"Why don't you just call him already?"
Entirely lost in her own thoughts, it was a moment or two before Buffy even realised anyone had spoken, and still another before she recognised that the voice hadn't just been her own.
Lowering the paperback she'd been staring blankly at for the last half hour, she frowned irritably at her little sister. Most of the beach was empty, despite May being the official start of the tourist season here, and thanks to the peaceful atmosphere and soothing sounds of the waves her usually completely faithful thoughts had started to wander. Although of course it meant nothing. Less than nothing actually. Just a combination of the heat, and the sensation of the cool sea breeze caressing her naked hip bones like fingertips. Ok, so she was thinking about sex and ok, maybe not sex with her actual at-this-moment boyfriend, but since when did that mean anything at all? And since when did her sister get so damned perceptive anyway.
"Why don't I just call who?"
Sprawled out flat on her back in the buttery summer sun, Dawn's wide mouth stretched into a grin without even having looked at her. Lazily she lifted her arms out to her side, turning them over to ensure an even tan, meticulously rearranged her bikini straps.
"Oh what, so that's not who you're thinking about?"
Pointedly avoiding her sister's upside-down gaze, Buffy turned the page of her novel and addressed her attention back to the story. It wasn't a bad book, a little far-fetched maybe but certainly readable. The heroine wasn't exactly the most likeable of girls, truthfully she was a bit of a ho, but the dialogue was pretty snappy and the sex scenes had a ring of realism about them. Although the way she just seemed to turn to mush whenever the really hot guy just said 'hey' to her? That part was pure bullshit. Buffy had a fairly clear recollection of how it felt to turn to mush, and she couldn't remember a single word ever having taken her knees out. The sight of him standing quietly, waiting for her in the moonlight maybe, or the feeling of his thighs tensed against her or that first touch of his lips against the base of her throat...
"Buffy?? You're zoning out again."
Casually propped up on one elbow now, Dawn had turned over onto her front. Her face, already tanned a warm golden brown, was deeply shaded by the floppy sunhat Buffy had insisted she bring and it was hard to read her expression.
"I said, are you just going to sit here all weekend mooning or are you going to go and call him?"
"What are you talking about?"
Pulling the brim of her hat down over her eyes, Dawn snorted in disgust and let her head drop back onto her arms.
"OK, but just remember you were the one who said we needed a break. Just remember that ok?"
"Meaning?"
Flipping over onto her back, her older sister reached for her sunglasses, slid them on.
"Meaning that now I'm wondering what or who it is we're supposed to be taking a break from?"
Leaning over to tuck the tie of Buffy's bikini under itself, Dawn gave her gentle ticklish poke in the ribs before rolling back into place.
"You don't have to pretend just for me you know, "a sniff and another subtle shift of position, "I'm glad you want to spend time with me, together, you know? But if you'd wanted Carlo to come along too, you could have just said."
In truth and under normal circumstances, she probably would have done. In her own experience there was no better way to bury unwanted emotions than with lots and lots of really energetic sex but, in this case, she couldn't risk the chance that, during the actual act, Carlo might pick up on something...inappropriate. He didn't do it deliberately now, she'd made her feelings pretty clear on that score, but at certain times the strength of his emotions could make his telepathic abilities uncontrollable and without meaning to he would just reach into her. It was actually pretty creepy, but she supposed the pros probably outweighed the cons in the long run. In their three months together they'd never really had a single fight and, as a boyfriend, she really couldn't fault him. He was kindness and consideration itself, all wrapped up in a delectable dark-eyed mysterious package and she was the luckiest girl alive, or so everyone kept telling her.
Even over-protective Willow, pre-armed with all of Giles' prejudices and primed with every fact she'd gleaned from the Council's surviving literature, hadn't taken long to succumb to his charms. In a characteristically lavish gesture, Carlo had reserved an entire restaurant for just the three of them and, halfway through the hors d'oeuvres, Buffy had come back from the bathroom to find her new boyfriend and best friend deep in rapt conversation.
"So you're saying you actually...dropped the apple into his lap?"
A small shrug and one of his disarming trademark smiles,
"Well, the timing was so right, how could I resist? And how else was he to make the connection without gravity first...revealing herself, yes?"
So that, it seemed, was that. Everybody loved Carlo. He had something, a...gift, she hesitated to call it a power but it was certainly powerful. Faced with someone who had every reason to hate him, he could break down their defences with the swift ease and agility of a master swordsman and within an hour they'd be laughing away and telling him how many sugars they liked in their tea. It was a miraculous thing to see, his systematic conquest of every single person in the universe, although sometimes Buffy wondered if it must be a little dull to be liked and admired by everyone. Didn't you need a nemesis somewhere? Someone who darkly plotted and schemed against you at every turn, always thinking up new ways to thwart your plans? Just to add a little spice to life? Or maybe that was just her.
"No, it's not just you Buffy. I mean, I'd be a pretty boring world if everyone just really liked each other. I mean...yay no wars or anything but God, can you imagine the poetry? And the art? Not to mention the music. Everyone just eating sponge cake and saying how oh lovely the weather is? No one would even attempt to develop any kind of a personality and they'd all be boring as..."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Willow's cheeks had coloured slightly and she'd hastened to correct herself,
"That isn't to say it wouldn't be...nice. I mean, to be liked by everyone? I mean that'd be really...cool."
Buffy rolled her eyes,
"Enough. You don't have to sell me on the badness. It's my thing, remember? It's just...I like that I like him, you know? And that everyone likes him. There's no conflict or guilt or feeling icky or...lurking. There is absolutely no lurking. I am 100% lurk-free."
Eyeing her solemnly, Willow nodded,
"Then...good. You like him. I like him. You're both likeable."
Unasked questions had shivered in the air above them, but it was late already and Willow had another early flight out again the next day. Reluctantly surrendering her hand at the airport, Buffy had barely had time to call out a last goodbye before her friend was swallowed up by the heaving masses of outgoing holidaymakers. So long Will, don't forget to write.
But still, Willow had liked him. And Willow, she was her touchstone, Buffy's universal indicator of what was good and what was bad for her. And with Willow's approval, would come Giles' and then maybe even Xander's, although perhaps that was hoping for too much. One mention of Carlo's less- than-human status had been enough to colour any positive feelings he might have about her new life in Italy.
"What do they have there that we don't anyway? Pizza? We have pizza. We invented pizza."
"I like it here, Xander. It's beautiful."
"Buffy, Monster Island is beautiful but Godzilla doesn't want to stay there. He wants to get back to Tokyo where all his friends are."
"Oh what, so he crushes Tokyo because he likes it there?"
"He doesn't mean to crush Tokyo, he can't help it. His feet are big...and then he just gets excited."
"Can we forget Godzilla again for a moment and just get back to..."
"...when you're coming home?"
She didn't honestly have the heart to tell him then, but in her deepest of deep guts she already knew that she would probably never return to the U.S. Too much sadness and way too many memories just waiting to become reality again. Too much water under burning bridges. This city was her home now and, if and when she tired of this one, there were a hundred thousand others dotted around the globe that were probably every bit as beautiful. That promised her just as much happiness.
"So why do you look miserable?"
Once again, Dawn's voice pulled her from her thoughts and back to reality. Frowning, her sister stood facing her at the foot of her hotel bed with her hands on her hips.
"C'mon. This is supposed to be a holiday? We're here to enjoy ourselves remember? No work for you? No school for me? Now please, just go get changed and I'll buy you some panpepato."
It was evening now, early evening, and the long day of sun and sand and complete lethargy had taken its toll on her. Turning her face into the pillow, Buffy rolled onto her side and closed her tired eyes. It was a nice hotel, not too expensive because she still wouldn't allow Carlo to pay for things like this, but nice enough. Big wide windows that faced the blue blue Mediterranean, and thick Egyptian cotton bed linen that felt cool and soothing against her sunburnt skin.
"You're going to sleep already?! It's only 6 o'clock."
Cracking open an eye, Buffy could see her sister's sandaled feet, straight ahead of her now beside the bed. Trying hard not to laugh, she closed her eyes again. Even Dawn's toes looked annoyed.
"Gimme and hour or so. Maybe two. Then I'm all yours."
And she meant it. Really. A siesta was all she wanted, and then her batteries would be fully recharged. Raring to go. Pushing her face further into her pillow, Buffy tried to ignore Dawn's irritated muttering as she hunted around the room for her purse, bracing herself for the inevitable bang of the door, but when it came she was surprised to hear nothing but the soft click of the latch. Maybe her baby sister had grown up a little after all and smiling, she pulled the clean linen sheet over herself and let herself just drift away.
And then...
she was in a very dark place.
It took her a moment or two to realise what it was at first, because she hadn't had one in almost a year now; the sensations far more powerful than a normal dream, like an all-singing all-dancing audio-visual hallucinations with smell-o-vision. Like a room but not, smaller and dark and oppressive heat and everywhere the smell of blood, of bleeding. At her sides, her limbs felt like nothing, weak and shining white in the darkness and crisscrossed with black and, although the idea of movement seemed a complete impossibility, laughable even, she could feel her body struggling for purchase on life. Hanging on with gritted filthy fingernails for all it was worth. Pain was everywhere, immense and overwhelming like a constant iron pressure, but still this body clung , tenacious as a skinny vine, waiting, waiting for an end.
Inside this cell she could see only darkness, but even so she was aware that her vision was now far superior to that of her normal body. Even inch of the rusting, decayed walls was evident to her, every crack and flake etched with pin sharp accuracy on her iris and suddenly she knew with a disgusted sickening certainty that the scene before her eyes might very well be her last.
Her body was giving up. Every last ounce of strength had ebbed away with the last of her blood, for she understood now that that was what the heavy sticky feeling under and around her torso was. Her own blood, thick and black and old, was congealed into every crevice beneath her, pasted like tar to her sides and legs, leaving only pale islands of white flesh unmarked and shining like bone. Although she could not move to see them, her legs felt badly damaged, the pain long and sharp like shattered glass, spiderwebbing through her.
Then suddenly, a grating sound from above, the sound of rusted metal on rusted metal, and without warning light spilled into darkness. Reflexively she tried to move, to pull back from it, but already it was lessening as a figure, familiar in outline, appeared silhouetted. Moving forward, Carlo's face was impassive, no hint of sympathy in his eyes or tender smile on his lips. Confused, she tried to move, lift her arms to him, but found herself pinioned by pain, smashed down by it.
Drawing to her side, her lover's hands moved along her body - sliding fingertips through blood and finally - reaching her face, he smiled.
"So here you are."
His eyes, black jet and huge, stared down into hers and unable to turn her head, she stared back.
"I've been looking for you, you know? Everywhere. Looking for my sweet...heart. And now here I find you. And just in time it seems. Just in time."
His voice was melodious, soft and sing-song, and with perfect calm now she felt her hold slipping, her grip on the world easing away. Sinking into black.
"I can't let you go, dear heart. I need you."
His smooth, long-fingered hand on her rib cage felt cold and distant, like someone else's hand on someone else's body, but the black water was lapping at her feet now and she couldn't hold on any longer. Quiet waited for her somewhere down below, peace and quiet and....
Stabbing, searing pain, yanking her up and out and forward like a puppet by its strings.
Carlo's face spattered as he stood above her, his hand writhing with something wet and black and pumping, pumping, streaking his flesh with black.
Her eyes started, strained outward as she fought with weak ivory hands to cover the gaping hole in her chest, fighting to keep the life inside. His lips brushing her own, murmuring endearments.
"My heart. My life. My own."
And her own voice, a voice that wasn't hers though, choking on blood, gasping out a name,
"Buffy.....Buffy..."
"Buffy?! Buffy?"
Ripping back the sweat-soaked sheet that covered her, Buffy sprang from the bed just fast enough to make it to the bathroom, falling to her knees on the tiled floor. Cold saliva rushed to her mouth, and then the still crystal-clear image of Carlo did the rest and she retched. Deep, sickening convulsions that wracked her whole body, turning her inside out.
Watching horrified to one side, Dawn stood frozen for a moment or two before moving forward to hold back her sister's hair. The worst over, Buffy had slowed to choking sobs, her face streaked with tears as she fought for breath. Reaching for a washcloth, Dawn soaked it in cold water before handing it to her.
"Thanks."
Her sister's voice was muffled and weak and, watching her slowly clean herself up, Dawn shook her head in concern.
"God, Buffy, you must have really overdone the sun today. Maybe a beach holiday wasn't such a good idea after all."
Taking back the washcloth, she soaked it again before helping her sister to her feet and back to the bed. Buffy's eyes followed her as she moved to the wardrobe, fetching out another pillow to put behind her back. Folding the cold cloth in half now, Dawn laid it gently across her brow, both their faces acknowledging as she did so, that it was Mom's thing. Mom's special way of babying them.
Smiling, she sat down on the side of the bed, touched her hand.
"You know...sunstroke is so last season."
"I know, "a weak smile, "Sorry."
"S'ok."
Her eyes shifting to the floor, Dawn studied the carpet for a moment, tracing the pattern with her toes. When she spoke again, her voice was careful, quiet measured tones.
"Did you have a bad dream as well?"
"Mm hm."
"You were shouting out your name in your sleep you know, "her eyes held her, questioning, "So what...were you dreaming you were someone else?"
Someone else. Not herself. Carlo's words had been for her, but the body, the ruined ivory body that had imprisoned her, that hadn't been hers. Familiar though, the smooth curve of wrist into hand, the line of the ribcage. All familiar. Closing her eyes she saw the darkness again, white arms, blood-spackled chest and knew. Realised that she had known. Whose body, whose pain, whose hopeless desperate grip on life.
"I think I was Spike."