Chapter Three : The Fabrics of Reality


His eyes narrowed. 'You don't recognise me.'

'No. Should I?'

'Buffy – I'm Mark - your Watcher.'

Buffy stared at the man before her, feeling quite certain that of all the explanations she had expected, that was not one of them. 'No, you're not,' she said with conviction. Maybe the council had made a mistake... 'I have a Watcher – Rupert Giles.'

The comment shook him. 'Giles? I – I don't believe I know –'

Darkness was edging itself closer at the edge of her vision and she blinked, trying and failing to clear her head. 'Yeah, well, it's not my fault that one idiot in the Council doesn't know what the other does, and if you don't mind I'm rather in a hurry.' She spun on her feet quite intent upon leaving the conversation to Giles later when Mark grabbed her arm from behind.

'You can't just go dashing out there on your own.' He pulled her around to face him again, and Buffy felt her cheeks grow hot with anger. 'It's a wonder in itself you're still in one piece.'

Something was not right. Waves of nausea were surging through Buffy's brain but her dizzy mind still had the incentive to piece that bit together. She was standing in a windblown street in the middle of the night in a very quiet Sunnydale with a stranger busy telling her she could not be out at night. Either this was all a very bad joke or she had hit her head harder than she thought.

'Look,' she stated angrily, tearing her arm from his grip and feeling her head reel from the motion. She was careful not to let it show. 'I don't know who you are, mister, and frankly I don't really care either. You say you're a Watcher so you must know that I'm a slayer, and right now I have to go and save my boyfriend.' Angel. She had to go. She was wasting time. Yet, she had taken no more than two steps away when his voice rang out again.

'It's not real, Buffy.' The melancholic, almost apologetic note to his voice sent shivers down her spine. She paused.

'What?

His tall, slender form stood silhouetted against the faint light from the solitary streetlamp. She could not see his face as he answered, but his frown could almost be heard in his voice. 'I never thought I would have to – and I still wish I didn't –'

Buffy stared at him. 'I don't have time for this,' she snapped. Angel could be dead and it would all have been her fault. Maybe he was hurt and she did not know, being so busy chatting. She shook her head. Don't think that.

'You must be confused.'

'I'm glad you see things from my perspective.' The sarcasm was intentional, as was the insulting tinge to her voice as she continued. 'Who the hell are you?'

'I already told you.'

'I don't believe you.'

'That's not my problem.' And his hand was on her shoulder, his firm grip turning her around and guiding her down the street. The slayer inside her stirred at the physicality of his action but her head swam too much for her to evoke more than minimum resistance.

'I can't go with you. I have to save Angel,' she explained.

'You will understand,' he just said.

A nagging suspicion rose within her and as heat swelled in her chest she jerked her shoulder free of Mark's hand. 'Did the council send that demon?'

'Which demon?'

'Did the Council send that demon to take Angel out?' Her voice was shaking with restrained fury. In her state of confusion and nausea anything was possible.

Mark gave a short sigh. 'Angel again. Tell me about him sometime, 'kay? Right now we need to get inside and you need to listen to what I can tell you.'

Reluctantly Buffy stepped after him as he turned down a small sidewalk that led to the bland façade of a greying house; every window and door had been boarded with planks of wood, seemingly sealed from within. Her escort turned the key before giving the door a jerk that sent it gliding open with a reprehensive screech. Buffy followed him inside in silence.

'Do you have a telephone or-or something – I – I need to call Giles, or my mom...'

His footsteps crossed the floor and light flooded the room from the fluorescent lamp that flickered to grainy life above her head. He didn't answer but left the room the same way they had arrived, leaving Buffy feeling very isolated and very forlorn in her strange environment. The room was rectangular, every wall painted to a sickening white, every wall bare. There were only two doors; the one leading to it from the corridor and one opposite through which she could see what appeared to be a little-used study. The floor space had been used in moderation with only a plain wooden table whose legs had been sawed off halfway standing flanked by a couple of old and visibly worn couches.

Buffy hated it. She hated the sterile walls, the absence of windows or any kind of decorations, any emotion. Anybody could have lived here, she mused. Anybody. Her feet left trails in the layer of dust which covered the rough, wooden floor as she walked to the nearest couch, allowing her exhausted body to sink back against the spring-sprouting surface. She felt as though she had a clock in her stomach, every second that passed ticking through her, feeling the movement of the hands rocking through her body. An-gel, they chanted, An-gel.

She was sick with worry and indecision. And yet there was something else, a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, something told her she had to stay. To wait. To listen. That something was going to happen.

So she sat and waited, desperately fighting the urge to dash back to the streets and resume her search for Angel. Guilt and doubt were beginning to rise in her bewildered mind and she felt torn, one thought battling the other as they formed.

A glass materialised before her eyes and she started. Mark extended his arm further and Buffy reluctantly accepted the gesture, her gaze rising defiantly as she grabbed hold of the glass. The material was cool and smooth against her skin and her mind cleared slightly.

'Wha-' she began but his raised palm made her fall silent. Her eyes followed him as he took a seat opposite her, yet her attention shifted from his face to the bundle of greying papers he held in his hand as they were slammed onto the table in front of her. It was a newspaper.

The front page was adorned by a large, black and white photograph, which was so blurry she could hardly make out the basic human shapes among the sea of bodies, angry faces. Her eyes travelled upward and found the date printed in the top right corner. Her heart froze and for a moment her chest tightened to the point where she felt certain she would never breathe again.

It was not possible. And yet the numbers were still there when she opened her eyes again – 3rd February 2068 – and the paper did not crumble under her fingers as she ran a trembling hand over it. 3rd February 2068.

The room spun and her eyes clouded over, the world disappearing and her body disappearing from the world. Only her heart was racing so hard in her ears she thought her ear drums would burst.

Firm hands on her shoulders steadied her and pulled her back into a sitting position; Mark's voice sounded slurred to her shock-dulled brain:

'Oopsie-daisy.' Buffy blinked and felt the dead weight that had suddenly fastened itself to her chest lighten slightly. Her mouth was dry.

'What's going on?' she managed, hardly recognising the sound of her own voice. She felt cold.

Apparently Mark noticed, passing her a woollen rug that had rested across the back of his couch. 'Will you listen to me without interrupting this time?'

Buffy lowered her eyes and nodded timidly.

'Good. Five months ago,' he began, 'you were a slayer under my employ, and you had been so for well near five weeks. You were the best, a true gem in the Council's crown of slayers. The Watcher's Council,' he explained upon catching her eyes. 'God, they loved you. Things were going well, smoother than they had done for decades – the political aspects of the uprising were finally beginning to dim down, and we were beginning to feel well acquainted with the Tagged situation. But then reports starting coming in – small at first – unrelated incidents such as burn-downs, back-alley attacks...just insignificant occurrences, or so we thought. They soon got bigger. Too late we realized that we were loosing authority over the Pets in the City. The Council issued an uncensored destruction order for the entire stock within the borders, starting with their own, yet almost immediately private households began to rebel against the clause and as a result, the slayers were sent out -'

"Slayers'...?'

'Of course, you wouldn't remember...the Watcher's Council found a way to increase your numbers, I'll tell you later. Well, slayer action became necessary and you were sent out with your own squad team. I had faith that you would handle the situation, you had proved capable many a time beforehand – yet none of you returned. The Council did everything in their power to learn what had become of you, I myself went searching for you, but you remained lost. No money, no bribery, no military or political action it seemed could lead us to the smallest hint.

'After three months you were officially declared dead. I was not given another Watcher assignment, having failed the Council's trust so atrociously with you. Yet, this evening I received an anonymous call, which suggested that I might find something very interesting by the southern cemetery. It was not an understatement.'

Buffy sat unmoving with hers hand clasped tight around her glass, too many questions chasing themselves through her mind for her to focus on what she had just been told. The implications of him telling her the truth had only just began to dawn on her.

'But then – my mom – how -'

The couch groaned as Mark shifted his weight. 'I am afraid I cannot give you an infallible explanation for what has happened to you -'

'But you knew!' Buffy's eyes darted to his face. 'You knew – you said it wasn't real – how-how did you know that?'

'I only have theories,' he replied dismissively. 'I know nothing for certain.'

Buffy clutched the rug tighter around her shoulders. 'Tell me.'

'I assume you were caught by a mob of rogue Pets, and have been under the influence of certain drugs the last couple of months. These drugs should serve to build an alternative reality, a dream world so to say, but just as real to the victim as reality. Their incentive in drugging you, though, remains unclear.'

Buffy had never been one to faint at the first the best situation, yet she would not have been the least surprised if her mind had decided to shut down in that moment. Of course it didn't. He was really being real, she thought in distress, he is not lying. He is not just making this up.

'Then – my mom, Willow – Xander – Giles -'

'They never existed.'

She stared at him in desperation, willing him to smile and laugh and say it was all some tasteless joke of Xander's. He didn't. 'They did – I know they did!'

'No.'

'And Cordelia, the pizza-guy,' her body convulsed painfully, the words escaping her in a gasping whisper. 'Oh God, Angel. Angel and I, we -'

'It never happened. None of it is real.'

A strange urgency seized her and Buffy was on her feet before she knew what she intended to do. Darting out of the room, down the small corridor to the front door she jerked it open and scurried into the street. It was dark and empty, too dark, too empty to be real. And yet it was, strange, unfamiliar buildings rising higher and higher above her head, uncivilized giants in a surrealistic reality. She knew none of them.

It was too much. Her knees buckled and her body was trembling when she could no longer stop the terrified sobs that threatened to choke her. 'It has to be – it has to be -'

'This is real. This is your world.'

'But I don't even know it!' she screamed, waving her hand at the looming monster of a building that gloated silently at her from across the street. 'I remember nothing of this. Nothing! I don't remember you!'

Mark looked at her and continued to do so for a long time. 'You need to rest,' he finally said. 'Then tomorrow we will go to the Council. They will decide what to do.'

Buffy wanted to scream at him that she did not care what the Council wanted with her, that she did not care for his world but she couldn't. Rather than giving in to the angst-fuelled rage she turned mute, feeling the tears run silently down her cheek.

It seemed that it was now her world as well.

Her mom, smiles and curly hair. Her dad, ice shows and candyfloss. Willow, Xander - Giles with his endless research parties. All those memories – were they really nothing more? Buffy turned on the couch, feeling the rug slip off her but she didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. And Angel – he had been real, just like the others. He was not just a supporting player in some fantastic unreal reality of hers. He wasn't. He was real. Somehow he was real and somehow she was not alone in a strange, lonely world that scared her so much.

The sound of footsteps finally died and the house was dark, silent and threatening in its alien hostility. Buffy curled into herself, shielding her eyes from the glaring walls and the world outside the woollen rug and cried.


A/N: Great to hear from some familiar faces (you know what I mean)! Thanks so much Wesfan1234 for coming back, that in itself is the best encouragement:-) the same goes for nimwen, AngelicDreams and legolasgal. Thanks to you too.

And, of course, thanks to Goddessa39 – bear with me for a couple of chapters. I am always slow to get the story rolling ;-) and arianamissy – hope you will like and thanks so much for reviewing!

Just to let you know, I will not be posting an author's notice after every single chapter, mostly because I want the right mood to be dominant throughout, not cut apart by my endless ramblings. But please, do still review – it is not because I won't notice them!

(which is kinda my way of saying 'please review'...:-)