Story is set immediately after the events of the Harvest.
Disclaimer: Not mine. It's Joss's. May Rabid Crack Weasels plague him. Any resemblance to other characters, real or fictitious, is simply in your imagination. And no, I didn't ask first.
A/N: Mild crossover, stole some concepts from other fics (Allyn 'Ayonge-Chan'
'Bloodfist'; CarrotGlace 'Permanent') and amped it.
First Segment: Buffy
She stood in front of the house at 1630 Revello Drive. It was easily after
two in the morning, yet the porchlight remained on, as did a light in the
living room. For a long moment she stood motionless, looking up at the new
house her mother had bought. Looking down at her hands, she spread them,
examing the palms and backs, clenching and releasing her fists. Sighingm, she
begins the walk up to the front door. As soon as she steps on the porch, the
door swings upon. "Buffy? Her mother calls anxiously. She watches as her
mothers face lights up. "Come inside, honey." Her mother holds forth her
hands, gesturing for Buffy to come forward. She steps forward, almost
hesitantly, and Joyce embraces her. Buffy returns the hug awkwardly, tring not
to let her hands touch her mother. "Buffy? Buffy, what's wrong?" She had
such a look of concern on her face...and before Buffy knew what was happening,
she had started sobbing quietly. Joyce escorts her inside, shutting the door
firmly on the outside world. She leads Buffy towards a couch, where the two
sit down. Joyce holds her close, gently stroking her hair. "It's all right,
Buffy...I love you." Softly, gently, Joyce began humming a tune, and then
sings gently under her breath. They stay like that for a long time.
Eventually, Buffy stops crying, and just clings to her mother. "Do you want to
tell me what's wrong now?" She asks, gently. Buffy shakes her head. "That's
fine."
Buffy disengages one hand from her mother, and scrubs roughly at her face.
Her mother hands her a tissue, and she responds with a watery smile and a
whispered "Thanks..." The two fell silent for a long while, Buffy curling up
tighter against her mother. "It's just..."
"Been a bad day? I know...you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just...I just want you to know, that I'm here for you."
"No...it's not..." She stops, making a confused sound, and then starts again without preamble. "I shot someone today." She lifts her hand up and mimes pulling the trigger. "Just...bang. In the head. Blood everywhere." She stares vacantly off into space. "She got totally splattered by the blood...and I just stood there...it was so easy. Why was it so easy...?"
"I'm sure you did the right thing, honey."
"He was just a human..." She mumbles as she drifts off to sleep. "...a human...why...?"
Second Segment: Xander
He stands in the street in front of his house. None of the lights are on.
The flickering glow of a television in the living room is the only
illumination. Cordy slowly walks up behind him, and rests a hand on his
shoulder. "You don't have to go in." She says, quietly. "You can come back
with me, stay in the poolhouse."
He half smiles. "But Cordy, whatever would your parents think?"
She snorts softly, a harsh sound. "I've been dead to my parents for almost 4 years now, Xan." He stiffens under her hand. "Sorry..." She whispers. He shrugs uncomfortably, and the tension slowly drains out of his body.
"They're my parents, Cor." He stares at the house almost longingly.
"No they're not!" She snarls harshly, spinning him around to face her.
"Listen to me, Alex." She gently shakes him with each word. "They are not your
parents." She looks deeply into his eyes. "Do you understand? At best,
they're nothing but a sperm donor and a walking incubator."
His eyes are pained, as is his voice. "They're my parents..."
"Only by blood, Alex." Cordy sighs, and releases her hold on him. "It's late.
Let's get you inside." The two of them walk up to the house.
Third Segment: Cordelia
Cordelia walks up to her house, and reaches for the door. It opens before her hand reaches it. "Cordelia." Her father says nuetrally.
"Father." She says coldly.
"It's late...almost four o'clock. Your mother is worried." Cordelia arches an eyebrow at him. He winces. "Alright," he concedes, "she's not. But I am."
"Why, daddy dearest, I never knew you cared."
"Cordy..."
"Don't."
"Alright..., Cordelia, I know we haven't...been the most understanding parents ever-"
"Understatement of the year. "I'm tired, Father, it's been a long night. Get to the point."
"It's been a long night. That's my point. I'm worried about you, Cordelia.
Despite what your mather might say, I still care."
"Funny way of showing it. It's late, can we continue this in the morning?"
"No. Just hear me out. I know that I've been...distant...ever since that
day...but..." He trails off, dark memories replaying behind his eyes. He
shakes it off. "You've changed." He hols up a hand to stop Cordy from
replying. "That's not an excuse. I didn't, don't know how to relate to you at
all. You'd lost the things you seemed to treasure most. Your mother's love,
your perfect looks, and your lovely voice. Don't think I didn't hear you those
first few months, playing back what recordings we had of your singing over and
over." He sighs. "Your mother...frankly, your mother married me for my money.
Not that I minded...she was hot, and at least pretended to be kinky." He
laughs at the discomfiture on Cordy's face. "That's all your mother knew.
Money equals love and happiness. She could get boys to give her money because
she was beautiful. When the surgeon told us...it crushed her dreams for you,
and your dreams for yourself."
"What about you?" Cordy asks bitterly. "I notice you haven't mentioned your dreams for me."
"I didn't?" He asks, quietly. "Guess not." He hesitates. "They aren't
dreams per se, so much as hopes. I hope that when you grow up, you'll be
happy, and healthy, and wise. How you get there is up to you. Since you've
started hangng out with the Harris boy, you've beeen happier. Whatever happens,
that's all I want for you." He lowers his head. "Just so long as the boy
doesn't turn ou like his parents. I guess...I just wanted you to know that I
still love you, even if I don't know how to show it."
"That's it?" Cordy asks.
"That's it." He confirms.
She snorts. "Good night. /Daddy/." She heads up the stairs to her room.
As the door to Cordelia's room slams, cordy's mom stalks into the entranceway. "That's it? She comes staggering home, clothes ripped and /bloody, been out doing who knows what to who, and you tell her you love her?"
He looks her in the eye. "That's right."
"She's out there popping pcp and fucking that Harris boy...probably the whole foot-ow!" She exclaims, holding one hand to her red check. "You slapped me!"
"That's right. I won't have you slandering Cordy in this house, cordy's mom. Whatever she's doing, she's not doing drugs. She's a fighter, now. I can see it in her eyes. "She might be having the Harris boy, but not the football team...and even if she was...what business is it of yours, ours, now anyway? We lost any rights to be concerned about her three years ago."
Segment: Ripper
Giles smiles slightly as he writes his report to Travers, leaning back in his
chair and sipping at a small glass of some exquisite cognac. 'Sir, I must
regretfully report to you that the early reports of Miss Summers were quite
correct. She is a typical Colonial girl, interested only in cheerleading and
sex. Frankly, how she survuved this long is an absolute mystery to me. I had
to force her, virtually at the point of a crossbow, to go forth and stop the
Harvest. Fortunately, another hunting team was nearby, and assisted us in the
destruction of the Master's minions, preventing his release from the Mouth.
Unfortunately, the trio left before I could even tentatively identify them.
They appeared to simply be highly skilled human warriors. Sir, I respectfully
request that another watcher be transferred here, preferably one more
acomplished with the martial aspects of our dutys, so that I may return to the
British Museum, and resume my research. This posting is not the best use of my
abilities, and in fact presents a clear danger to the future. Respectfully,
Rupert Giles.' Signing the parchment with a flourish, he msiles, and takes
another sip. "Poor bastards." He says, smirking to himself. "Bet they didn't
even realize what they'd run into."
Segment: Travers some days later
"Sir? You requested my presence?"
"Yes, I did, Lieutenant." He turns around on his desk, and looks down at the letter in front of him. "This, Major, is the latest report from the Slayer's watcher. Nowhere is the mention of an assault by a trained soldiers, at no point is it even indicated that the current Slayer is even capable of independently staking a fledgling vamp."
The lieutenant flushes. "Sir, I stand by my report, sir. What we encountered sure as hell looked like Slayer Summers, and whoever it was ripped apart half my team, and either /dodged/ our fire or absorbed it. I personnaly put three 4.7 millimeter rounds through her chest at a range of ten feet."
"I find that very hard to believe, indeed, lieutenant. However inhumanly tough and strong the slayers may appear to be, they are still humans. I want that Slayer in the ground. Stone. Cold. Dead. Is that perfectly clear?
"Sir." He turns, and exits the room. Walking back to the barracks, he encounters his sergeant.
"Lieutenant...they've authorized the release of mystical weapons and ammunition to our team. What's going on?"
"Three guesses. First two don't count."
"Of course. Going back out after that Slayer?"
"That's correct."
"What's the plan?"
fin