She wouldn't rest. She never rested.

The Immortal always stared at her like that. Kind of fearful yet excited. He wasn't used to these long marathons. And his face implored for some kind of break to these excesses.

She, of course, had the practice.

They did it everywhere. The graveyard. The morgue. On shards of glass like that sucky Madonna movie. She once gave him a piece to threaten her with while they fucked. And halfheartedly (he was never a very good actor in these things) he would threaten to cut up her face if she didn't give him an orgasm. And, right on cue, she'd squeeze his balls to the point of liquidity if they were human, and the semen (or whatever the fuck the shit was) would fill her core to the rim. And then she would grab his head, punch him a few times untilhe vamped out and make him drink blood from her cunt.

He wanted it in other ways, too, obviously. And she had to give it to him, he was a romantic. He just wanted to hold her while they both slept in each other's arms.

But she couldn't sleep. Too many monsters to kill.

She honed her killer instincts so fine. Amazingly shut off all concerns, except that one permeating drive. Kill.

So she went to vampire nests armed only with a stake and herself. She made sure it was more than one. If it was one, she usually let it live. She'd paralyze them and make them drink their own blood. Maybe stab them everywhere but the heart. But the poor beast would be a wreck, no question. She sometimes handed them a stake and told them to do what they wanted while she just sat down and watched. Nine times out of ten, it would be dust.

It was in a horde of vampires, though, where she excelled.

She'd take twenty, thirty if she was lucky. And it'd be like Muhammad Buffy vs.the grill guy. Playing grave-a-dope. Knowing that with them probably being sadistic and evil creatures they'd beat her up and punish her, waiting too long to kill her. Too easy, just doing that. And taunt her. Oh, yes, they'd taunt her. And there'd be gashes running everywhere through every orifice. Coughing up all kinds of interesting fluids and things. One time she actually just stared at what came out. It looked a black tar. Not even remotely close to blood. She'd be barely hanging on. Fading in and out. Waiting for one of them to finally taste her. Let her sleep.

But then driven by….shit, probably that same darkness that she always seemed to sink back into like a warm bed, she'd attack.

And the beautiful thing, the thing that really made her glow inside, was that she did it without the grace or beauty like before, like a warrior they sing about in those old ancient tales. No dance. It was…brutal, the way a Slayer should be. She'd twist off their heads. Break limbs. Tear off limbs. She found out she was so strong she could actually punch a hole through a vampire. She'd grab gravestones and crush their heads, instantly dusting them. She once rammed the stake through a vamp's nostrils all the way to the back of the brain. And the hilarious thing about it, he had his chest wide open for staking! She really didn't need to do it through the nose, she just wanted to. It was surprising how easy it was to be an animal. How freeing.

Vampires began to cry in fear whenever they crossed her path. Pleading for quick death as they saw her bathed in blood, her hair a mass with no coloration at all, her eyes wild, feral, uncomprehending of humanity and compassion. Only knowing how to kill. Whatever. Whenever. Human. Demon. Evil. Innocent. All the same. All vulnerable. Weak. It was the oddest, most liberating thing.

And she never wanted it to end. When it ended, the stomach pains would get worse. And she'd get sick. She always got sick now, it seemed. She didn't even recognize what came out of her.

And then she would be so amped. Just amped. She would stake the air in vigorous motions. And then feeling that anxiousness, start running that stake up and down her arms. Figure-eights, swastikas, Buffy & Angel 4 Ever!, all sorts of shit.

Up and down, side to side, trickles, to streams, to rivers. When she got a good flow going she hoped she'd find a vamp to make drink from her. Course she'd make it hard. She'd take a rock about the size of both fists and ram it clear to the back of his throat breaking its jaw.. Then let it drip on the rock. Drippity. Drip. Drip. And maybe the poor guy'll get some blood trickling down the sides, who knew? Wonder if he could swallow?

But most of the time she wasn't so lucky. She'd just walk back home, the red ocean up and down her arms. Her face and head an indistinguishable mess, her bones shattered, but already feeling that goddamned Slayer healing power kick in. It came along faster now, like Wolverine fast, ever since she closed the Hellmouth. Ever since she was a hero for the last time. As if the Slayer in her refused to die. Refused to rest.

She hated it. And she loved it.

She'd take off her clothes, hearing joints pop and bones grinding together, running the water to put her cuts under them, but then deciding against it, just letting the healing power do its thing while she watched the blood run down the drain. Drippity. Drip. Drip.

Then she'd sit in the bed for awhile. Think about what she had to do the next day. What other brats she had to train. What kind of hazing games she could pull on the new recruits to toughen them up. Turn them into Slayers.

She wished that mystic key mini whore could help her, but she interrupted her breakfast one too many times to ask her why she was so quiet and then yammered on about the vampire who fucked things up for her in the Hellmouth. Her head was very easy to twist off. Called the rest of them and told her she died in battle. They grieved. All of it predictable, boring, and useless.

But anyway she didn't close her eyes.

Eventually she'd lay down, fighting to keep them open. Dawn would be coming around the corner soon. And by that time her eyes would give into their biological need, shutting themselves.

Then she'd be back there. In that hole. And she'd see it all again in Technicolor. The flames. His beatific face. The iridescently divine glowing. And she'd feel it. The fire. The warmth. The calm. The ecstasy. Then came the disintegration and the ashes. And the warmth and the light would vanish. Leaving only darkness. And the encroaching cold.

Her eyes would fly open then.

And she'd scream.

And she'd cry.

And she'd never rest.

DONE

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Episode quotes and research for this story come courtesy of Thanks for reading.

Tallgent