CHAPTER 13: RETROACTIVE
"I think I'm old and I'm feeling pain"
You said
"And it's all running out like it's the end of the world"
You said
"And it's so cold it's like the cold if you were dead"
And then you smiled
For a second
~Plainsong, The Cure
______________________________________________
Faith staggered along, face buried in Spike's shoulder, only semi-conscious as
he half walked, half dragged her along the broken streets of Sunnydale.
Her mind seemed to pulse with waves of hot and cold, scattered images turning
and twisting through the empty spaces between, falling in slow motion. Spike
had tried to speak to her several times, but the words wouldn't come when she
tried to answer. They seemed to originate from a language she didn't
understand, their symbols and sounds twisting meaninglessly through the
synapses of her brain. From far away, she could hear the sounds of screaming,
crying, sirens.
She lifted her head slightly, fog clearing just a bit as they passed a car
wedged mostly inside the ground, its trunk sticking up and open like the dorsal
fin of some prehistoric, metal creature. From the depths of its tomb echoed the
weak strains of music (the Beatles, some still-working part of her brain
identified it), adding a touch of much needed surrealism to the whole
situation. Everywhere, people were standing around, looking lost, hands
twitching helplessly. A few were trying to help others who had been hurt. Some
were trying to move debris from what remained of the road, trying to bring some
semblance of order to their cozy world that had just been turned upside down
and inside out.
Senseless. Pointless. All of it. The depth of her failure hadn't penetrated all
the way down into her soul yet, but part of her knew.
This was only the beginning.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Beneath the earth, amidst a tumble of rock, the creature known as Daeonira, the
Bringer, She of Many Faces, broke free in a shower of granite and dirt, fists
raised to the sky as she roared in rage.
Amazingly, a few candles still guttered around where she stood, their weak
light illuminating the scene far more clearly than she would have liked. A
dozen or so forms staggered through the wreckage; all that remained of her
followers. The dais was smashed to bits beneath a large boulder. And the gaping
wound in the ground stood open, vacant, birthing stilled forever just short of
glory.
"Slaaaaayer!" she yelled, growling, her voice echoing harshly off the stone all
around her.
"Troublesome creatures," agreed a cool, rasping voice from behind her. "Will
they never learn their place?" It sighed, condescending, as if exasperated with
a tiny toddler.
She spun so quickly that she nearly fell over, jaw that had been tense with
rage a moment before now hanging slack and stupefied.
"Why, Daeonira," the voice purred, cool and surprisingly pleased. "You look
stunning. Are you doing something different with your hair?"
"Master!" she gasped, her expression contorting into one of violent glee.
"You're here! She didn't stop the ritual."
"She could sooner stop the tide," the Master said, casual as he looked himself
over, smoothing his jacket. "It is a
prophecy, after all."
"I should have known better than to doubt."
He drew himself up and steepled his hands together, a crafty, proud look upon
his face as he quoted. "'And the earth shall quake with his awakening, and the
skies shall darken and the heavens shall weep blood, raining down ill omens
upon the earth. And the divine one shall look upon it all and welcome its
coming. And he shall lead them to the glory their promised land.'"
"And I shall be at your side. We will make our enemies writhe in terror and
pain before we crush their meaningless human shells. We will reign in
perversity and pain and we will drink the blood of humanity until we are intoxicated."
"Yes…" he hissed through his protruding fangs, then paused thoughtfully. "Of course… there is just… one
little problem."
She blinked, not comprehending. "What?"
He put out his hand toward her, and she watched in horror as his open palm
struck nothing and stopped, the air seeming to ripple and glow around the
outline of his fingers. He yanked his hand back and curled it into a slow fist,
features twisting with hatred.
"I'm stuck. Again."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The door to the Magic Box flew open before Faith and Spike reached it, and her
eyes fluttered open as strong hands came up under her arms, lifting her gently.
She felt Spike fall away behind her, and then she was lying against a broad,
familiar chest, arms encircling her, supporting her.
"Angel?" She lifted her head and blinked blearily at him, not sure if he was
really there or if she was lost in another semi-conscious delusion.
"Shh. It's okay, Faith. We're—"
She began to laugh weakly, and the sound of it crept under Angel's skin. "No… it's… not okay." She let her head fall
against his chest and rolled it helplessly from side to side, still trickling
morbid laughter. "Oh it's so not
okay. I mean, it's… Buffy." She said it as if were the punch line to some
horrible joke.
"What?" he sounded startled, and she thought he might release her in his
surprise, but he still held her, still comforted her. "What about Buffy?"
Willow looked away from the distance she'd been staring into, her eyes haunted
and filled with grief.
"She's alive."
"What?" Giles asked sharply, rising to his feet in alarm.
Xander also jumped to his feet, looking uncertainly back and forth between the
Watcher as he twitched, Willow and Faith. "I see your 'what' and raise you a
'guh?'"
"I saw the coffin," Willow said, her voice flat. "It was empty."
Faith felt Angel tense around her and winced in pain. Then the pain passed and
delirium settled back in with delicious languor. "That's right," she slurred.
"She's alive… and she's pissed… said… she's gonna kill us all." She trailed off
into faint laughter, last shred of sanity fraying. "And… the Master is back…
and Daeonira… is Beatrice." She broke into incoherent, gurgling giggles and
felt herself sliding down Angel's body as her knees gave way.
This time he did loosen his grip on
her, and she kept sliding. She collapsed to the floor, hitting it hard, and
paused long enough in her deranged laughter to note, "Damn. That's gonna leave
a bruise."
And then everything went blessedly black for a while.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Spike put a hand to his mouth and bit down hard, drawing the taste of stolen
hospital blood.
Buffy… alive. It couldn't be. It couldn't. The Slayer was buggered out of her
mind with blood loss, that was all. Couldn't be right.
Oh, but it felt right.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Willow went back to looking at nothing, the pieces slowly clicking together in
her mind, forming a slow, certain picture, one stroke at a time.
Buffy was alive.
She avoided the thought that wanted to come through with a vengeance that would
have done Anya proud. Maybe the vampires had brought her back months ago. The
grave had looked untouched when they'd gone there tonight, so maybe…
"She's pissed… said… she's gonna kill us
all."
Sure. The vampires had resurrected her and she was pissed because her friends
hadn't come to save her. That was all. As soon as they found her and explained
that they hadn't known, she'd stop being angry and everything would be… would
be…
Fuck. She buried her face in her
hands and let the tears come.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"I don't understand."
In some ways, it was the Xander Harris motto. He was almost used to it after
all these years; the confusion, fear and general asinine appearance that came
with such lack of understanding. It almost didn't even bother him anymore.
But this was different. This was blind panic; a wild beast thrashing in his
chest.
Buffy? Alive? How? Where? When?
Good questions. All questions his mouth twitched to ask. And yet he couldn't
make himself form even these simple words…
…because despite his knee-jerk reaction of not understanding, he thought maybe
he already knew the answers.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Giles' mind was a temple, sacred and calm, filled with rational, logical
thoughts. Nothing entered or left that was not carefully modulated. It was his
sanctuary in times of stress, sometimes the only thing that kept him sane.
Buffy was alive… and if that were true, then the problem became 'how', and
'why' and 'what comes next'. These were things he knew how to deal with, things
he understood. He knew the process. His mind would go to work eagerly, grinding
the equations, seeking answers only, emotions irrelevant and held at bay. This
was his work. This was what he did. All his training as a Watcher had prepared
him for moments just such as these, and… and…
The structure held a moment longer, then fell apart completely, his composure
slipping from him in a show of emotion rarely displayed.
What did such answers matter? She was out there, and she was alone. Had been alive
and alone for God knew how long.
And he hadn't been there for her.
He hung his head and turned away, not willing to let the others see him, tears
glimmering like diamonds in his eyes.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sorrow was nothing new to Angel. He and misery had been intimate friends for
more than a century now, and there had been many nights that he and regret had
stared each other in the eye over a glass of heavy liquor. They were not
strangers.
But this… this was new. He'd thought he'd reached the furthest extent of sorrow
when Buffy had died. Had thought he'd said his last goodbyes and started to put
the pain behind him. But this was pain beyond understanding. Terrible to know
that she was gone… but ultimately more horrifying to know that she'd returned,
and no one had known. That she'd likely spent all her time at the tender
mercies of vampires. That she was so twisted and bent that she would turn to
killing those she'd loved most in life.
His beautiful, golden girl… how he'd always wished that she could have stayed
young, and bright and innocent forever. There had been a part of him, a small
part, that had found some comfort in her death. At least she'd finally been at
peace.
The sins of his past were a cross to bear, but one he bore willingly. He'd
never blamed anyone else, or tried to share his load. In many ways, that had
always been a source of tension between him and Buffy. She'd wanted to help
him, and he knew that no one else could, or deserved, to shoulder such a
burden. He'd never let her in far enough to see more than the shape of the pain
he carried.
He and regret had had many a staring match over that one.
But he'd carried his pain alone over the years, never once with complaint. He
had taken everything that she could throw and asked for more, because he could
bear it; he should bear it, after
everything he'd done. He could stand his own pain almost without flinching, but
he could never stand hers. He would have taken it all from her, would take it
all now without question, if only he could.
If only he could.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Anya had learned a few things about death since she'd become human. Joyce had
been her first lesson in the frailties of the human flesh, Buffy her second.
She tried to avoid thinking about it whenever she could, but some lessons were
inevitable, and once you learned them, the emotions that went with them also
became inevitable.
She had missed Buffy, of course, in the general way that the Slayer had become
part of her everyday life, and she'd even been sad about it, in the beginning.
That she'd moved on before the others seemed only natural; they'd been human
forever, after all. She'd indulged Xander his sorrow and had felt magnanimous
for it; the darling, understanding girlfriend, supporting her man.
Now she just felt small and empty.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Tara was shocked beyond speech, which was probably good, since no one else was
talking, and she didn't like talking when everyone else was quiet.
Buffy. Alive. Oh, Hecate, how long?
She put a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, unashamed of her tears.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Dawn was simply numb. Nothing penetrated, nothing made sense.
And yet, in her heart, hope beat feeble, newborn wings.
Buffy was alive.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Faith danced along the rim of consciousness, pain simultaneously trying to wake
her and making her want to slip back into the dark.
She didn't want to wake up. The world
had been a bad place before she'd gone into the enemy's lair, but now it was
far, far worse.
Buffy, alive and half insane and who wanted to kill them all because the pain
was too much to bear. Beatrice, somehow become the foe she had to defeat. The
Master, alive and well again. The apocalypse begun. Half the town trashed. Oh
yeah, baby, the party was in full swing.
She couldn't do this. Could anyone do
this?
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Buffy stumbled through the wet grass, feet running from ghosts, face running
with tears. She didn't understand. Who was she? Where was she? Why was she? Back there it had all
seemed to make sense, when she'd had her hands wrapped around Faith's throat,
but now it was all a blur.
Her feet tangled in themselves, and she fell face forward to the ground. She
lay there, lungs burning, heart fluttering like a panicked bird in the cage of
her chest, face wet with tears and dew. She knew who she was supposed to be,
but it wasn't who she was. Her old life was like a dream and this new life was…
this was hell.
Her wrists throbbed and her blood pounded, growing stronger, healing the damage
that had been done. Strangely, she felt better now, stronger than she'd been in
all the time they'd kept her imprisoned. Things were still muddled in her head,
still blurry, but she could feel them slowly clicking into place as her
heartbeat grew steadier.
All she had to do was wait, and maybe this great sorrow, this sense of loss,
would pass. Then she would know what to do.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Faith?" Angel's voice was weak, cracking with a number of emotions. She felt
his hand on her shoulder—the shoulder of her uninjured arm, thankfully, or she
might have had to give up her ruse of being unconscious and punch him—and let
her head roll away with the gentle shake he gave her.
"Faith? Faith, you've got to wake up. We need to know—"
"Um, guys?" Xander asked, his usual sarcastic tone sounding odd as he took a
few, slow steps toward the front of the shop. "It's, uh, raining."
"Thank you for the update, Xander," Giles said with rather harsh disdain. "But
I think we have much bigger things to concentrate on than the weather
conditions."
"Yes. Such as the apocalypse that should be happening right now since the
Master's back," Anya supplied, sounding tense but somehow still practical.
"Oh…" Xander said, eyes fixed on the rain outside. "I think it is."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Xander," Giles burst out, exasperated as he rose and
stalked over to where Xander stood. "Haven't you ever seen…" he trailed off,
given pause by what he saw. "…the skies rain blood?" he finished weakly.
"Gosh, you know, and just when I think I've seen everything," Xander returned,
not sounding happy about the experience at all.
"The portents…" Giles murmured, thinking. "But the Hellmouth doesn't appear to
be opening yet. Surely we'd have been overrun by demons by now if it had."
"Maybe the Master's waiting 'til after the season finale of X-Files?"
"Yes, I'm sure that's it," Giles replied, droll. He frowned and went on
thinking aloud. "He has to re-cast the spell."
"What spell?" Anya asked.
"The spell to open the Hellmouth."
"I thought his being resurrected would take care of that?" Xander asked.
"When the Master tried to open the Hellmouth long ago, he was interrupted by an
earthquake…" he paused thoughtfully. "Much like the one we just experienced.
The spell was interrupted, and it trapped him like a cork in a bottle,
somewhere in between this world and the Hellmouth. When he was released, the
spell was no longer trapped and was able to come to completion, and the
Hellmouth began to open."
"So his return this time doesn't mean the Hellmouth will open right away,"
Xander concluded, tracking the logic.
"No," Giles agreed, as if surprised by the revelation. "But even so, the
earthquakes, the rain of blood… His return may only be the beginning, but the
apocalypse is already well on its way to becoming reality."
"Then we still have time to stop it," Xander countered forcefully.
"Let us hope." Giles nodded. "We'll have to work quickly, though. There's no
telling when he may cast the spell again. It could be happening right now."
"Giles…" Dawn stood up, took a few steps forward, her face drawn and filled
with grief. "Buffy… Buffy's out there. We have to find her."
Everyone seemed to break off, though no one had been speaking, and as one, they
all looked away from her.
"If… if what Faith said is true, I-I think she
will find us," Giles said, as if the
words caused him physical pain.
"But what if she doesn't?" Dawn demanded. "What if she's lost and alone and she
needs us?"
"We'll find her, Dawn," Willow said with quiet determination, rousing herself
from her emotional stupor at last. She rose and went to the younger girl,
placing a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry."
Faith listened to all of this with a rising feeling of shame. Some hero she was
turning out to be, lying here cowardly, pretending to be unconscious.
"Faith?" Angel asked again quietly, the only word he had spoken during the
whole exchange.
She sighed and her eyes fluttered open. "Yeah," she said, irritably. "I'm
here."
At once, they turned to her, eyes intent and seeking, looking to her for
answers. She wanted to shrink from them, hide in the comfort of Angel's arms
and not think about anything. Why
were they all looking at her? She couldn't save them. And then, shamed by her
own deprecating thoughts, she looked down and tried to gather herself, reaching
deep for what strength and will she had left. God. Is this what Buffy had felt
like all the time?
She licked her dry, cracked lips, and struggled to find the words.
Where the hell to start?
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"So…" Giles said slowly, still taking in the breadth and depth of all Faith had
told them. "Your Watcher is somehow this Daeonira creature?"
"It makes complete sense." Angel was intent, thoughtful. "What better way to
keep tabs on what was going on than insert herself into the Slayer's life?"
"Of course. She'd have complete control of Faith's activities, and complete
knowledge. It makes sense," Giles agreed. "But… how?"
The wheels of Faith's mind began to grind, gnawing on the thought and finding
it tasty.
"Maybe this Daeonira can switch bodies?" Willow asked.
"Faith." Giles looked at her questioningly. "You said that you found your
Watcher decapitated, yes?"
Faith nodded in silent agreement, the wheels of her mind beginning to churn
with an intensity that threatened to turn into a raging headache.
"Then it doesn't make sense…" Giles went on, shaking his head.
"That's the only part that doesn't make sense," Faith said slowly, still
thinking things through. "Angel… she knew about the books." The pieces of the
puzzle began to come together in a frightening picture, and she was pretty sure
the gears in her brain were starting to smoke. "More than she was letting on.
She knew about you staying in town. And… the brooch!" Her eyes snapped up to
his with the realization.
"What brooch?" Giles asked, confused.
Angel ignored him. "She said she found it on the porch… told you it was a gift
from me… but she made it, or got hold of it somehow and passed it to you." He
shook his head and stared off into the distance in understanding. "She knew
what would happen."
"Unlike the rest of us," Xander broke in, irritated.
Faith and Angel both glanced away, uncomfortable. "It was… an enchantment,"
Angel forced out the words. "To… um… make us… intimate."
"Oh," Giles said weakly, embarrassed, himself.
"But, Angel… your soul!" Willow said, almost fretting.
"Only works with true happiness," Faith said, cynical. "Doing the deed doesn't
get it done alone."
"Oh." Willow's voice was small as she looked away.
"She knew I would leave if we…" Angel stumbled over the words, and pressed on.
"She wanted me to leave. But why?"
"What happened after Angel left, Faith?" Giles prodded.
"She… got kind of scary. Started talking about shades of gray and right and
wrong. And then…" Faith sat up suddenly, realization dawning again. "And then
she told me to take some time off, go out, have fun. So I did, and that was the
night that Spike came to tell me you about the spell you guys were doing. She
knew! She was there when Spike told me! I went to stop you guys, and when I got
back…" She slowed, her eyes filling with horrible wonder. "When I got back the
vampires were everywhere, and the house was on fire and the scroll was gone. I
brought her the scroll after Angel left! She must have known I would!"
"So she waited until you brought it to her, staged her own death and made off
with it. Ingenious," Giles murmured.
"Yeah, except, how do you stage a headless death?"
No one had an answer for that one.
"And why wait?" Willow asked, agitated. "Why didn't she just go take it from
Angel to begin with?"
"Because she couldn't get into the mansion. Neither could her minions. Because
of the spell you and Giles cast on it," Angel answered, grim faced.
"But how did she know about the scroll in the first place? If Angel had it all
along…"
"Faith, the vampires were there when we went down to get the scroll," Angel
sounded almost excited, or what passed for excitement with him, which meant
almost having another expression. "I thought they'd found us and followed by
chance, but she must have known. She knew beforehand, somehow, that we'd found
its location."
"And then they still didn't get it," Faith said, triumphant. "I kicked serious
vampire ass that night."
"That must have been why she used the brooch," Angel concluded.
Faith shook her head, disgusted. "God. She totally played me."
"So, for those of us playing along at home, which is me, let me get this
straight," Xander said. "Your vampire Watcher was looking for this scroll,
figured out you knew where it was, somehow, tried to stop you from getting it,
failed, then knew Angel had it, couldn't get into his house to take it, and
figured if she got rid of him you'd have to bring it to her, made you all get
it on with some kind of magical brooch, which made things awkward, which made
Angel leave, so you brought her the scroll like she planned, and then she
staged her death and ran away with the spoon?"
Faith and Angel thought about that for a second, then nodded. "Yeah, pretty
much," Faith answered.
"Very intricate," Giles said, voice verging on admiration.
Xander looked baffled. "What'd I just say?"
"I knew something didn't make sense!" Faith exclaimed. "Spike, remember when
they found us at Buffy's grave?"
Spike, who'd been silent and contemplative throughout, turned as if he had only
just realized there were other people in the room. He swallowed with difficulty
and nodded. "Yeah. I remember."
"They did know we'd be there. She
sent them after us."
"So the scroll… must have been the ritual to bring the Master back," Xander
theorized.
"No," Giles shook his head. "That ritual is contained in a book, remember? We
saw it ourselves, when the vampires tried to resurrect him before."
"Then what--?"
"The ritual to bring Buffy back," Angel answered with quiet conviction.
"Because they needed her blood for the Master."
"Oh. Oh God," Faith said, the thought hitting her with so much force she
thought she might black out. Her stomach twisted up like a snake inside her and
she thought she might vomit. "Buffy… tonight, she said that… we thought we were
so smart, but we only did their work for them."
Willow and Xander went deathly pale.
"She said… she was alive because of us… that we were keeping her alive, that
she could hear us all in her head."
"No," Willow breathed, as if the word itself could stop the feeling that was
quickly becoming fact.
Giles froze, glanced side to side at Willow and Xander, seeing the guilt
stamped on their features. "Your spell… it worked."
"Oh my God," Tara stood up suddenly, covering her mouth with her hand.
Dawn's eyes narrowed, almost understanding. "What spell?" she asked through
gritted teeth.
"We did their work for them," Xander echoed bitterly. "No wonder she picked
that night to run off. She didn't even need the scroll. She knew we were going
to bring Buffy back and used it like a meal ticket. That's why the vampires
showed up."
"No," Willow said again, refusing to believe.
"They chased us off," Spike said, voice thick with irony, the picture becoming
clear in his head. "And when we were gone, they dug up the grave and got her
out."
"Dear God," Giles breathed, thunderstruck.
"No," Willow said again, desperately, her eyes filling with tears as they
darted back and forth between everyone, panicked. "No, it can't be. This can't
be—" She broke off and clasped her hands to her face, dissolving into sobs.
"What spell?" Dawn screamed, turning on Willow in rage. "You did this? You
brought Buffy back and you didn't. even. tell. me?"
"Oh, God, Dawnie," Willow moaned, pulling her hands from her face, trying to
keep from crumbling. "I didn't nuh-know it w-worked. I'm so, so sorry."
Dawn stared at her in outrage and disbelief, and then her hand lashed out,
striking Willow across the face with a resounding slap.
Willow recoiled and only sobbed harder.
Dawn trembled with anger, the force of it almost palpable, radiating from her
tiny frame in burning waves. Green eyes blazed furious disbelief and resonated
with betrayal. "I hope she kills you," she spat through clenched teeth.
Xander sidled up to Dawn smoothly, putting an arm around her shoulders and
trying to comfort her. "Dawn, she didn't know. None of us knew." He paused,
then went on with guilt. "We should
have known, but we thought—"
"Don't. Touch me!" she exploded, twisting away from his embrace. "You were in
on it too! You were in on it and no one even told me!" Her face crumpled then,
and disintegrated in tears.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Spike unfurled from his stasis. "If it makes you feel
any better, Bit, I didn't know, either."
"It doesn't," she spat, resolutely pulling herself together, tears spilling
from her eyes with more dignity than he would have expected from a fifteen year
old.
He clenched his jaw and nodded, leaving her to the right and composure of her
grief.
"So this is all our fault," Anya
sniped, exasperated. "I don't like this feeling of being responsible for
something so… horrible. We were only trying to help."
"Be that as it may," Giles spoke up, slow and distant, "now is not the time for
recrimination and blame. We have a duty, a job to do."
"How can you say that?" Dawn snapped, tears still streaming down her face.
"Because he's right," Faith spoke up, pushing herself from the floor. She
flinched as her arm twinged, and gingerly touched the bandages there. "We're
gonna make this right," she declared, straining to keep from swaying on her
feet. "We're gonna kill the Master and
Daeonira, and we're gonna bring Buffy home, safe as houses."
Everyone stopped, looked at her with dawning hope. She could almost feel them
beginning to rally, beginning to believe, and that was she needed, what all of
them needed, right now.
She gave them a grin made of steel and ghastly resolution.
And then she collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap.
"Um…" Fox poked his head out from behind the training room door, looking shy
and hesitant. "Would now be a good time to tell you that we're leaving?"
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"A thousand years of prophecy, a dozen versions of the ritual, all the time in
the world, and still I end up
trapped!" The Master rued, slamming a fist into his open palm. "The earthquake
is supposed to be part of the
apocalypse, not the cause of its intermission." He turned to look at Daeonira
and spread his arms wide, an almost comical expression of confusion on his
face. "Where is it written that every apocalypse has to be heralded by an
earthquake?"
"In every prophecy ever recorded," Daeonira answered.
"Fanfare," he scoffed, waving the idea away.
Daeonira gnashed her teeth and looked away. "We'll find a way to get you free,
Master."
He paused in his annoyed pacing, tilted his head to the side and favored her
with predatory look that made her shiver. "No matter," he said in a much calmer
voice, raising a finger, as if an idea had just struck him. "Much as my… second imprisonment pains me, my goal
doesn't require me to be free."
Daeonira stared, trying to figure out his meaning. "Then… how?"
An eerie grin split his face and she found herself smiling in response to the
sheer maliciousness of it.
"Let me tell you a little story…"
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Buffy's eyes snapped open and she realized she'd been dozing. Slowly, she sat
up from the ground, staring at her painfully tingling wrists as if she'd never
seen them before. They were twisted with bright pink scar tissue, but they were
healing. And so too, it seemed, was the fracture in her mind.
She couldn't kill her friends. She knew that now. But she knew why she was
here, knew where she wanted to be, and had a pretty good idea of how to make
that happen.
Slowly, she began to smile. For the first time since she'd been called back
here, she had a sense of purpose, a sense of self. And she knew where she
belonged.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Fox shuffled out of the room, Tenth trailing behind with Blackwell in his arms.
No sooner than they'd vacated it, Angel helped Giles get Faith into the room
and stretched her unconscious form out on the thick mats.
"We should start charging for that room by the hour," Anya grumbled with a
glance at the door to the training room. "I could be rich by now."
"Um." Angel said as he returned to the main room and half-heartedly raised his
hand. "I'm paying you."
"Oh yes," she said, brightening. "That's right." Then she glared at everyone
else. "Why can't the rest of you be so considerate?"
"We owe you one," Tenth offered with a smile, Blackwell still gathered in his
arms.
"Actually…" Xander stepped forward. "You owe us several."
"You'll be repaid," the Brazilian man returned with a respectful nod. "Right now
we've got to get her back to base, get her medical treatment. For the moment
you'll have to settle with what she told us."
"She told you something?"
"About her part in the apocalypse, yes."
"Well? What'd she say?" Anya asked, irritated.
"She said…" Tenth hesitated, looking sheepish now that the moment was upon him.
"She said it was her demonic power. Apparently she's shielded, undetectable by
magic."
"Like a mystical electromagnetic scrambler," Fox piped up, looking pleased.
"That's why Willow had so much trouble pinpointing where she was."
Willow said nothing, only flinched slightly at the mention of her name. Tara
touched her shoulder gently, but she didn't look up. Dawn, who sat on the side
furthest away from them all, stiff legged and arms folded, kept her gaze
studiously elsewhere, acting as if she couldn't even hear them.
Tenth nodded. "We're not really sure why, except that they must have been using
the field to hide something…" He stopped, thoughts coming together and
colliding as he spoke the words aloud. "No. Someone," he realized. "The box next to hers was empty, that must have
been where they were keeping—"
"Buffy," Spike finished, understanding.
Tenth nodded, seeming dumbstruck.
"So that's how Blackwell was connected to the prophecy," Angel said. "She
wasn't the catalyst, but the one who was protecting the catalyst."
"And by protecting you mean hiding, and by catalyst you mean Buffy?" Xander
asked, trying to follow.
Angel nodded.
"Huh," Anya said, frowning thoughtfully, and for a moment everyone was silent.
Then her brow smoothed and she looked at Tenth. "So when you said 'repaid', I
don't suppose you meant with cash, did you?"
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"Faith?" Giles asked gently, coaxing her up from the delirious spiral of her
mind.
"Le'me 'lone," she murmured, twisting away from him, head still filled with the
cotton.
"I would," he said, almost regretful. "But we need you."
She blinked against the light of the room, then let her eyes slowly come into
focus. Recent memories swam into knowing, and she flinched against the heavy
weight that settled down on her heart. They were alone; she knew that from the
brief glance she'd gotten, from the way that nothing moved around her except
for him, his steady breathing, his constant stare. She didn't want to know all
these things, didn't want to have to deal with them, but it was just the two of
them, alone… and Giles was maybe the only one who'd truly understand. He was a
Watcher, after all.
Yeah. Buffy's Watcher.
Did it matter? She didn't think so. She thought Giles probably understood more
than anyone the despair she felt right now. Even Buffy, brave and true as she
had been, had known fear, had known doubt. Spike had told her that.
"I don't know if I can do this, Giles," she murmured, turning her head away
from him.
"Nonsense," he chided, shaking his head. "You've done amazingly well so far.
Far better than I'd ever expected."
She turned her head back toward him, squinting against the light, skeptical.
"Really?" she asked, half-challenging, half wanting to believe.
"Really," he agreed with a brief nod.
"Leave it to me to beat the odds," she said with a brittle laugh. "You know…"
she hesitated, struggling with the words. "I was really worried about that
prophecy you found, about standing at the Master's side and all. I thought I
might… go over to the dark side, or something." She shook her head. "But it was
talking about Buffy, wasn't it?"
Giles bowed his head, somber. "Yes, I believe it was."
She pressed her lips together, said nothing for a moment, then looked away.
"She's out of her mind, Giles."
"She'd have to be." He sounded logical and completely grim.
"Alive since the spell I stopped… I can't even—" She broke off, pushed herself
up off the mats and shifted her posture, not wanting to dwell on that thought.
She couldn't even begin to wrestle with her imagination right now. Just the
facts. The facts, she could deal with. Maybe. "She said we're keeping her
alive. Any idea how?"
"If I had to guess, based on what Willow told me about the ritual, the spell
brought her back with individual pieces of the essences that were offered, and
those alone are sustaining her. A small piece of Willow, and Xander, and Tara,
and Anya… and, I suspect, even you. Your essences would be like fragmented
pieces of a soul inside her. How much of herself, if anything, remains intact
is impossible to guess."
She stared at him, contemplating that in terrible silence. "Do you… was it… my
fault?" her voice fell to a near whisper, almost breaking on the last words.
She cleared her throat and forced herself to speak steadily. "For interrupting
the spell?"
Giles shook his head. "There's no way of telling. The spell might have worked
if it hadn't been interrupted, or the same thing might have happened. The nature
of these spells is somewhat… capricious."
She said nothing for a long moment, taking that in.
"You can't blame yourself, Faith."
She hesitated, gathered herself, and nodded. "Right. No time for that. Gotta
fix it, gotta keep moving." She pushed herself up, tried to stand and fell back
down. She sighed and gave him a rueful smile. "You know, for such a kick ass
warrior, I spend a lot of time on my ass and unconscious. I'm thinking this
Slayer thing? Way overrated."
He raised his brows at her and smiled faintly. "Try being the Watcher who gets
hit on the head or shot with a crossbow bolt in every other battle."
"Pretty nasty occupational hazards, huh? The Council have workman's comp for
this kinda stuff?"
"Oh no," he fairly scoffed. "That would be… useful."
She sat up again tentatively, and gave him a bemused look. "I'm sensing a
little bitterness here."
"Perhaps a little," he agreed, shrugging lightly.
She sat thinking for a moment, feeling antsy, ready to move, to do something,
felt the fluttering of weakness in her muscles and sighed. "So… now what?"
"Well, now I suppose we have to ascertain the severity of the situation. Find
out what the Master's plan is, how the apocalypse will culminate."
"I didn't think these things came in two parters?"
"Normally they don't. But since the, ah, rain of blood, nothing else appears to
have happened."
"Well, I did kick the ceiling in on them. Maybe I stopped it, took him out?"
She raised her eyes to him, bright and hopeful suddenly.
He considered, then shook his head reluctantly. "It would be fortunate, but
it's highly doubtful."
"So… what? We take a team back down there? See what the damage is?" The thought
made her recoil. Anything was better than going back down there.
"It seems our only recourse," he agreed.
"Or…" Her eyes lit up as inspiration struck. "We bring the party to us."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"And we shall have hell on earth," the Master finished up the details of his
plan with a flourish. He paused, expression shifting as he glanced around the
ruined cavern. "But before we do all that, I want to get a chair in here. Set
up some of those candelabras and get some fresh candles."
"Of course, Master." She snapped her fingers at several of her remaining
minions, bidding them to get moving on that. Bruised, bloodied and
half-crushed, they glanced at each other hesitantly, wondering if she might be
joking, then took off in a hurry when she raised her eyes to them and glared.
"In the meantime," Daeonira went on, "we'll have to do something to stall the
Slayer and her friends. They know you've returned. They'll try to interfere."
She balled her hands into fists and shook her head. "I should have killed the
girl when I had the chance."
"Perhaps we can use the other?" The Master inquired, glancing up.
"I believe she is lost to us," Daeonira replied. "A pity. She might have proven
useful."
"She might yet," he said, sounding coy and cryptic. Intrigued, she looked at
him more closely and saw that his eyes were focused on something behind her,
over her shoulder.
She turned.
"So, end of the world," Buffy said, dirty, bedraggled and but standing steadily
on her feet.
"How do we make that happen?"