Turning the Tables
Part 3
Disclaimer: Nada es de mi
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ONE NIGHT AGO
Buffy lay serenely on the top of a dusty coffin inside one of Sunnydale's large creepy crypts. Her cheeks held a gentle, pallid glow and her lips looked all the more rosy and lovely in comparison. The only thing that marred her gorgeous state of silence was the two fang-holes on the side of her neck. She lay quietly, to all viewers, sleeping the sleep of the dead.
Then her eyes open and glowed a dangerous yellow. Her face contorted into a vampire's demonic mask.
"Bravo," said a familiar voice from behind her, "Slayer's really do wake up quick." Buffy whipped around to see Spike nonchalantly taking a drag on a cigarette.
"You…you changed me…" She whispered, remembering. Spike. Her enemy. Her murderer. Her sire.
"Yeah, what of it?"
"Why?" The former-Slayer asked simply. I thought you killed girls like me Spike…why didn't you finish the job?
"Does it matter?" He shot her a "Spike look"…complete with eyebrows. She realized with a jolt that all desire she had ever had to hurt him was gone. She wanted to be near him…but not in battle…she wanted to feel his absence of heat, for lack of a better and less corny description.
"I just wondered," Buffy replied, hanging her head almost shyly. A tiny part of her brain was screaming at her to stake him, stake him quick and stake him proper. But a larger portion was urging her to tackle him, smell his scent and taste him.
"Maybe because you're gorgeous. Maybe because I seem to be losing my marbles. Maybe because your hair is so wonderful and sexy…" He stepped closer and brought a hand full of hair up to his nose and inhaled deeply. She smelled so wonderful. To his surprise, Buffy stepped even closer and buried her face in his chest, mirroring his sniffing.
"You smell good," She murmured.
"So do you," he informed her, moving his head closer. She tilted her face up and their lips met hungrily. Buffy saw instantly that, in this family, the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Spike excited her just as Angel once had, more so. Angel. She discovered she no longer felt anything at his name. Not pain, not affection, not guilt. No guilt. That was lovely feeling. When she and her new vampire paramour parted, she gave him a coy smile.
"Do all vampire families have such incestuous relationships…or is it just ours?" Spike felt a thrill when she referred to his line as her own. This Slayer was his now.
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PRESENT MORNING
Giles dragged himself to the library. He had wanted nothing more than to just stay in bed, and wake up from this nightmare. He unlocked the door wearily and stepped inside. He was fully awakened rather abruptly when he noticed Joyce Summers duct taped to chair on top of one of the tables.
"Good lord!" He exclaimed and rushed over to help her. Another strip of tape sealed her mouth shut, and he apologized profusely before ripping it off. Her lips were red and raw and she struggled to talk.
"Buffy…Buffy…"
"She's dead, Joyce."
"No…" her voice rasped and she coughed loudly, "I…saw her…" Giles' eyes widened and he jumped down to fetch a glass of water from his office. He gave in to her and busied himself with cutting through the rest of her bonds while she drank.
"She was here Rupert…she came home." Joyce's eyes were filled with tears, only partially from the skin being separated from her body as the duct tape released her.
"Tell me everything," he grasped her arm and helped her down from the table. She nodded and something fluttered off her lap when she stood. Giles made a mental note to retrieve it later.
"I was watching television, and the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and there she was! It was Buffy and she asked me if she could come in. But someone hit me from behind and I was knocked out. When I came to, I was in here. Oh, I'm sure whoever got me went after Buffy too! Oh dear, my poor poor…" Giles tuned out the hysterical woman and knelt to pick up whatever had fallen earlier. Something didn't quite add up. Buffy just appeared. If Joyce was attacked from behind, wouldn't Buffy have seen the assailant and warned her mother? He looked down at what was in his hands. It was an envelope. It read, in what appeared to be Buffy's loopy scrawl: To Giles He opened it and quickly read the contents.
Dear Giles
Since you're reading this, you must have found Mom. Had to get your attention somehow. Stroke of genius, wasn't it? Distracting her so that he could get her? Hoping she's not dead…would kinda spoil my fun. But he's pretty good at the death and pain thing, so probably not. Well, I have busyness to attend to, but say hi to everyone for me.
~Buffy J
Ps: Tell Xander I'll be seeing him…soon as the sun goes down
Giles swallowed hard. He had thought yesterday that his world couldn't get any darker. Now it had, exponentially. Buffy was dead. Undead. His Slayer…was a vampire.
"Do you think she's all right, Rupert?" Joyce asked tearfully. He turned slowly, in a state of shock.
"Joyce, there are some things I need to tell you about Sunnydale. About Buffy."
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THAT NIGHT
Xander sat tensely in his room, listening to dishes clattering below him. 'I'll be seeing him…soon as the sun goes down.' Buffy was after him. Buffy who was now really the vampire Slayer. There were a thousand great jokes that could be told from that. But none of them seemed funny anymore. Not now that it was true. His best friend was an evil immortal who, apparently, had it in for him. And there was nothing he could do but sit and wait. He had warned his parents not to invite anybody in, especially not any pretty blonde girls. His dad had laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder, muttering something to him about how his boy was getting around. They had broke out the wine earlier tonight. So there were no guarantees. So Xander sat in the middle of a circle of crosses, clutching a bottle of holy water tightly. Giles was busy researching if such a thing had ever happened before, a Slayer being turned. There were no reported instances so far…it looked like Buffy was once again one of a kind. Two days ago, he would have been helping Buffy load up her bag-o-weapons for patrol about now. The sun was just set. It was showtime.
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LATER
Willow lay on her bed, pretending to read. She had come up to her room with every intent of reading her new physics text, but her eyes simply refused to focus on the page. It was all a blur. Xander was in danger. She should be helping Giles research, or protecting him, or something! Instead, he sent her home. He said that the shock was too much for her to handle other responsibilities. He was wrong! The shock made her need other responsibilities! Anything to keep her from thinking these thoughts. Buffy. It was bad enough that she was dead. But the Hellmouth couldn't do anything just halfway, could it? It wasn't enough they lost Buffy…now they had to kill the thing that looked like her.
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Downstairs, Sheila Rosenberg was reading a fascinating book on communicating with teenagers. The doorbell rang, and she reluctantly rose and opened the door.
"Oh, hello Bunny. Won't you come in?"
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