"She's not here anymore," Spike slurred matter-of-factly at Giles and Faith, who remained still and staring at the mightily disturbed grave before them. "Out for the night... could leave a message but I doubt she'll get back to you."
The moonlight relfected a little off of the platinum blonde head of the vampire who sat below it, leaning against the standing pieces of Buffy's headstone, mumbling incoherently here and there, and wishing he had those last few shots out of his bottle of Scotch. He'd gotten there about fifteen minutes ago, found the site as it was, then passed out for ten minutes before getting up to sulk - a task done much better when one's face isn't planted in poorly maintained grass.
The sulking had been going well until his companions showed up. He wasn't sure where they'd come from, he hadn't really been paying attention and his hearing had been shotty since about three fourths of the way down the bottle, so when he'd lifted his head a few moments ago and saw them, it had seemed like they'd come out of nowhere. He was sober enough to speak, and manage a little sarcasm when he did, but not quite sober enough to register whether the two of them were actually there. They weren't the usual people he'd see in his head, but he wasn't going to try and predict these things anymore, considering what his head was now going through on a daily basis.
"Who did this?" Giles asked, almost accusative, "what happened here?"
Spike swung his head clumsily in Gile's direction, "Rupert... Rupey, Rupey... that is one god awful name"- he paused, then smacked his lips a few times for no apparent reason -"Poor Spike... poor useless Spike... she's supposed to be here! Right here"- he gestured towards something but his lack of motor skills obscured exactly what that something might be - "...useless.."
"Spike, you're not helping," Giles said, standing.
"What the bloody hell do you think I've been mumblin' about?" Spike growled.
Faith slapped Spike in the face a few times, getting no response though he was still conscious. "He's really out of it, I don't think he'd remember even if he did see anything."
"I gathered that." Giles slipped his glasses off, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes, then looking back towards the middle of town. "We should get to the Magic Box, alert the others that we may be under an attack of some kind."
"Didn't know graverobbing was an act of war," Faith said as she stood.
"There are rituals which can use the bones of a slayer, I'm not familiar with them off hand, but there is a chance we are in danger."- he slipped his glasses back on his face - "We may as well use caution."
"Tick tock, tick tock," Spike mumbled, "not quite the evil bastard, are we? But not quite the goodie just yet."
"What about him?" Faith motioned toward Spike. "Are we leaving him here?"
"We'll have to carry him."
- - -
She sat up, her vision foggy but the rest of her just a little stiff. The surroundings were familiar, but the perspective was not. It was a little chilly, and the air smelt stale and musty, like an old attic filled with antique clothes and trinkets in various stages of decay. There were sharp edges digging into her legs, and when she looked down she realized she was laying on bricks and concrete. It struck her as strange, but all she could think to do was stand and brush herself off. The thin, misty film over her eyes made everything look like a dream, with the colors muted by an overwhelming tint of grey.
Looking around her, the place started to remind her of things and people. She moved her hand to her cheek, thought she remembered a bruise there, but it had faded. She looked toward the base of the tower in front of her, remembered a crowd, remembered running. She looked up, toward the platform above, remembered jumping.
Her lungs constricted. She looked around, confused. She looked to the entrance, to the base of the tower, to the top again - nothing. There were supposed to be people, she remembered there being people, her people.
She ran.
1600 Rovelo Drive. She came up through her backyard, breathing heavily, her vision clearing a little. It was dark, quite, empty. There had been no one on the streets on the way over, there was no one in the house. The bench was still there, her mother's flowers, the fence, the same trees.
Going up to the door, she felt around for the pockets in her outfit, looking for her key. No pockets, no keys. She looked down at herself, seeing a black dress, black shoes. The pulled at the door, couldn't get it to work, couldn't find the spare key. She punched through the window and opened it form the inside.
She looked at the clock, it was only about ten, too early for everyone to be asleep. The calendar sat on the other side of the room, above the telephone. She quinted as she walked towards it, then stopped walking. March, 2006.
She ran out of the kitchen, through the dining room and up the stairs. Everything was moved around, and empty. Her things were gone from her room.
Turning around, she walked slowly down the hallway and the stairs, putting one hand on the railing and one on the wall, making sure they were solid. When she reached the bottom, she heard a car pull up along the street outside.
- - -
"This is pointless! I've never seen anything use this many words to say this much nothing," she turned to Angel who sat in the seat next to her, "and I've done art house theater in L.A." She tossed the papers into the back seat of the car, then leaned her head onto her hand and her elbow on the car door.
They'd been driving for a few hours, were now coming into Sunnydale, and she hadn't gotten anything out of the ramblings Oz had given to Wes, on top of the nothing that she was getting as far as details out of her vision. Well, nothing but the twisting in her gut, a sort of visceral dread. However, that could well be caused by driving through the Sunnydale city limits. She hated her home town, she hadn't ever wanted to come back. The last thing she wanted was to return to a place that had witnessed some major low points in her life, not to mention nearly the end of it on occasion. She'd always figured that since they'd blown up the high school, she was guaranteed closure on her adolescence.
"You'd think the Powers that Be might want to make this whole thing a lot clearer instead of just making you jumpy," Angel replied.
"Doesn't matter anyway, we're almost there. If there's a big dangerous monster looming about, we'll know why we came." Cordy leaned back against her seat.
"And if we don't find a loomy monster?" Angel asked, turning to look at her.
"Then we'll make with the mingling," she said, meeting his stare, then leaning back in her chair again, "And unless you got some special peripheral vision thing with the fangs and bloodlust, keep your eyes on the road."
Cordy's gaze moved toward the road as the scenery continued getting closer, then passing by. The streets got more and more familiar, until they came onto one featuring a house she new too well. It was a warzone where she'd faced vampires, zombies, magic, demons and teenage hormones in various combinations - none of which made for pleseant memories. The coward and the prom queen in her were both very attatched to the idea of never going in, but the rest of her seemed hurtling towards that house without its various opinions on the matter being wieghed and measured
The space in the driveway had been filled by a car Cordelia didn't recognize, so they pulled up along the curb in front of the house. It looked the same as it always had in the moonlight, deceptively homey. Despite Joyce's passing, the house maintained the welcoming feel she'd always given it. Cordy hadn't known the Summers matriarch very well, but there had been more than one occasion when she'd showed warmth and hospitality to the often haughty girl Cordelia knew she'd once been.
Angel opened his door and got out. Cordy noticed a few seconds after the fact, and she followed suit, walking a few steps behind him up to the door.
Before she could protest, or come up with an excuse to do so, he knocked on the door. She was going to mention something along the lines of the house being dark and that they should maybe try the magic shop or the graveyard, but she doubted it would have made a difference anyway. It wouldn't have changed him knocking, no the fact that she'd eventually have to go in one way or another.
They waited in silence for a few second, then heard she heard soft footsteps coming toward the door. Cordy took a deep breath in, and as the door opened, she couldn't quite manage to let it out.
Standing a little awkwardly just inside the door was the slightly less blonde woman she hadn't seen in a good five years, due predominately to the former's epic and well documented death. The latter quality remained fresh in Cordelia's mind as she stood face to face with a wide-eyed Buffy Summers.
The moonlight relfected a little off of the platinum blonde head of the vampire who sat below it, leaning against the standing pieces of Buffy's headstone, mumbling incoherently here and there, and wishing he had those last few shots out of his bottle of Scotch. He'd gotten there about fifteen minutes ago, found the site as it was, then passed out for ten minutes before getting up to sulk - a task done much better when one's face isn't planted in poorly maintained grass.
The sulking had been going well until his companions showed up. He wasn't sure where they'd come from, he hadn't really been paying attention and his hearing had been shotty since about three fourths of the way down the bottle, so when he'd lifted his head a few moments ago and saw them, it had seemed like they'd come out of nowhere. He was sober enough to speak, and manage a little sarcasm when he did, but not quite sober enough to register whether the two of them were actually there. They weren't the usual people he'd see in his head, but he wasn't going to try and predict these things anymore, considering what his head was now going through on a daily basis.
"Who did this?" Giles asked, almost accusative, "what happened here?"
Spike swung his head clumsily in Gile's direction, "Rupert... Rupey, Rupey... that is one god awful name"- he paused, then smacked his lips a few times for no apparent reason -"Poor Spike... poor useless Spike... she's supposed to be here! Right here"- he gestured towards something but his lack of motor skills obscured exactly what that something might be - "...useless.."
"Spike, you're not helping," Giles said, standing.
"What the bloody hell do you think I've been mumblin' about?" Spike growled.
Faith slapped Spike in the face a few times, getting no response though he was still conscious. "He's really out of it, I don't think he'd remember even if he did see anything."
"I gathered that." Giles slipped his glasses off, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes, then looking back towards the middle of town. "We should get to the Magic Box, alert the others that we may be under an attack of some kind."
"Didn't know graverobbing was an act of war," Faith said as she stood.
"There are rituals which can use the bones of a slayer, I'm not familiar with them off hand, but there is a chance we are in danger."- he slipped his glasses back on his face - "We may as well use caution."
"Tick tock, tick tock," Spike mumbled, "not quite the evil bastard, are we? But not quite the goodie just yet."
"What about him?" Faith motioned toward Spike. "Are we leaving him here?"
"We'll have to carry him."
- - -
She sat up, her vision foggy but the rest of her just a little stiff. The surroundings were familiar, but the perspective was not. It was a little chilly, and the air smelt stale and musty, like an old attic filled with antique clothes and trinkets in various stages of decay. There were sharp edges digging into her legs, and when she looked down she realized she was laying on bricks and concrete. It struck her as strange, but all she could think to do was stand and brush herself off. The thin, misty film over her eyes made everything look like a dream, with the colors muted by an overwhelming tint of grey.
Looking around her, the place started to remind her of things and people. She moved her hand to her cheek, thought she remembered a bruise there, but it had faded. She looked toward the base of the tower in front of her, remembered a crowd, remembered running. She looked up, toward the platform above, remembered jumping.
Her lungs constricted. She looked around, confused. She looked to the entrance, to the base of the tower, to the top again - nothing. There were supposed to be people, she remembered there being people, her people.
She ran.
1600 Rovelo Drive. She came up through her backyard, breathing heavily, her vision clearing a little. It was dark, quite, empty. There had been no one on the streets on the way over, there was no one in the house. The bench was still there, her mother's flowers, the fence, the same trees.
Going up to the door, she felt around for the pockets in her outfit, looking for her key. No pockets, no keys. She looked down at herself, seeing a black dress, black shoes. The pulled at the door, couldn't get it to work, couldn't find the spare key. She punched through the window and opened it form the inside.
She looked at the clock, it was only about ten, too early for everyone to be asleep. The calendar sat on the other side of the room, above the telephone. She quinted as she walked towards it, then stopped walking. March, 2006.
She ran out of the kitchen, through the dining room and up the stairs. Everything was moved around, and empty. Her things were gone from her room.
Turning around, she walked slowly down the hallway and the stairs, putting one hand on the railing and one on the wall, making sure they were solid. When she reached the bottom, she heard a car pull up along the street outside.
- - -
"This is pointless! I've never seen anything use this many words to say this much nothing," she turned to Angel who sat in the seat next to her, "and I've done art house theater in L.A." She tossed the papers into the back seat of the car, then leaned her head onto her hand and her elbow on the car door.
They'd been driving for a few hours, were now coming into Sunnydale, and she hadn't gotten anything out of the ramblings Oz had given to Wes, on top of the nothing that she was getting as far as details out of her vision. Well, nothing but the twisting in her gut, a sort of visceral dread. However, that could well be caused by driving through the Sunnydale city limits. She hated her home town, she hadn't ever wanted to come back. The last thing she wanted was to return to a place that had witnessed some major low points in her life, not to mention nearly the end of it on occasion. She'd always figured that since they'd blown up the high school, she was guaranteed closure on her adolescence.
"You'd think the Powers that Be might want to make this whole thing a lot clearer instead of just making you jumpy," Angel replied.
"Doesn't matter anyway, we're almost there. If there's a big dangerous monster looming about, we'll know why we came." Cordy leaned back against her seat.
"And if we don't find a loomy monster?" Angel asked, turning to look at her.
"Then we'll make with the mingling," she said, meeting his stare, then leaning back in her chair again, "And unless you got some special peripheral vision thing with the fangs and bloodlust, keep your eyes on the road."
Cordy's gaze moved toward the road as the scenery continued getting closer, then passing by. The streets got more and more familiar, until they came onto one featuring a house she new too well. It was a warzone where she'd faced vampires, zombies, magic, demons and teenage hormones in various combinations - none of which made for pleseant memories. The coward and the prom queen in her were both very attatched to the idea of never going in, but the rest of her seemed hurtling towards that house without its various opinions on the matter being wieghed and measured
The space in the driveway had been filled by a car Cordelia didn't recognize, so they pulled up along the curb in front of the house. It looked the same as it always had in the moonlight, deceptively homey. Despite Joyce's passing, the house maintained the welcoming feel she'd always given it. Cordy hadn't known the Summers matriarch very well, but there had been more than one occasion when she'd showed warmth and hospitality to the often haughty girl Cordelia knew she'd once been.
Angel opened his door and got out. Cordy noticed a few seconds after the fact, and she followed suit, walking a few steps behind him up to the door.
Before she could protest, or come up with an excuse to do so, he knocked on the door. She was going to mention something along the lines of the house being dark and that they should maybe try the magic shop or the graveyard, but she doubted it would have made a difference anyway. It wouldn't have changed him knocking, no the fact that she'd eventually have to go in one way or another.
They waited in silence for a few second, then heard she heard soft footsteps coming toward the door. Cordy took a deep breath in, and as the door opened, she couldn't quite manage to let it out.
Standing a little awkwardly just inside the door was the slightly less blonde woman she hadn't seen in a good five years, due predominately to the former's epic and well documented death. The latter quality remained fresh in Cordelia's mind as she stood face to face with a wide-eyed Buffy Summers.