Email: marenfic@yahoo.com
Summary: This fic takes off after Buffy
is brought back to life in Bargaining (Season 6). Events of Season 6 BtVS won't happen, but AtS
Season 3 will occur as they did until Connor is kidnapped. From there, events diverge a little, although
I'll be retaining some elements. Most
importantly, baby Connor never comes back as angry teen Connor—he is lost to
Angel for good.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, or any song lyrics.
Pairings: B/?; A/C, eventually B/A
Rating: Eventually R
Feedback: Please!!!
Thanks to: bashipforever, who writes wonderful B/A and inspired me to torture these characters a lot before letting them be happy; also Sarah McLachlan who provided the fic title.
A/N: Italics generally indicate direct thoughts of characters. The first set of italics in this chapter represents a dream.
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It was dark, but the dark wasn't scary—it was welcoming. It allowed her a certain anonymity, provided her with a small measure of comfort that was otherwise missing in her life (Life? Is that what this was?)
She swam through the darkness, not needing to breathe, not needing to see. She allowed herself to feel the tactile stimulation of the thick darkness washing across her skin and it was a balm for her weary soul.
Suddenly, a bright, unrelenting light appeared in front of her in the distance. She tried to turn, tried to avoid it, but the light was a beacon and her soul was drawn to it as though it were home. It took all of her strength, all of her determination, to stop at the threshold between light and dark, balancing just behind the curtain of darkness as though she were looking through a thin veil of clear, clean water to the side of light.
The woman in front of her was familiar. Blonde. Hazel-green eyes. Tanned skin and short flowery skirt.
"Buffy," she said to the woman basking in the light.
"Slayer," Buffy replied, her voice tinged with a sadness and longing that the Slayer couldn't quite understand.
The Slayer waited in silence. She hadn't wanted to come.
"It's your turn now," Buffy said, her eyes boring into the Slayer's.
"I know," the Slayer answered.
Buffy reached out one of her manicured hands to touch the barrier that separated her light from the dark that still encased the Slayer. She let the darkness flow over her hand for a moment before snatching it back to her side, quickly as though the darkness had burned.
"I had to touch the darkness to survive," Buffy said, mournfully.
"I am the darkness," said the Slayer.
"Someday, you will have to be the one to reach out," Buffy informed her.
"Touch the light? I wouldn't know how," the Slayer said dismissively.
"If you forget me, you'll never find the light, you'll never find the balance," Buffy warned.
And then the barrier was receding, Buffy was fading into the distance, and the calming darkness surrounded her once again. No more light.
It was a relief.
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The slayer slowly opened her eyes to see a light only a little less brilliant, a little less blinding than that in her dream. She was lying on her back and she quickly discovered that she was being held there with restraints around her wrists, waist, and ankles. She slowly turned her head to the side, partly to see what she could of her surroundings, and partly to avoid the glaring overhead lights.
She was in a stark white room. It reminded her of the Initiative containment cells, but from what she could see there wasn't a glass wall. She shifted her head in the opposite direction and saw an imposing steel door. There was some kind of security device mounted to the wall next to it that looked like a keypad set under an expanse of blue screen. Once she had seen as much of the room as her restraints would allow, she tilted her chin toward her chest. The thin white material covering her body looked a lot like hospital scrubs, and she sighed in relief.
Who do I thank for not being naked?
She was just beginning to test the strength of her restraints when she heard a whoosh of air coming from the direction of the door. She turned her head just in time to see a man in an obviously expensive dark grey suit enter, the heavy door sliding shut behind him. He appeared to be in his mid-to-late thirties, with dark hair that was just beginning to turn prematurely gray. The gray hadn't yet found its way to his dark goatee, though, and his eyes were a beautiful, piercing blue.
"Hello. I'm glad to see you've finally awakened. We weren't sure how much tranquilizer it would take to safely transport you and I'm afraid we may have overestimated. Please forgive us," the man began, his voice soothing, but tinged with a certain hardness.
She wanted to ask how long she had been out, but she decided to stay quiet for the moment. She simply stared impassively into his handsome face, waiting for him to continue.
It was several moments before he spoke again. First he approached the table she was strapped to and hit a button that tilted her prone body forward so that she was facing him in a quasi-standing position.
"We've run your prints through the database and we know your name is Buffy Anne Summers, most recently of Sunnydale, California,"
"You're wrong," she spoke for the first time, a small, cold smile touching her pink lips. "Buffy is gone, died about 3 months ago actually. But I'm here, and if you think these leather restraints and that fancy steel door with a security code are going to keep me from leaving, you're deluded."
"Oh, but Buffy, we don't want to keep you from leaving," the man answered with his own calculating smile.
The slayer ripped her right arm free from the restraint and had her hand clasped around his throat in a heartbeat. "I'd suggest you stop calling me Buffy and start telling me what you want from me, then," she gritted out between her teeth.
If the slayer hadn't seen the tiny speck of fear that flickered in the man's eye for a millisecond before disappearing, she would have thought him immune to the threat of her hand painfully squeezing his windpipe.
"We want to offer you a job," rasped the man. He was rewarded when she loosened her grip and dropped her hand, giving him a calculating look. He stepped back out of her reach and rubbed his throat before continuing, "and what would you like to be called, if not by your name?"
"You can call me Slayer."
"Ah, the Vampire Slayer. Of course—whatever you want. My name is Harris, by the way. I've been assigned to be your contact with the organization and I've been authorized to offer you a position that will make good use of your unique skills."
Slayer narrowed her eyes and studied his face for signs of deception. When she couldn't detect any, she shrugged her shoulders and moved her free hand to the restraint at her other wrist.
"I'll probably be more open to your offer if we can have this little meeting without me being tied to a cold table—dontcha think?" she asked, signaling to him that she should start unfastening her ankles if he wanted her cooperation.
"Yes, of course," he replied, moving to help her out of the restraints. A minute later, Slayer and Harris stood face-to-face on the cold white floor. At least it was cold to her—they hadn't provided her with any shoes or socks.
Hey, you whiner. Naked feet better than naked ass. Get over it.
Harris watched Slayer as she moved to lean one shoulder casually against the wall, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her slight weight resting on one leg as the other crossed casually over its mate and rested on the toes of her bare foot. He was impressed with her causal aloofness, with her apparent lack of panic at having been captured and removed to an unknown location. She was either very brave or very stupid, and from what he had seen on the infrared cameras that had recorded the action in the alley where they had found her, he would bet on the former.
"You're probably wondering where you are," he began. "I'm not able to give you specific details until you accept our offer, but I can tell you that you are still in Los Angeles and we are. . ."
"A secret government agency that's aware of the existence of demons," the slayer interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "Tell me something I don't already know."
Harris raised an eyebrow in surprise and chuckled. "All right. We're not associated with The Initiative, if that's what you're thinking. We're more like a demon-world-acknowledging version of the CIA. In fact, our mission is to help protect and ensure the stability of the United States government in this dimension while developing relationships with the governing bodies of other dimensions."
A very unladylike snort came out of Slayer's nose. "So you want me to be some kind of hell-dimension ambassador?" she asked in amused disbelief.
Her amusement was quickly obliterated at the hard look that stole over Harris's face.
"No. Your appointment would fall more in the 'protection' arena. Why don't I take you on a little tour of the facility? What we're offering you might become more clear in the context of our assets," he suggested as he moved toward the door.
Slayer shrugged in indifference, but uncrossed her arms and pushed off of the wall she had been leaning on.
As long as I'm not wanted in Heaven, I might as well see what Hell has to offer.
Harris pressed his hand over the blue screen that Slayer had noticed as she was lying prone on the cold table. Apparently it was some handprint scanning device. He pressed in a code and the door slid open, revealing a much less harshly lit hallway that was carpeted in standard office Berber. Standing back, Harris swept his arm out in front of him.
"After you," he said.
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Two hours later, the blonde slayer was trying to process all of the information she had gathered on their tour of the sprawling underground buildings. In addition to rooms devoted to the latest technological advances. . .
I hope they don't expect me to know what to do with a computer
. . . there were rooms of ancient, modern, and space-age weapons, facilities for training on those methods, and additional space devoted to other aspects of physical training. Weight rooms, swimming pools, a full-size indoor track, three dojos, and a room devoted to boxing that included a full-size ring were all part of the training complex.
She had watched as some very buff men and a few muscular women had sparred with a master ju jitsu instructor in one training room. The slayer could not help but appreciate the things that she could learn from the instructors in this place, not to mention the other students. She had been surprised to see two pairs of boxing gloves bouncing around in the ring, seemingly suspended in mid-air. When she had looked at Harris quizzically, the man had smiled at her before answering her unvocal zed question.
"We have a cadre of invisible people who are employed in the agency," he said.
"Cool. I think," she had replied.
Now she found herself seated in a large chair in Harris's office. She was fairly certain he was planning to offer her a job slaying for the agency. She soon found out she wasn't far off the mark.
Harris slipped on a pair of stylish glasses and pulled a contract out of a folder labeled "Summers, B.A." that was sitting on his desk. He handed it to her from across the desk.
"Miss Summ. . . pardon me, I mean Slayer. We are prepared to offer you a position as an agency asset in the Department of Problem Elimination. DPE is a highly sensitive and secretive department even within our own agency—they take care of the things that 'go bump in the night' that even other things that 'go bump in the night' are afraid of. They also are charged with dealing with protecting this country, the world even, from those in this dimension and in others who would threaten it magically or demonically. As an asset, you would be asked to fulfill duties very similar to those you have already employed in the capacity of Vampire Slayer on the Hellmouth. However, your assignments might sometimes include targets with whom you are less familiar dealing with."
"Like. . ." Slayer began, instructing him to fill in the blanks with the single word.
"Humans. Sometimes we are forced to deal with humans who are involved in magic, demon-worship, or just plan greed. With the security of our country at risk, we often cannot or will not differentiate between a non-human threat and a human threat," Harris explained, his sharp blue eyes boring into the slayer so that he could read her reaction to this news.
She was a little surprised. One thing that Giles had taught her early was that humans didn't fall in the slayer's domain of justice-delivery. She herself had condemned Faith for taking the life of a corrupted man. Slayer's eyes momentarily darkened in something like consternation, but the soothing caress of deadened emotion beat back any distress that she might have felt in her former life.
"So you're saying you want me to be an assassin," she said, her words more of a statement than a question.
"We prefer the term "asset", but yes, you would essentially be an assassin," Harris affirmed.
Slayer considered this for a moment. "Why, though? Why should I agree to this and why do you want me? I had this responsibility long before you came along and you saw yourself tonight that I'll kill demons if they cross my path—I don't need a formal assignment to do it."
Harris smiled at her again, but this time it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Why do we want you? That's easy. Your performance tonight was outstanding. Three separate highly-trained DPE assets have tried to take out that particular foursome of Ro'schar demons, and two of them were killed in the process. The third is the one who tranq'ed you and brought you in. You killed those demons in less than 5 minutes with no weapon but your own body. Having you join the agency as an asset would be unprecedented and we would be positioned to move in several problem areas that have been put on hold while we attempt to cover the biggest threats."
"What are we offering you?" he continued. "You have worked for 6 years as the slayer with no compensation. We are willing to make up for that lost earning potential as well as pay you handsomely for your current service. You will be provided with the finest tactical training in this dimension. In short, you will have the opportunity to hone your skills to their optimum level with full agency support."
The slayer considered the offer in silence, her eyes boring into those of the man seated across the desk.
"Sounds great. So what's the catch?" she asked, breaking the silence, but not her stare. If he was lying to her, or hiding something, she would know.
"The catch is that once you're trained and in the field, you work at your own risk. This is a dangerous occupation—physically and politically. The agency has to be able to maintain deniability," he answered smoothly.
"Ah-hah! So don't come crying to you over my spilled blood, right?"
"Something like that," Harris answered. "If you sign the contract, you will spend 6 months living and training in the facility. At the end of the 6 months, you will be returned to civilization, so to speak. You will be given the access codes to an off-shore bank account where we will send you untraceable payments for your services. The physical location of this facility will never be divulged to you. You will not have access to this facility after 6 months. The only person in the agency you will communicate with is me, and you will be expected to carry out my orders without question."
The terms of this arrangement weren't looking very appealing to Slayer. Her instincts told her that it was wrong to sell her services to the government, wrong to even consider slaying humans no matter their crime, and definitely wrong to put her trust in this mysterious man who would be her only connection to her employers.
Then again, what good was right for a freak like her? Doing right hadn't gotten her a permanent place in Heaven, and she certainly didn't think anything that had been described to her was so wrong that she'd be banished immediately to a hell dimension. As Buffy, the slayer was trained to see the world in black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. As Slayer, the woman seriously considered the concept of moral grayness for the first time. The more she considered it, the more she liked it.
"O.k. I'll do it, but I have some conditions of my own. While I'm here I want privacy and I don't want to stay in a cold, bright white room. I need darkness. And once I'm out I get to say no to a job once in a while without having to explain why," she told Harris.
"I can give you privacy, I can give you the darkest, most morbid accommodations we have, but I can't give you veto power. That's a no-go," he countered.
Slayer considered the terms for a moment, then pulled the contract closer to her on the desk. She frowned at the name that was typed on the signature line, but signed it 'Buffy A. Summers' anyway. She was a DPE asset.
It'll give me something to do with my sentence here on earth, I guess.
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