.
"I think they're improving. I'm a little worried about Chloe, though." Dawn nodded.
"She seems a little distant. Like she's sleepwalking," the younger girl agreed. "I guess she's still trying to adjust."
The sisters paused in reflective silence. Sounds of laughter lilted up the stairs, and Buffy smiled.
"I think Chloe will be just fine," Buffy confided, "once the girls become friends. I know that helped me."
The front door opened and closed and Anya and Xander could be heard bickering as they divested themselves of their coats.
"I just thought he'd like something fresh…"
"What is it with women and vampires?! I swear he can do that hypno-thing…"
"…I mean, he's recovering from a horrible, traumatic experience…"
"…'cause you never did something like this for me. Oh wait, it must be the whole 'evil undead' thing!…"
"…he was tortured and bled and beaten because…well, mostly because of Buffy, but that's beside the point…"
"…It's been one vampire after another: now it's Spike, before that it was Dracula…"
"…because nevertheless Buffy shouldn't be giving away her own blood to heal vampires all the time…"
"…and of course there was Angel - what did you say about Buffy and her blood?"
The girls listening from the kitchen now bore almost identical expressions, their eyes wide, and their mouths frozen in silent 'oh's. Though Buffy was clearly shocked that Anya had so glibly offered up what she thought had been a secret of understanding, Dawn was more surprised that Buffy would have done something so…caring for Spike.
Within seconds of Xander's realization, the kitchen door slammed open and a very pissed-off construction worker stood fuming before the Slayer. His face was red, and his eyes were practically popping out from the pressure building inside him.
"You!Did!WHAT?!"
Anya came running in behind him, a mixture of fear and curiosity twisting her features into a comic mask. Buffy jumped out of her chair, prepared to defend herself verbally, and, as Xander's hands balled into tight fists of anger, possibly physically as well.
***A/N: This part is just easier to do in script form. I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry, so…yeah.***
BUFFY: I can explain -
XANDER: Explain what, Buffy? That you can't make sound decisions anymore?!
ANYA: Xander -
XANDER: No, An, don't. You're just like her. You welcomed him back after all that he's done; all that he can do.
BUFFY: [defensively, but as if talking to a child] It's what I had to do.
XANDER: No, it's not! You could have given him regular blood! Pig's blood! Some other kind of blood that was NOT YOURS! But no. You have to go and make these HUGELY important decisions all by yourself because you're the slayer and 'that's what slayers do'!
BUFFY: [firmly] He needed good blood.
XANDER: So he sticks his fangs in your neck and that's okay…how?
ANYA: Wrist.
Off of everyone's confused stares.
ANYA: Her wrist, not her neck. And he didn't bite her, she cut herself.
Now Xander looks even more upset, if that's possible. Buffy rolls her eyes.
BUFFY: Gee, thanks Anya. That really helped.
XANDER: I can't - I don't…[lowers himself wearily onto a stool]. Why?
BUFFY: [confused] Why?
XANDER: Why did you let him come back? He was gone, and he came crawling back, and you accepted him. Then we find out he's got a soul, and Dawn takes him back too.
Dawn and Buffy exchange looks.
XANDER: [continuing, oblivious] And of course, when you hear he may have sired some poor guy, you don't believe he's capable of it. So, we wait awhile, see what happens. Turns out he's being used as an un-contracted, undead recruiter - which, by the way, is completely against labour laws in most states - and you bring him here. To live. With the girls. Where he can kill again. And still, he gets in trouble, you run off and save him. And yes, I know we have this argument over and over…but this time it's different. This time you're really getting hurt. And you're putting the girls - all of us, actually - in danger.
Pausing a moment, he looks straight at Buffy, gauging her reaction. She looks a little guilty, as if she'd been thinking the same thing herself.
XANDER: If you think his soul makes him harmless - fine. I'll go with that. But you can't tell me that the First is done using Spike as his helpless minion. Because you don't know that. Which makes him still dangerous, and you just fed him strong Slayer's blood. Are you seeing my issue now? It's not because he's a vampire. Strangely enough, I forget that a lot of the time. And even I admit that he changed…even before the soul. That's not what this is about. This isn't because he was a murderer. Or even because he tried to rape you. It's because he could kill you in the blink of an eye and not even know it. That's worse than a damn door off it's hinges. I'll feel safer once he's gone. Or the First is. Whatever.
BUFFY: You don't really think that I can throw him out, or chain him up indefinitely, until we defeat the First or, God, even worse, that I could just stake him?! I can't. I can't do that.
The four stand silently in the kitchen, unable to look at each other.
BUFFY: [quietly] So what do you suggest, then?
XANDER: [sighs, runs hand through hair] I honestly don't know.
Another pause of uncertainty.
BUFFY: [starts slow, becomes more excited] Maybe the trick to this is deactivating the trigger, making him harmless again. Xander, you said we'll be safe if either Spike or the First goes? Well, what if we can get the First to leave Spike alone - then it'll be okay, right?
DAWN: But how do we go about getting rid of something we don't even understand?
BUFFY: Same way we always do. Research.
****
Jade's body writhed in rhythm to the music. The beat pounded through her veins like a hypnotic drug, tugging her to and fro. Her black hair reflected the greens and reds and blues of the psychedelic light show the Bronze had brought out for the evening's band.
She felt a body situate itself close to her, and she raised her half-lidded eyes. A boy stood there, a little older than herself, his white-blond hair glowing under the black lighting. Jade turned towards him, and they moved together, lost in the dance.
The floor was crowded with undulating teenaged bodies that heated the air around them to stifling levels. Jade wiped the sweat from her brow, suddenly wishing she had worn the black tank top instead of the sparkly top she had decided on.
As if reading her mind, the boy leaned towards her, lips brushing against her ear, and said, "Outside?"
She looked up at him and nodded. Letting him lead her by the hand towards the back door, they wove through the crowd, twisting and turning around couples. Suddenly feeling thirsty, she grabbed someone's drink from their hand and knocked it back. Mmm…alcoholic in nature. Very good.
When the cool night air touched her skin, she sighed in appreciation. She'd been dancing for the better part of an hour, and the drinks she'd gotten with her fake id weren't helping her situation.
The boy pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently, testing her waters. She smiled up at him and answered his unvoiced question by draping her wrists around his neck and pressing herself against him.
He pushed her towards an alley wall and pinned her there with his hips before he descended his mouth upon hers again. This kiss was more urgent, hungry, and she parted her lips to welcome his tongue.
His hands ran up her stockings and his fingers ventured under her skirt. Jade felt his muscled arms before reaching up to let down her hair. Meanwhile, their tongues duelled for dominance.
Giving up the struggle, he left her mouth and began exploring her jaw, nibbling on her earlobe, and eventually discovering her neck. He pressed himself suggestively against her and she mewled in need.
When she felt the two sharp incisors graze her skin, her eyes widened and she gasped.
****
She could barely see the smoke from the village through the trees, but the glow of the fire was bright; she broke into a run. This can't be what she meant! The birds squawked and the animals shrieked in fear as she tore through the brush.
By the time she reached the main street, most of the buildings were up in flames. Men ran past her, frantically calling for aide.
"Incendie! Incendie! Apportez l'eau!" Fire! Fire! Bring water!
Jade stared around her as her neighbours ran for their lives, tugging their children behind them. Wood, consumed by the angry flames, fell to the cobblestones as the wind began assisting the destruction. The Lemorceau's youngest boy, the one who cried out the headlines every morning on the corner, stood in the middle of the square, screaming insanely.
"Vous ne pouvez pas entrer! Je révoqué l'invitation! Partez, hommes du Diable!" You cannot enter! I take back the invitation! Leave, men of the Devil!
At the mention of the Unholy One, she began to panic herself, and ran desperately for her own home. Eventually, she passed the fire line, and was somewhat relieved to know her home was not ablaze. But she knew her family was not safe.
Jade raced up the yard, feet pounding on the ground, heart beating in her ears. She threw open the front door - and stopped dead in her tracks.
The house was covered in it. Splattered on the walls. Floor. Ceiling. Her feet squished in it as she walked forward. She was terrified, her breathing shallow and desperate. Turning the corner into the living room, she leaned against the wall for support.
And she screamed.
Jade lost control. Her legs gave out and she sank into the unending pool of blood. Her sobbing wracked her body, and her heart screamed in pain and anger.
She didn't notice it come up behind her. How could she, with her family laying slain at her feet? She didn't even feel herself being grabbed roughly, or smell the fetid breath on her face as it leaned in for the kill.
Suddenly she was dropped to the floor, and the little particles of dust clung to everything sticky with blood. Someone lifted her, and carried her outside. She was set down in the grass, and her body succumbed to shock. Jade laid there for minutes, or maybe hours, just staring up at the stars.
Nothing registered in her; not the blood on her skin and clothes, not the bag that was set down beside her, not the heat of her burning house, not the arms that wrapped around her and the soothing voice that tried to comfort her.
There was nothing left. Nothing. She had nothing.
"Zeke?" she asked.
He looked down at her, his face smeared in blood, his own or otherwise, even he didn't know. Soot clung to it and had gathered in his hair. He was literally unrecognizable. But she hadn't looked at him to know. She just did.
"Yeah?" he answered.
"Wake me up when it's over." And she fainted.
****
I could never trust you enough to love you.
The dust settled around her and she tucked the chopstick-com-hair accessory into her shirt. But Jade remained where she was, unmoving, unseeing, as she replayed the last images.
A woman in a robe; a man in black. Angry. Scared. In a bathroom.
What the Hell was that?
Slowly, she walked down the alley, no more enjoying this cool evening than she had the hot one so many years ago.