For those of you who wanted a new chapter so soon, I hope that this is soon enough. I go on 'writing binges'; most of the chapters are written in rapid two hour writing sessions. They're also not proofread; so if I misspell anything, let me know and I probably won't correct it. Plot notes: I have no plot notes! This story is writing itself, mostly. I have a few ideas for the future, but using them might be tough. On with the story.
Buffy quickly discovered that finding seats for thirty on a commercial airliner could be a pain in the proverbial ass. The realistic ass, too, since she had to sit waiting for the ticket master to check for available flights to England.
As she waited, Buffy reminisced about what had happened after Faith's rallying speech.
While Buffy and the others were on the way to Britain, Wesley was going to attempt again to reach Dumbledore. In the mean time, Buffy and the others were going to a place called Diagon Alley for a place to stay.
This is stupid, Buffy thought for the umpteenth million time. We're running off to England, not knowing where we're gonna end up or what we're gonna find. This is suicidal! I'm not suicidal! I am NOT suicidal Buffy! Do I look like suicidal Buffy? No...not at all...
And so on.
While Buffy waited on tickets, Willow and Kennedy stood gazing out at the night sky as a plane took off.
"I've never been on a plane," Willow announced, breaking the silence between them.
"Really?" Kennedy asked, gripping Willow's arm near the elbow and resting her head on Willow's shoulder.
"No," Willow reiterated. "I almost did once, when I was two, but I got so sick that I had to get off the plane. My mom was really mad...once she realized what was going on, of course," Willow added, with a touch of bitter humor.
Kennedy kissed Willow's shoulder, a small but sweet gesture, and Willow smiled. "You've never really told me much about your family, you know," she said. "I've told you all about the time my mom tried to burn me at the stake and everything, and you've never said a word..."
Kennedy released Willow's arm. "Not much to tell, really," she said, in an almost toneless voice that scared Willow. "My mom was okay...my dad was a lunatic...they split, and I got tossed back and forth until the state told dad that he was too loony to raise a kid," she said, in a dull, flat monotone. "I lived with mom after that. Then my Watcher showed up, when I was twelve. That was almost seven years ago. I lived with him afterwards, training." When she was done, Kennedy just gazed away, distracted.
"That doesn't sound that bad," Willow said. "At least your parents didn't try to kill you," she added, making an attempt at a joke.
Kennedy looked back at Willow and didn't say anything. After an awkward second of this, Willow put her arms around Kennedy and hugged her.
As Kennedy and Willow were having their discussion, Faith and Wood were off with several of the new Slayers, getting food.
"I'm telling you," Wood was saying. "Street hockey is the only sport worth playing."
"No way, Jeeves," Faith responded, looking at the menu and not Wood. "Baseball kicks street hockey's whiny little ass."
"You're insane," Wood shot back.
"I get that a lot," Faith said, truthfully. "Though not quite so much, anymore."
"You were never insane, Faith," Wood said, suddenly serious. "Just...misguided."
Faith laughed. "Yeah, and a little sick."
Wood, in turn, grimaced. Why can't I make her laugh when I'm actually being funny? "Maybe a little."
Faith shook her head. She wasn't going to let Wood know just how much those words actually meant to her. She wasn't. She wasn't...oh, damn.
"Thanks," she said.
"Thanks for what?" Wood asked, now confused.
"Thanks for saying that," Faith said, and she turned to Wood. He'd begun a humorous comment, but when he saw tears in Faith's eyes, he stopped dead.
"Hey, don't cry," he said, instinctively hugging her. "I didn't mean to make you cry!"
"I'm sorry," Faith said. "I'm just so...confused about things. I...I just don't know who I am...what I am...anymore. Everything used to be so clear, back when I was Miss Psycho Bitch of the Year. Am I being a bad person to want that clarity back?" she asked. Wood realized quickly that this was the question that had been bugging Faith since her escape from jail.
"Well...no," Wood said, after a second of careful consideration. "Faith, we all have those impulses. You know, that life would be easier if we just sacrificed our morals and gave up. I have them. Its what we do, not what we think, that counts. You're fighting for good...that makes you a good person," he finished. He looked down at her expectantly.
She sniffled softly. "Thanks," she said, and buried her head in his chest.
For a second, they just stood there, staying in the moment, and completely forgetting where they were. The romance was brought to an abrupt end when the boy at the register asked, loudly, "Can I please help you, sir?"
Wood and Faith broke apart quickly. Brushing her eyes and looking around, embarrassingly, to find that the Slayers had been watching the whole exchange, she said, slightly louder than was necessary, "A burger. To go. Fast. Please."
Andrew sat alone. He'd spent a lot of time alone, since the battle with the First. Somehow, seeing Anya die had changed him. And, for the life of him, Andrew couldn't figure out why.
He'd seen people die before; hell, he'd killed people before. Why was this so different? The question seemed to go around and around in his head. Why?
Andrew was completely unaware of Dawn's approach. He was also unaware that he'd asked the question aloud.
"Why, what?" Dawn asked.
"Hmmm....? Oh, sorry," Andrew replied, coming out of his deep thoughts. "Just thinking out loud."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Dawn asked.
"No...not really," Andrew replied shortly.
"Its about what happened back in Sunnydale, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah," Andrew said, still not offering any information.
Dawn looked closely at him, wondering why in the world she wanted to help him. Andrew was their enemy; nevertheless, he had helped them in the end.
"Come on, Andrew, it helps to talk -" she began, but Andrew cut her off.
"No! I don't want to talk about it! Go away!" he yelled.
Dawn looked slightly hurt, but Andrew had already faded back into his inner circle.
Buffy looked up. The guy at the ticket counter was finally done. About damn time, she thought.
"Here you go, miss," the lady said, disinterested. "Thirty coach tickets to London, England. Enjoy your flight."
Sure, she thought. Might as well round up the others.
It took a little while to find everyone, since Andrew was still brooding by himself and the rest of the Slayers were spread out all over the place, eating and browsing.
Twenty minutes later, they were boarding the plane.
It was strange. As Buffy looked on, she saw the various, and slightly subtle, actions of her friends. Willow and Kennedy were walking close to each other, but not touching, which was unusual. Faith and Wood, on the other hand, were holding each other's hands. Andrew and Dawn were the last aboard, and they immediately went to separate ends of the compartment.
Shaking her head, Buffy settled down next to Xander and sat back. It was going to be a long flight.
"Mum!" Ginny yelled as they entered the house. "Mum, come quick!"
Mrs. Weasley rushed into the room, flinging aside the pan she'd been washing as she went. "What's the matter, dear...oh, my!" she exclaimed, as she saw Harry's arm. This exclamation, plus Ginny's, eventually brought the rest of the house down on them.
As Mrs. Weasley sat Harry down, Ron and Hermione, looking somewhat more healthy than they had upon leaving the field.
"What's the matter...crikes! What did you do to your arm?" Ron asked.
Harry gritted his teeth. The damn thing hurt like hell. "Accident..." he said vaguely.
"Well, it'll take a moment for this spell to work, but then you should be fine," Mrs. Weasley said, kindly. Then she turned stern. "You really should be more careful when you're doing something dangerous."
Harry shot a look at Ginny, who was biting her lower lip. Dangerous? Ginny? He'd never really thought of her that way...and he never would again, Harry realized. Despite the fact that his arm felt like a rusty torch of pain, Harry found that he had no hard feelings towards Ginny for doing this. He thought it was...cute?
Am I falling in love?
As those words went through his brain, Mrs. Weasley's spell took effect in a violent, painful way. He yelled.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ginny wailed.
Ron shot her a sideways glance that she didn't even notice.
The pain was lessening, and Harry found that he had regain use of his arm. Grimacing slightly, he looked up. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."
"You're welcome, dear," she replied. "Just remember: caution! I daresay you have more to be cautious about then the average boy, so you shouldn't be adding stunts like this to your troubles..."
Mrs. Weasley shook her head and left for the kitchen, Summoning her discarded pan as she went.
Harry tried to rise. Unfortunately, his arm was still sore, and when he put weight on it, he cried out again.
"Harry! Oh, Harry, don't move, it'll just make it worse," Ginny said. She sat down beside him. "I am so sorry, Harry."
Ron couldn't help himself. "Sorry for what?" he asked.
"Uhh..." Harry said. He wasn't sure if Ginny wanted her brother to know what had occurred after he'd left. He'd be worried. More to the point, Harry wasn't sure if he wanted Ron to know what had happened. Ginny was a formidable girl, but she was still a girl...
"Accident," Ginny said. "I knocked him off his broom."
"Ah," Ron said. Hermione didn't look convinced, but she kept quiet. "Well...feel up to a game of chess, Harry?"
"Yeah...yeah, I would," Harry said.
They passed the rest of the day with chess and a bit of degnoming. Though both Harry and Ginny enjoyed the day, they spent it with lingering doubts in the back of their heads.
Angel was sitting in the lobby, drinking from a tinted cup. He was alone.
For the first time in awhile, Angel felt...content. That was what it was. Maybe even comfortable.
Since Buffy's arrival, and subsequent departure, he and the rest of the group had something to work on. And even though Wesley seemed on edge, the rest of the gang were doing a lot better. They seemed to finally be relaxing into their new lives and leaving Jasmine behind.
Angel nodded. Things were definitely looking up. He turned to return to his room and do some reading, and he ran right into a little, poorly dressed man.
"'Lo, Angel," said the Whistler.
Yay for chapter six! Short, I know...but I promise that the next one will be another biggie. If not in word count, then just in subject matter. Btw...if anyone knows if the little, poorly dressed man is called "the Whistler" or just "Whistler", please let me know. Thanks....Station!
Buffy quickly discovered that finding seats for thirty on a commercial airliner could be a pain in the proverbial ass. The realistic ass, too, since she had to sit waiting for the ticket master to check for available flights to England.
As she waited, Buffy reminisced about what had happened after Faith's rallying speech.
While Buffy and the others were on the way to Britain, Wesley was going to attempt again to reach Dumbledore. In the mean time, Buffy and the others were going to a place called Diagon Alley for a place to stay.
This is stupid, Buffy thought for the umpteenth million time. We're running off to England, not knowing where we're gonna end up or what we're gonna find. This is suicidal! I'm not suicidal! I am NOT suicidal Buffy! Do I look like suicidal Buffy? No...not at all...
And so on.
While Buffy waited on tickets, Willow and Kennedy stood gazing out at the night sky as a plane took off.
"I've never been on a plane," Willow announced, breaking the silence between them.
"Really?" Kennedy asked, gripping Willow's arm near the elbow and resting her head on Willow's shoulder.
"No," Willow reiterated. "I almost did once, when I was two, but I got so sick that I had to get off the plane. My mom was really mad...once she realized what was going on, of course," Willow added, with a touch of bitter humor.
Kennedy kissed Willow's shoulder, a small but sweet gesture, and Willow smiled. "You've never really told me much about your family, you know," she said. "I've told you all about the time my mom tried to burn me at the stake and everything, and you've never said a word..."
Kennedy released Willow's arm. "Not much to tell, really," she said, in an almost toneless voice that scared Willow. "My mom was okay...my dad was a lunatic...they split, and I got tossed back and forth until the state told dad that he was too loony to raise a kid," she said, in a dull, flat monotone. "I lived with mom after that. Then my Watcher showed up, when I was twelve. That was almost seven years ago. I lived with him afterwards, training." When she was done, Kennedy just gazed away, distracted.
"That doesn't sound that bad," Willow said. "At least your parents didn't try to kill you," she added, making an attempt at a joke.
Kennedy looked back at Willow and didn't say anything. After an awkward second of this, Willow put her arms around Kennedy and hugged her.
As Kennedy and Willow were having their discussion, Faith and Wood were off with several of the new Slayers, getting food.
"I'm telling you," Wood was saying. "Street hockey is the only sport worth playing."
"No way, Jeeves," Faith responded, looking at the menu and not Wood. "Baseball kicks street hockey's whiny little ass."
"You're insane," Wood shot back.
"I get that a lot," Faith said, truthfully. "Though not quite so much, anymore."
"You were never insane, Faith," Wood said, suddenly serious. "Just...misguided."
Faith laughed. "Yeah, and a little sick."
Wood, in turn, grimaced. Why can't I make her laugh when I'm actually being funny? "Maybe a little."
Faith shook her head. She wasn't going to let Wood know just how much those words actually meant to her. She wasn't. She wasn't...oh, damn.
"Thanks," she said.
"Thanks for what?" Wood asked, now confused.
"Thanks for saying that," Faith said, and she turned to Wood. He'd begun a humorous comment, but when he saw tears in Faith's eyes, he stopped dead.
"Hey, don't cry," he said, instinctively hugging her. "I didn't mean to make you cry!"
"I'm sorry," Faith said. "I'm just so...confused about things. I...I just don't know who I am...what I am...anymore. Everything used to be so clear, back when I was Miss Psycho Bitch of the Year. Am I being a bad person to want that clarity back?" she asked. Wood realized quickly that this was the question that had been bugging Faith since her escape from jail.
"Well...no," Wood said, after a second of careful consideration. "Faith, we all have those impulses. You know, that life would be easier if we just sacrificed our morals and gave up. I have them. Its what we do, not what we think, that counts. You're fighting for good...that makes you a good person," he finished. He looked down at her expectantly.
She sniffled softly. "Thanks," she said, and buried her head in his chest.
For a second, they just stood there, staying in the moment, and completely forgetting where they were. The romance was brought to an abrupt end when the boy at the register asked, loudly, "Can I please help you, sir?"
Wood and Faith broke apart quickly. Brushing her eyes and looking around, embarrassingly, to find that the Slayers had been watching the whole exchange, she said, slightly louder than was necessary, "A burger. To go. Fast. Please."
Andrew sat alone. He'd spent a lot of time alone, since the battle with the First. Somehow, seeing Anya die had changed him. And, for the life of him, Andrew couldn't figure out why.
He'd seen people die before; hell, he'd killed people before. Why was this so different? The question seemed to go around and around in his head. Why?
Andrew was completely unaware of Dawn's approach. He was also unaware that he'd asked the question aloud.
"Why, what?" Dawn asked.
"Hmmm....? Oh, sorry," Andrew replied, coming out of his deep thoughts. "Just thinking out loud."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Dawn asked.
"No...not really," Andrew replied shortly.
"Its about what happened back in Sunnydale, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah," Andrew said, still not offering any information.
Dawn looked closely at him, wondering why in the world she wanted to help him. Andrew was their enemy; nevertheless, he had helped them in the end.
"Come on, Andrew, it helps to talk -" she began, but Andrew cut her off.
"No! I don't want to talk about it! Go away!" he yelled.
Dawn looked slightly hurt, but Andrew had already faded back into his inner circle.
Buffy looked up. The guy at the ticket counter was finally done. About damn time, she thought.
"Here you go, miss," the lady said, disinterested. "Thirty coach tickets to London, England. Enjoy your flight."
Sure, she thought. Might as well round up the others.
It took a little while to find everyone, since Andrew was still brooding by himself and the rest of the Slayers were spread out all over the place, eating and browsing.
Twenty minutes later, they were boarding the plane.
It was strange. As Buffy looked on, she saw the various, and slightly subtle, actions of her friends. Willow and Kennedy were walking close to each other, but not touching, which was unusual. Faith and Wood, on the other hand, were holding each other's hands. Andrew and Dawn were the last aboard, and they immediately went to separate ends of the compartment.
Shaking her head, Buffy settled down next to Xander and sat back. It was going to be a long flight.
"Mum!" Ginny yelled as they entered the house. "Mum, come quick!"
Mrs. Weasley rushed into the room, flinging aside the pan she'd been washing as she went. "What's the matter, dear...oh, my!" she exclaimed, as she saw Harry's arm. This exclamation, plus Ginny's, eventually brought the rest of the house down on them.
As Mrs. Weasley sat Harry down, Ron and Hermione, looking somewhat more healthy than they had upon leaving the field.
"What's the matter...crikes! What did you do to your arm?" Ron asked.
Harry gritted his teeth. The damn thing hurt like hell. "Accident..." he said vaguely.
"Well, it'll take a moment for this spell to work, but then you should be fine," Mrs. Weasley said, kindly. Then she turned stern. "You really should be more careful when you're doing something dangerous."
Harry shot a look at Ginny, who was biting her lower lip. Dangerous? Ginny? He'd never really thought of her that way...and he never would again, Harry realized. Despite the fact that his arm felt like a rusty torch of pain, Harry found that he had no hard feelings towards Ginny for doing this. He thought it was...cute?
Am I falling in love?
As those words went through his brain, Mrs. Weasley's spell took effect in a violent, painful way. He yelled.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Ginny wailed.
Ron shot her a sideways glance that she didn't even notice.
The pain was lessening, and Harry found that he had regain use of his arm. Grimacing slightly, he looked up. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."
"You're welcome, dear," she replied. "Just remember: caution! I daresay you have more to be cautious about then the average boy, so you shouldn't be adding stunts like this to your troubles..."
Mrs. Weasley shook her head and left for the kitchen, Summoning her discarded pan as she went.
Harry tried to rise. Unfortunately, his arm was still sore, and when he put weight on it, he cried out again.
"Harry! Oh, Harry, don't move, it'll just make it worse," Ginny said. She sat down beside him. "I am so sorry, Harry."
Ron couldn't help himself. "Sorry for what?" he asked.
"Uhh..." Harry said. He wasn't sure if Ginny wanted her brother to know what had occurred after he'd left. He'd be worried. More to the point, Harry wasn't sure if he wanted Ron to know what had happened. Ginny was a formidable girl, but she was still a girl...
"Accident," Ginny said. "I knocked him off his broom."
"Ah," Ron said. Hermione didn't look convinced, but she kept quiet. "Well...feel up to a game of chess, Harry?"
"Yeah...yeah, I would," Harry said.
They passed the rest of the day with chess and a bit of degnoming. Though both Harry and Ginny enjoyed the day, they spent it with lingering doubts in the back of their heads.
Angel was sitting in the lobby, drinking from a tinted cup. He was alone.
For the first time in awhile, Angel felt...content. That was what it was. Maybe even comfortable.
Since Buffy's arrival, and subsequent departure, he and the rest of the group had something to work on. And even though Wesley seemed on edge, the rest of the gang were doing a lot better. They seemed to finally be relaxing into their new lives and leaving Jasmine behind.
Angel nodded. Things were definitely looking up. He turned to return to his room and do some reading, and he ran right into a little, poorly dressed man.
"'Lo, Angel," said the Whistler.
Yay for chapter six! Short, I know...but I promise that the next one will be another biggie. If not in word count, then just in subject matter. Btw...if anyone knows if the little, poorly dressed man is called "the Whistler" or just "Whistler", please let me know. Thanks....Station!