DISCLAIMER IS ON FIRST PAGE
Birthday Girl "Phone Calls and Meetings"
Spike stared at the phone as the other end hung up frantically on him. He shrugged, placed the receiver on the base, and put his ice pack back on his forehead. He heaved a great sigh as he flopped down in a chair and Wesley entered the office.
"How's your head?" he asked as he moved around his desk to his seat.
"Bint's a bloody menace. And you know, I'm really getting sick of being on crazy demon powerhouse detail," Spike whined.
"Spike, you do know that her strength was substantially decreased by that spell, don't you?" Wesley asked.
"Uh...yeah, of course," he replied coolly as if he knew all along. "Oh, and you had a call, but they hung up."
Wesley nodded and began to thumb through an open codex on his desk.
"Hey Wes?" Harmony said as she poked her head into his office. "Did you get that call?"
"Sorry, no. I was in the training center. Why, was it important?"
"Dunno. It was Dawn Summers, and she sounded persistent."
A shiver went through Spike as the name pierced through his ears. His skin became clammy and even paler as he took in a small gasp.
"Spike?" Wesley asked.
"Nibblet," he whispered. He traced his forehead with his fingertips. He could feel the cold sweat beading on his brow as he took another staggered breath. "She knows."
"I knew this was bound to happen. They were going to find out sooner or later that you were alive," Harmony insisted.
"Harmony, would you give us a minute, please," Wesley said, dismissing her. He came around and sat in the seat next to Spike as she exited the office. "She's right. We should have informed them months ago. It wasn't right for us to keep it from them."
"No!" Spike snapped, forcing back tears. "It wasn't time. How do you explain..." he trailed off. He looked upon the worried look on Wesley's face. "She shouldn't have found out like that," he mumbled.
"Maybe you should take the rest of the day to gather your thoughts," Wesley offered.
"What bout Joan of Arc?" Spike asked, referring to Illyria.
"I'll take care of Illyria, you go and get a drink on me, Wesley replied, taking a ten dollar bill from his wallet. Spike nodded, accepted the money and stalked out.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Buffy arrived a bit early to the rehab facility. She parked her car, straightened herself out, and headed towards the entrance. Folded neatly into her tote bag purse was the crimson shirt.
"Buffy Summers. I have an appointment with Dana," she said calmly to the receptionist. His eyes grew wide at the sound of the patient's name. Apparently, Dana had been gaining a reputation amongst the facilities.
"I take you to wing, but guard will accompany to cell," he explained in broken English. He rose, whispered to a secretary seated behind him, who assumed his chair, and they headed for the elevators.
"You from Watcher's Council?" the receptionist asked as he held the door open for her. He pushed the 4th floor button and the elevator began to move.
"How did you-"
"I retire from Council six year ago," he stated, cutting her off. "I had slayer in 1964. She was killed by vampire mob. She not like you."
"Not like me?" Buffy asked curiously.
"You Buffy. Greatest slayer to ever live."
"Not really," she replied modestly. She couldn't believe that this elderly gentleman from Italy had heard of her.
"You are. You gave potentials strength and bravery. You mold them like clay. Together, you defeat First Evil. That make you great."
The elevator stopped. The floor was dimmer than the one they left, not many windows. The receptionist signed her over to the guard and took the elevator back to the ground level. Buffy hurriedly pulled out her notebook and pen as she followed the guard to a visitation cell, which was empty.
'You sit here," he said in perfect English, obviously American. He pointed to the chair that faced the door. "If she gets out of control, there's a button right under the edge of the table. I'll be right outside."
As he left, she noticed that the other chair was bolted to the floor and shackles were chained to the floor on either side. A few moments went by and the door opened. Another guard entered with a stick-taser, followed by two orderlies escorting Dana. She calmly sat and allowed them the men to clasp the shackles to her wrists, never taking her eyes off of Buffy. One of the orderlies looked up and regarded the worldly slayer.
"No worry, she's, how you say, been drugged. Should be lucid in few moments, perhaps," he reported. Buffy nodded and the three men exited the room. They were now alone. Buffy opened her notebook and dated the page. Dana watched her every movement until she looked back up at her.
"Dana," Buffy began gently, "do you know who I am?"
"Yes," she answered, "you're Buffy. You were the Chosen One, and now we are all slayers."
"Right. Andrew tells me you're doing... a lot better."
"A little... still get visions."
"What kind of visions?" she asked as she scribbled on the page.
"Past slayers... you... me...past vampires, present vampires... good vampires."
Buffy looked at her sincerely and nodded. Dana knew something about Spike, or maybe Angel. She remembered that Andrew advised her to stay on a linear logic to keep her focused. Dana fidgeted in her seat. Buffy could tell that this may be difficult as the drugs had not yet kicked in. Andrew also warned her that she may go into crazy ramblings if that was the case.
"Dana, I need you to do something for me," she said gently. "I need you to try and remember what happened the night we came and got you... in LA."
Dana started to look around the room and at the table. She would not look directly at Buffy. She shivered in nervousness. She seemed as if it was a painful subject, as if she was ashamed.
"I didn't meant to do it," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to. I knew... head, heart... heart, head... no more touching, no more hands... brown makes you sleepy, yellow makes you weak." Her tones were fragmented and she paused like crazy. As she spoke, Buffy took notes, trying to make sense of it all.
"Brown and yellow what, Dana?"
"Drugs. One makes you sleepy, another makes you weak; one makes you giggle, another makes you speak," she rhymed slowly.
"Did someone hurt you that night?"
"He did... he hurt me, he bled me... wasn't him. Someone else... someone bad, someone good. Saw him... saw another in his place. Mixed up. Someone else killed... killed them, not me. I made a mistake. No more touching, no more hands."
Dana flinched a few more times. Buffy could tell that the drugs were starting to kick in. She heaved a sigh and the slayer stopped writing for a second.
"What do you mean, no more hands?"
"Surgical saw. Cut through flesh, cut through bone."
Buffy could feel her stomach acid rise to her throat at the thought of this frail girl cutting off someone's hands.
"Can you tell me what he looked like?"
"Grey shirt... blue jeans... dark hair," Dana replied. Buffy gave a discouraged sigh as she noticed her flinch and tears rolled from her chocolate eyes as she realized she was wrong. "Wait! Wasn't him... black shirt, black pants, black coat. Came to... sad eyes, very sad eyes. Blue eyes."
Buffy stopped writing and focused on the fragile girl before her. Dana swiped her tears with her fingertips, and continued.
"Killed before, never there. Did worse, more than he'd like," she said, her thoughts beginning to straighten out. She looked her straight in the eye. "Conquered many, obsessed with one... that's you, honey."
A tear streamed down Buffy's cheek as she recalled the conversation with Spike about the slayers he had killed. He called her that, and more. He loved her.
"Not me," Dana continued. "Never me." Her thoughts began to jumble just as the drugs fully kicked in. "Got to get home, my boy is waiting for me... get home to Robin."
"Nikki," Buffy whispered.
"Snapped neck... subway. But never there," she stammered. "Smelled different... Scotch and cigarettes, ink and parchment... fool for love, demon from hell."
Buffy began writing again, much more frantically now. She wanted proof. She looked up from her notebook to find Dana burning her stare into her.
"I know why you're here," Dana said, completely lucid now, "what you want to know."
"What is that, Dana?" Buffy asked gingerly.
"Seek out the Songbird. The Songbird sails the silver city, singing songs so very low. The Songbird stays within the sunshine city, singing songs of salvage and woe."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Birthday Girl "Phone Calls and Meetings"
Spike stared at the phone as the other end hung up frantically on him. He shrugged, placed the receiver on the base, and put his ice pack back on his forehead. He heaved a great sigh as he flopped down in a chair and Wesley entered the office.
"How's your head?" he asked as he moved around his desk to his seat.
"Bint's a bloody menace. And you know, I'm really getting sick of being on crazy demon powerhouse detail," Spike whined.
"Spike, you do know that her strength was substantially decreased by that spell, don't you?" Wesley asked.
"Uh...yeah, of course," he replied coolly as if he knew all along. "Oh, and you had a call, but they hung up."
Wesley nodded and began to thumb through an open codex on his desk.
"Hey Wes?" Harmony said as she poked her head into his office. "Did you get that call?"
"Sorry, no. I was in the training center. Why, was it important?"
"Dunno. It was Dawn Summers, and she sounded persistent."
A shiver went through Spike as the name pierced through his ears. His skin became clammy and even paler as he took in a small gasp.
"Spike?" Wesley asked.
"Nibblet," he whispered. He traced his forehead with his fingertips. He could feel the cold sweat beading on his brow as he took another staggered breath. "She knows."
"I knew this was bound to happen. They were going to find out sooner or later that you were alive," Harmony insisted.
"Harmony, would you give us a minute, please," Wesley said, dismissing her. He came around and sat in the seat next to Spike as she exited the office. "She's right. We should have informed them months ago. It wasn't right for us to keep it from them."
"No!" Spike snapped, forcing back tears. "It wasn't time. How do you explain..." he trailed off. He looked upon the worried look on Wesley's face. "She shouldn't have found out like that," he mumbled.
"Maybe you should take the rest of the day to gather your thoughts," Wesley offered.
"What bout Joan of Arc?" Spike asked, referring to Illyria.
"I'll take care of Illyria, you go and get a drink on me, Wesley replied, taking a ten dollar bill from his wallet. Spike nodded, accepted the money and stalked out.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Buffy arrived a bit early to the rehab facility. She parked her car, straightened herself out, and headed towards the entrance. Folded neatly into her tote bag purse was the crimson shirt.
"Buffy Summers. I have an appointment with Dana," she said calmly to the receptionist. His eyes grew wide at the sound of the patient's name. Apparently, Dana had been gaining a reputation amongst the facilities.
"I take you to wing, but guard will accompany to cell," he explained in broken English. He rose, whispered to a secretary seated behind him, who assumed his chair, and they headed for the elevators.
"You from Watcher's Council?" the receptionist asked as he held the door open for her. He pushed the 4th floor button and the elevator began to move.
"How did you-"
"I retire from Council six year ago," he stated, cutting her off. "I had slayer in 1964. She was killed by vampire mob. She not like you."
"Not like me?" Buffy asked curiously.
"You Buffy. Greatest slayer to ever live."
"Not really," she replied modestly. She couldn't believe that this elderly gentleman from Italy had heard of her.
"You are. You gave potentials strength and bravery. You mold them like clay. Together, you defeat First Evil. That make you great."
The elevator stopped. The floor was dimmer than the one they left, not many windows. The receptionist signed her over to the guard and took the elevator back to the ground level. Buffy hurriedly pulled out her notebook and pen as she followed the guard to a visitation cell, which was empty.
'You sit here," he said in perfect English, obviously American. He pointed to the chair that faced the door. "If she gets out of control, there's a button right under the edge of the table. I'll be right outside."
As he left, she noticed that the other chair was bolted to the floor and shackles were chained to the floor on either side. A few moments went by and the door opened. Another guard entered with a stick-taser, followed by two orderlies escorting Dana. She calmly sat and allowed them the men to clasp the shackles to her wrists, never taking her eyes off of Buffy. One of the orderlies looked up and regarded the worldly slayer.
"No worry, she's, how you say, been drugged. Should be lucid in few moments, perhaps," he reported. Buffy nodded and the three men exited the room. They were now alone. Buffy opened her notebook and dated the page. Dana watched her every movement until she looked back up at her.
"Dana," Buffy began gently, "do you know who I am?"
"Yes," she answered, "you're Buffy. You were the Chosen One, and now we are all slayers."
"Right. Andrew tells me you're doing... a lot better."
"A little... still get visions."
"What kind of visions?" she asked as she scribbled on the page.
"Past slayers... you... me...past vampires, present vampires... good vampires."
Buffy looked at her sincerely and nodded. Dana knew something about Spike, or maybe Angel. She remembered that Andrew advised her to stay on a linear logic to keep her focused. Dana fidgeted in her seat. Buffy could tell that this may be difficult as the drugs had not yet kicked in. Andrew also warned her that she may go into crazy ramblings if that was the case.
"Dana, I need you to do something for me," she said gently. "I need you to try and remember what happened the night we came and got you... in LA."
Dana started to look around the room and at the table. She would not look directly at Buffy. She shivered in nervousness. She seemed as if it was a painful subject, as if she was ashamed.
"I didn't meant to do it," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to. I knew... head, heart... heart, head... no more touching, no more hands... brown makes you sleepy, yellow makes you weak." Her tones were fragmented and she paused like crazy. As she spoke, Buffy took notes, trying to make sense of it all.
"Brown and yellow what, Dana?"
"Drugs. One makes you sleepy, another makes you weak; one makes you giggle, another makes you speak," she rhymed slowly.
"Did someone hurt you that night?"
"He did... he hurt me, he bled me... wasn't him. Someone else... someone bad, someone good. Saw him... saw another in his place. Mixed up. Someone else killed... killed them, not me. I made a mistake. No more touching, no more hands."
Dana flinched a few more times. Buffy could tell that the drugs were starting to kick in. She heaved a sigh and the slayer stopped writing for a second.
"What do you mean, no more hands?"
"Surgical saw. Cut through flesh, cut through bone."
Buffy could feel her stomach acid rise to her throat at the thought of this frail girl cutting off someone's hands.
"Can you tell me what he looked like?"
"Grey shirt... blue jeans... dark hair," Dana replied. Buffy gave a discouraged sigh as she noticed her flinch and tears rolled from her chocolate eyes as she realized she was wrong. "Wait! Wasn't him... black shirt, black pants, black coat. Came to... sad eyes, very sad eyes. Blue eyes."
Buffy stopped writing and focused on the fragile girl before her. Dana swiped her tears with her fingertips, and continued.
"Killed before, never there. Did worse, more than he'd like," she said, her thoughts beginning to straighten out. She looked her straight in the eye. "Conquered many, obsessed with one... that's you, honey."
A tear streamed down Buffy's cheek as she recalled the conversation with Spike about the slayers he had killed. He called her that, and more. He loved her.
"Not me," Dana continued. "Never me." Her thoughts began to jumble just as the drugs fully kicked in. "Got to get home, my boy is waiting for me... get home to Robin."
"Nikki," Buffy whispered.
"Snapped neck... subway. But never there," she stammered. "Smelled different... Scotch and cigarettes, ink and parchment... fool for love, demon from hell."
Buffy began writing again, much more frantically now. She wanted proof. She looked up from her notebook to find Dana burning her stare into her.
"I know why you're here," Dana said, completely lucid now, "what you want to know."
"What is that, Dana?" Buffy asked gingerly.
"Seek out the Songbird. The Songbird sails the silver city, singing songs so very low. The Songbird stays within the sunshine city, singing songs of salvage and woe."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~