If You Give A Slayer A Cookie
The assignment to Sunnydale was the chance of a lifetime for Garrett Johnson. A chance to get in a few hits to the monsters under the bed and hiding in the closets, the creatures he'd been hesitant to believe in until he'd seen them with his own eyes. Recruited by Riley Finn for the special branch of the Marines that fought demons, he'd almost peed his pants the first time he'd fought a vampire. Afterwards, still shaken and reeling, he'd realized that he was fighting in the only war that mattered. They carried a burden of knowledge, a challenge of protection that made everything else seem like playing with G.I. Joes. Then he learned about Slayers and Hellmouths. Now he was here, on the worst Hellmouth of them all, and about to meet not one but three Slayers. It was unbelievable. He felt like a kid in a candy store.
"Here they come." The second guard, a beefy soldier the men called Tango, moved to stand in front of the door.
There were five in the group. Two men, three women. Garrett knew who they were from their pictures and descriptions in the dossiers. Rupert Giles was the Watcher in charge of Buffy Summers and would serve as the official ambassador from the Watcher's Council. Faith was the Slayer who'd spent a few years in prison for murder. She had no Watcher; none of them were willing to take up the challenge. Watching the Slayers move reminded him of the jungle, panthers and jaguars creeping stealthily on padded feet. They didn't walk. They hunted. No picture had been provided of the third Slayer or her Watcher, only a list of vitals and a vague description.
Despite her slender stature and California blond hair, Buffy was the most commanding, with a take-charge attitude that left no questions. No wonder General Pascal had been told they were hard to work with. Garrett doubted she would do anything she didn't want to and the fact that she could snap human bones without breaking a sweat was enough to keep him a few wary steps away from her. Faith was a couple inches taller, dark hair and dark eyes, and the definition of voluptuous. They had been instructed to handle her firmly, but carefully, as she was reported to have trouble with authority figures. All in all, he wasn't sure what the General expected to get out of the meeting with two women obviously accustomed to making and breaking their own rules. Point of fact, the remaining two members of the group were civilians that Buffy Summers had insisted be present when she met General Pascal: Willow Rosenberg and Alexander Harris.
"Prime real estate," Tango commented softly. "Bet they're fucking amazing in the sack."
"You'll never find out." Garrett almost rolled his eyes, unable to deny that he'd been thinking the same thing. He shifted his grip and threw Tango a warning glance. "Don't forget they can kick your ass into the middle of next week."
"Yeah." He didn't sound convinced. Some of the men still couldn't grasp the concept of a Slayer. Garrett wasn't sure he understood either. They were strong, they were fast, that much he knew, but he couldn't help wondering just how much they were capable of.
As soon as the group was within range, they both snapped to attention. "Welcome to Genesis."
"Do you always have to name them something strange?" Buffy asked. "I mean, first it was the Initiative. Which was all double meaning-y and clever, taking the Initiative, blah blah blah. Why don't you ever just call it the Base? Or Headquarters. Something army-ish."
Garrett blinked in surprise. "Please step up to the door and place your hand on the screen." He watched as she rolled her eyes but complied with his command grudgingly. She made no attempt to hide how ridiculous she felt the precautions were. Granted, he'd read the file about the Initiative and knew that she had no reason to show them anything but contempt. It still chaffed to see her obvious disdain.
"Cara and Mr. Wyndam-Pryce are a few minutes behind us," Rupert Giles added as he stepped up to press his hand against the screen. "Should we wait for them?"
"That won't be necessary, sir." Garrett pressed the intercom to let the men inside know the Slayers were entering the base. "We'll accompany them to the conference room when they arrive."
Once all hands had been scanned and their prints recorded, the steel door slid open and he motioned for them to enter the corridor. Two men were waiting inside to lead them through the tunnels and hallways to the meeting room where the General, Agent Finn, and Head Watcher were waiting. Tango leered without shame as he watched them walk away, shaking his head when the door slid shut and settling into a more comfortable position. Propping his gun against the side of the entrance tower, he fished through his pockets for a cigarette and ignored the pointed look from Garrett.
"Wonder if the third one's anything like those two," he mused, blowing smoke toward the deep blue sky. "The blond? God, what I wouldn't give to have that mouth suck me off."
"Shut up."
"A little on the skinny side. Other one's got a better rack."
"Get your head out of the fucking gutter, man. They're not gonna give you the time of day."
Tango raised one eyebrow. "Not what I heard. 'Bout the third one anyway. Fuck, I hope she's as hot as the others."
Shifting uneasily, Garrett turned toward Tango and the door, waving smoke away from his face. "What are you talking about?"
"Brass is gonna keep the third one." A lazy smile spread across his lips. "Least that's what I heard. Strip down the first two, keep a few souvenirs and head back east. Slayer number three is wide open."
"Whatever."
"I shit you not." Tango snuffed the cigarette in the grass. "Pascal wants her to do all sorts of experiments on her. Find out what makes her tick."
"Endurance tests, yeah. Heard about that. Still a snowball in Hell's chance that you'd get a piece."
"Way I figure it, they can't be runnin' tests on her 24-7. Gotta have some down time." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Couple of the boys on guard duty already have the shit to keep her dosed and harmless. Like taking candy from a baby."
Garrett felt his blood run cold. "That's wrong."
"Who cares, Johnson? She's anything like those two and it'll be fucking worth it." Another careless shrug. "Barrett and Young figure they'll be riding her like a bitch in heat every chance they get. Might as well join the fun while she's here."
"They've got it all planned out." To say he wasn't tempted by the Slayers would be an outright lie. To pretend that what Tango was talking about didn't sicken him would be a worse lie.
"Just another endurance test, man." Grinning wickedly, Tango snorted and took a seat beside the door to light another cigarette. "Too bad he's not keeping all three of 'em. No problem getting the bitches knocked up if he'd just let us have a go."
"You're a piece of shit, Tango." Garrett turned away, unable to hide the disgust on his face. He couldn't wait until the third Slayer showed up and he could end his shift of guard duty, thankfully escaping the bastard's foul company. Most of the men were dedicated and had, at the very least, a set of bare bones ethics; leaving crude and amoral to the handful who never seemed to entertain a single thought above their belts. How an asshole like Tango managed to keep it in his pants long enough to get anywhere in life was a complete mystery to Garrett.
Staring out at the clearing in the forest, he tried to ignore the stench of cigarette smoke and hoped the rumors were just that, rumors; hoped that the third Slayer could take care of herself. A nagging voice whispered that he should take Tango's words more seriously even if the man was all bark and no bite. He liked to talk, particularly about women and violence, usually in the same sentence. But Garrett had never heard of him making good on any of the talk. It was just locker room bragging about conquests and testosterone, only Tango never left the locker room behind. A girl with inhuman strength and speed should be able to handle morons like Barrett and Young. Even so, the tranquilizer gun felt oddly heavy in his belt and the vials of liquid were burning through their cases.
They'd been told that the Slayers wouldn't harm them but had been armed just in case. In case of what? In case the women fought back against a man like Tango and had to be restrained? Their orders were to secure the perimeter once the Slayers were safely inside and begin outer lock down of the base. He hesitated. The hallways were designed to close and seal, preventing anything from getting in or out of the base until the safe codes were given. It was broad daylight and they were unlikely to be attacked. The only reason to seal the doors would be to keep those inside from getting out. Until General Pascal gave the word, the three Slayers, their Watchers, and the two civilians would be stuck inside with the rest of the men.
Trapped.
He didn't know how or from who Tango got his gossip but he'd been right in the past. Right about a double raid in Brazil when the rest of the men hadn't been given the orders until they were in the field, right about his team coming to Sunnydale.
"What about the civilians?" Garrett turned back to his disgusting companion. "Heard anything about them?"
"Who knows? Pascal wasn't too happy about them being here. Probably just send 'em right back out again." He waved toward the door, eyeing it expectantly. "He could just get rid of them. Dump the bodies in the forest maybe."
"Where'd you hear this crap?"
"Snapper's bunk is next to the air ducts. Voices carry through that thing like a telephone. Heard the General talking with Lee about a special containment team, keeping the Slayers confined 'til he was done with them."
Garrett was silent. He had to believe that whatever General Pascal was planning, it was for the best. That it was the optimum solution. Still. It didn't make any sense to bring the teams here for training only to trap the very people who would be training them. Snapper must have heard wrong. Maybe the General had been referring to the conference itself. Then why the tranquilizers? Why arm the men against them unless there was a chance that the Slayers would have to fight their way out of the compound? Uneasiness coiled in his stomach like a snake, hissing and wiggling as he scanned the area for any sign of the third Slayer and her Watcher. He'd been in the group long enough to know that they weren't always told the whole truth, that information was kept from them, often for their own safety or because they didn't need to know all the details to get the job done. Even before he'd joined, he'd believed that the government and the military kept secrets. He accepted it. By the very nature of what they fought against, there had to be a certain level of secrecy.
It had to be Tango's repulsive and suggestive bragging that was bothering him. The utter lack of consideration for women who deserved respect and admiration. They were soldiers, fighting on the same side in the battle against evil crawling over the earth at night. It was just like Tango to view them as only useful for sexual gratification, typical of his small mind and questionable intelligence. And these women deserved more than that. They deserved respect, even awe, for what they did every day, what they fought and lived with, the burden laid on their shoulders.
"Two o'clock," he announced as two figures appeared, turning the corner and moving swiftly toward the entrance. Tango clambered to his feet and retrieved his firearm, straining to get a good look at the last Slayer.
"Sure that's even a woman?"
Garrett ground his teeth together to keep from snapping at the man. He had to agree that there was nothing feminine about the third Slayer. No sway in her hips as she walked, no soft pastels or high-heeled boots. A few inches shorter than her Watcher, she was closer to what he had expected a Slayer to be. Dark hair pulled back into a severe braid, well toned arms and shoulders, and legs like a thoroughbred. She was all business.
"Bastard would choose the fucking ugly duckling," Tango muttered with a sigh. "Guess it won't matter with the lights out."
He didn't have time for a response before they were there, standing in front of him, and the girl's large brown eyes were piercing through him as though she was trying to rip his soul to shreds with a glance. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that if he held her gaze, let those dark eyes search through him, she'd be able to read his thoughts. It was disconcerting. At any moment, he expected her to smile wide and crow 'Here's Johnny', possibly followed by a witch's cackle and flying away on a broomstick. His voice was telling them to press their hands against the screen and he was punching in the code to open the door. Then he would lead them into the corridor and take them to the conference room. Damn. She was still looking at him with those creepy eyes. Dark brown doe eyes that should have been soft and beautiful instead of cold and hard.
Poe's Telltale Heart had nothing on her eyes. He could feel them on the back of his neck as he took the lead, hands sweating and his grip on the gun becoming precarious. Inside his chest, his own heart was pounding like a frightened animal trying to escape. She knew. She had to know. About Tango and his plan to drug her up, tie her down, and use her like a plow horse until she broke. The other Slayers had been different. All that power wrapped in a deceptively small, alluringly beautiful package, like poisonous flowers waiting for unsuspecting insects. They were hidden weapons, camouflaged and masked so their enemies wouldn't know until it was too late that they had bitten off more than they could chew. But the third Slayer screamed danger like a highway billboard, announcing with every inch of her body that she was not to be taken lightly. He glanced back nervously, swallowing when he saw that she was still watching him intently. Tango was bringing up the rear, his eyes on her ass as she walked and his expression halfway between disappointment and lust.
They passed the first checkpoint and a heavy steel door hissed shut behind them, beginning the process of sealing everyone inside the base. The Slayer stopped suddenly, almost tripping her Watcher and Tango. Her heavy braid swung across her shoulders as she searched the hallway, eyes moving from the door to Garrett and back again.
"Why?" she demanded, her voice clear and firm.
"Standard procedure," Garrett replied with only the slightest hitch in his voice. "The corridors seal to protect the compound from attack."
"What attacks in the middle of the afternoon?"
His gaze darted involuntarily to Tango, remembering the whispered rumors of containment teams. In the second it took him to formulate the command to keep moving, the Slayer reached back and took hold of the barrel of Tango's rifle. Twisting it to the side, she slammed the butt into his stomach and yanked it roughly out of his hands. Bone cracked as the metal struck his jaw and Garrett watched helplessly as his companion crumpled to the ground, gun spinning in her hands as she turned on him. They weren't supposed to attack humans. Somehow he didn't think she cared.
He reached for his gun instinctively, grunting as her hand caught the barrel and pushed him backwards. Off balance, he stumbled and her foot connected with the side of his knee, sending him to the floor as pain sizzled down his leg. His hand shot toward the tranquilizer gun on his belt, stopping when the cool metal of Tango's gun brushed against his forehead. One finger resting on the trigger, she smiled and he froze, staring up into the barrel of the gun.
"Stick me with that thing, Watcher and I redecorate the hallway with his brain."
Garrett's eyes flicked to the Watcher's hands, noticing the gleam of a hypodermic needle. It didn't make him feel any better. If her Watcher was carrying tranquilizers then the rest of the world was in deep shit. The man raised his hands slowly, holding the syringe between his thumb and first finger.
"Just relax, Cara." His smooth, English voice was tired. Garrett could tell he was still looking for a way to get the gun out of her hands and the needle into her skin, inching forward to find a better position. The man had guts. Garrett was glued to the floor, not wanting to find out just how fast or how strong a Slayer was.
"Give me the needle," she ordered sharply.
When he didn't, she latched onto his wrist with her right hand and yanked him forward, one knee connecting with his stomach. Air rushed out of the man's chest with a whoosh as he doubled over and winced as she twisted his arm, the syringe clattering to the ground. Still facing the wrong end of a gun, Garrett held his breath and edged his hand slightly toward the tranquilizer gun. She backhanded her Watcher, knocking him against the wall. In one smooth motion she scooped up the needle and buried it in the man's thigh, pushing the plunger only halfway before she pulled it out. Glass shattered under her boot as she crushed it, spilling the rest of the liquid onto the tiles. His fingers brushed against the edge of the gun.
"Don't even think about it."
The rifle in her hands flipped around and the blunt end sideswiped his face, stinging skin and knocking a couple teeth loose in the back. With strong, efficient hands, she disarmed him completely, unbuckling the utility belt from his waist and wrapping it around her own. His rifle was slung over her shoulder next to Tango's and the knife buckled to his calf was stripped away.
"You won't get out." He told her as she checked on her Watcher, finding the man's pulse and easing him gently into a more comfortable position on the floor. Gently probing his wounded knee, he grimaced at the pain radiating through his leg. Walking was no longer a viable option.
Cold brown eyes turned back to him and this time he saw sadness in them. "Not looking to get out."
"What are you going to do?"
"How many men are here?"
Garrett shrugged, tensed for a blow or a bullet as she stood up. He couldn't take her. If he was lucky, she wouldn't kill him and he'd be able to get a warning out to the base. Psychotic Slayer on the loose. It sounded like something out of a bad horror movie.
"What would you do with three Slayers?" she asked suddenly, looking down at him curiously. "Invite them for tea? Pat them on the head and congratulate them for keeping the world safe?"
He didn't answer. Tango's words had planted the seeds of doubt and brought the inconsistencies of his orders into the light. He could dismiss them as coincidence. Sealing the compound and locking the Slayers inside could be insurance that they were protected during the conference. Tranquilizers could be a precautionary measure against a woman with superhuman strength and violent tendencies. From his vantage point on the floor, it looked as though they hadn't done enough to prepare for the Slayers. He just had to keep her talking until someone in security noticed the disaster in the hallway.
"Probably not," she answered her own question and crouched down beside him. "Which would you rather have? A woman who doesn't do what she's told or a million eggs just waiting to grow up into good little soldiers. It's not a trick question. Just simple cost benefit analysis."
"You're making a big mistake."
"Am I? It's what I'd do." The smile widened. "Exactly what I'd do. In fact, I'd probably keep one of them just to cut her open and see how she works. And of all the Slayers, which one would I choose? The one with no family and no friends." He tried not to waver under the weight of her gaze. "Or rather, it's what Lilah would do. With more finesse of course. You really are a bunch of amateurs."
He didn't ask who Lilah was, didn't really want to know. They should have arrived by now. Security would be checking the monitors and they would be on their way. Searching his brain for something to ask her, he wished he'd been trained as a hostage negotiator instead of the explosives unit. Were the other two like this? They had seemed normal. This girl was fucking crazy.
"Don't worry, they're coming. Five, six maybe. Now which gun should I use?" Eyes gleaming with something that chilled Garrett to the bone, she glanced between the rifle and the handgun. "To kill or not to kill, that is the question. I'm a Slayer. It's what I do. Of course, not usually humans, but I could probably make an exception just this once."
Garrett kept his mouth shut. Whichever she chose, he would be the first to go.
"If the rest of them are cowards like you, this should be easy. You didn't even put up a fight." The Slayer grinned. "Of course, I'm sure you've been instructed not to kill me because, let's face it, I'm a lot more valuable than you are."
"Bitch." It was barely audible, just a hiss between his teeth. He couldn't deny that he hadn't really tried and he couldn't even give her a good reason why not. Maybe because he wanted to believe that she wasn't actually going to kill anyone or that he was afraid Tango was spinning more than just locker room fantasies. Maybe he believed her, maybe it was a trap. Right or wrong, she was still a bitch.
"And the tin soldier actually has a spine. Amazing."
Metal clicked against metal as she reached out, catching his jaw roughly in one hand and pressing a harsh kiss against his lips. He could hear the footsteps down the hallway, moving quickly toward them. She pulled back, fingers leaving bruises on his skin. Half expecting her to snap his neck, he met her eyes defiantly. The last thing he saw was her fist meeting his jaw, shooting stars filling his vision as pain shorted out his senses. Struggling to retain his rapidly escaping consciousness, he heard the snap of a magazine sliding into one of the assault rifles. She'd made her choice.
"What's going on?" Buffy's voice had lost the edge of good will that it had held the last week and her arms were crossed defiantly over her chest as she stared down the General.
Faith was silently cheering and taking a quick head count. She could take the three commandos around her and was pretty sure Buffy could handle the other three. Even Giles and Xander could do some damage if pushed into a fight and there was a thrill of excitement as she imagined what Willow would be able to do if it came down to breaking out of command central. The only real threat was the tranquilizer guns. It would take some fancy footwork to keep out of the line of fire, but Faith figured it was do-able as long as there were just the six soldier boys. General Pascal looked pissed off, Riley was alternating between glaring daggers at the General and sending pleading looks their way that begged them to believe he'd had nothing to do with it. Most interestingly, Iverson looked ready to vault over the expensive wood table and take out the General himself.
Local forecast? Violent.
Buffy scowled angrily at the men. "I really don't like to repeat myself."
"I don't expect you to understand." General Pascal settled into his leather chair.
"You mean getting stabbed in the back? 'Cause I've got that down. Riley could probably tell you how well it went last time and if you think it's going to be any different, you're in for a big surprise."
Cold blue eyes flicked between Buffy and Faith. "It's quite simple, Miss Summers. We cannot allow the future of the Slayers to rest solely in your hands. Your unstable and unpredictable."
"Can we get the fuck out of here now, B?" Faith cracked the knuckles of her right hand as she stood up. "Think I've heard everything I need to know."
"I can't let you leave." Pascal motioned with one hand and another half dozen filed through the doorway. "I can assure you that you will be taken care of, adequately compensated afterwards, and that you won't feel a thing."
"And I can assure you that this is going to hurt a lot." Buffy stepped back, putting distance between her and the men. "Willow?"
Willow opened her mouth to respond, eyes widening for a split second before she crumpled to the floor. Buffy pushed away from the table, hurrying to Willow's side and checking her pulse. A small chrome dart protruded from her back. Angrily, Buffy pulled it out and threw it across the room. Easing Willow's unconscious form into a chair behind her and safely away from any fighting that might occur, she took a single angry step toward the bastard who had shot the dart. It was one thing to attack her and quite another to go after the only friends she had ever known.
"Buffy." Giles' tone stopped her in her tracks and she settled for a furious glare.
"Now you've seen how quickly the drugs take effect. My men are excellent marksmen and I have no doubt that they will be able to handle you." Pascal stood up slowly, hands resting lightly on the table. "It was my hope that this could be done without violence."
"Somehow I doubt that," Iverson remarked dryly, glancing around the room. "Why else would you arm your men?"
"They're soldiers, Mr. Iverson. They're always armed."
"Sir?" Another man stepped through the doorway. Two more followed him, carrying a barely conscious Wesley Wyndam-Pryce into the conference room and dumping him unceremoniously into a chair. "We have a problem."
"What's going on?" Pascal demanded. He spun his chair around to face the bank of television screens on the far wall.
"Dear God." Giles moved to Wesley's side, checking his pulse and exchanging worried looks with Iverson.
"Where's the third Slayer?"
"That's the problem, sir." The messenger pointed to one of the screens a few seconds before the black and white image of Cara staring up at the camera raised a rifle and fired. The screen went black. "She attacked Johnson and the Watcher and took out a security team."
"She's just a girl," Pascal snapped. "Get her in here. Finn, go with them."
Riley didn't move. "I'm sorry, sir. I can't obey those orders." Another camera met a violent end behind them.
"Can I say something?" Xander raised his hand halfway in the air. "You're going to get your asses kicked."
The General stared impassively at the monitors, glancing back once to take in Wesley's attempts to sit up in the chair and Riley's stiff backed mutiny. Finally he turned away from the surveillance screens and sat back down at the table with cool detachment. "I don't believe that one woman can hope to succeed against the best men our military has to offer. Slayer or not."
"Gotta love that attitude." Returning to her chair, Faith kicked her feet up onto the table in a deliberate show of disrespect. "Means we're gonna win."
Served the bastards right for herding them into a sterile claustrophobic room and having the nerve to betray them. The General had tried to be subtle, attempting to separate Buffy and Faith from the others willingly before resorting to ordering his soldiers to physically remove the civilians. Of course, that was the precise reason Buffy had insisted on Xander and Willow being there. They were part of the deal and if the General couldn't accept it, there would be no deal. Go Cara, she smiled toward the cameras as the Slayer opened fire on another group of soldiers, bring the sons of bitches to their knees.
"Take her down. Seal the room as you leave." Pascal motioned to the group of men and they started through the doorway. Once gone, a heavy metal door hissed shut and cut them off from the rest of the base.
"With all due respect, sir," Riley began tersely, still looking straight ahead with his jaw set firmly.
"I won't forget that you refused to take a direct order, Finn."
"I was under the impression that we were here to work with the Slayers, sir."
"Then you were under the wrong impression." An alarm shrieked somewhere in the compound and they could hear the faint staccato of gunfire. Pascal appeared unconcerned as he tapped his fingertips on the table. "Sit down, please. Miss Summers, Mr. Giles."
Buffy took the seat on the other side of Willow, keeping the witch protected between her and Faith with Xander and Giles on her other side. Iverson finished off the group next to the seat where Wesley was drifting in and out of consciousness. Although the General was refusing to watch the monitors, the rest continued to follow Cara's progress through the hallways as the cameras winked out one by one. Minutes crawled by like hours, gunfire getting closer and closer.
"Once they've contained the third Slayer, we will continue this meeting." General Pascal leaned back into his chair. "I hope you understand that it was never my intention to begin our relationship this way. It has been most unfortunate that you have chosen not to cooperate and that Miss," he checked the folder in front of him. "Miss Sewell has proven to be unreliable and dangerous."
"What exactly were you planning on doing to us?" Buffy demanded.
"Removal of the ovaries," Riley's voice was sharp, his eyes lowering to General's face with open hostility.
"That was the plan."
"Without their permission." A muscle in Giles' jaw began to tic.
"I don't need their permission," Pascal spat arrogantly. "They are nothing. What they are carrying inside of them is invaluable."
Buffy shook her head with disbelief. "I figured you'd try something. I counted on it. But I never thought you'd rip us open and take what you wanted without even asking. Rude much?"
"It doesn't matter what you feel or think, Miss Summers. You are a commodity. Nothing more and nothing less."
"And Cara?" Wesley's voice was slurred and he was holding on to the table for support.
"She will be a valuable resource."
"Where do people like you come from?" Buffy pulled a face. "I've known vampires who were better people. There are demons who look like the Pope compared to you."
"Morals and ethics won't rid the world of evil, Miss Summers." Pascal's eyes narrowed. "And neither will one Slayer. Even three. You must admit that it's futile to have just one woman fighting against all the vampires of the world. There is only one way."
"By building an army." Riley's hands clenched into fists.
"The fact that it's wrong continues to escape your notice? You can't beat evil by doing evil. Believe me, I know." Shaking her head, Buffy glanced around the room. "And we will get out of here. If we have to fight our way out, it's your loss."
Faith nodded her support. "We were willing to cut a deal. Now? Don't think there's a lot of trust in this room, do you?"
"Why don't we let bygones be bygones and we'll go on our merry way without killing you?" Buffy offered flatly.
"You don't kill people, Miss Summers," he countered smoothly.
"You sure about that? Cause the last time I checked, pretty much everyone in this room has tried their hand at murder." Buffy's smile was icy. "And you know, if it comes down to a fight, I'm gonna win."
"She's right." Xander grinned gleefully. "No offense, but we've seen worse. Even freaky Dr. Walsh was scarier than you. Granted, you have that cool as ice edge and you're much worse than Adam. But Glory? The Mayor? You know, even Faith was a better villain than you."
"And I'm just a commodity." Faith shrugged, watching the tread of her boots leave scuff marks on the smooth surface of the table.
"So snap your fingers, say the magic words, whatever it takes to open the door and get us out of here." Noting that the last monitor had closed its electronic eye and left the room blind, Buffy leaned forward in her seat with anticipation.
"I'm afraid that's impossible. If you'll just be patient, I'm sure they will have contained her shortly."
Buffy motioned to the bank of screens with a smug grin. "You've got a lot to learn about Slayers."
The General spun around, blinking incredulously at the empty screens. "What? This isn't possible."
Behind him, the air conditioning grate fell to the table with a bang. Two black boots landed on top of the metal, scraping it across the table with the crunch of wood fibers being shredded. Faith caught the widening smile on Buffy's face and turned back to the Slayer who had just dropped through the ceiling. Her hair was longer than Faith remembered but the two pistols in her hands were familiar. Standing on the table, her head nearly brushed against the ceiling.
"I believe this the part where I say…I told you so." There was a hint of pride in Iverson's voice.
"My men?" Pascal's expression was unreadable.
"Out of commission," Cara answered evenly. The guns dropped to the table, metal gleaming as she pulled a dagger from her belt and spun it through her fingers like a gun in a western movie. One foot kicked out and caught the side of the General's face, propelling the chair back against the monitors. She followed with a leap off of the table, reorienting the blade in her hand and slashing a wide arc to the left. The room was silent as General Pascal gasped, reaching for his throat as blood began to drip from the wound. His face paled, fingers trembling as he tried to stop the red liquid pouring through the gash in his skin. She flipped the knife once more, lunging forward to drive it straight through the General's heart; their faces stayed inches apart as the General gasped his last breath.
"Cara," Wesley managed to get out through clenched teeth.
Faith felt her throat constrict as Cara turned around slowly, facing Wesley with a look that defied him to rebuke her. The girl's face was spattered with blood, her arms smeared with it and dark stains spreading over her clothing hinted at more blood. Her cheek had been cut at some point during the fighting and her lower lip split open. Several bruises marred the skin on her arms and neck. She looked down at her hands for a moment, seeing that they were covered with blood before dropping them to her sides.
"I'm sorry for hitting you," Cara told Wesley flatly, her back straight as an arrow.
He touched his face gingerly, wincing at the bruise forming over the right cheekbone and casting a meaningful look toward Faith. "I seem to have that effect on Slayers."
"Cara?" Buffy looked stricken. "What happened to you?"
Cara glanced toward Riley with suspicion. "Should I kill him?"
"No! No. He's one of the good guys." Pushing away from the table, Buffy stood up and visibly stopped herself from moving to Cara's side. "Are the rest of them? The men. Are they dead?"
"Most of them." Her eyes were on Wesley, watching his every move. Slowly she reached out and picked up one of the guns she had dropped, ignoring the scrape of metal against wood as she shoved the weapon toward Wesley and stepped back from the table. Waiting.
The sinking feeling in the bottom of Faith's stomach took another dive when Wesley reached out, fingers shaking as they wrapped around the gun. His face was drawn from the effort of holding the firearm steady, lips pursed tightly. A single nod from Cara was the only communication between them before the gun fired and she winced, reaching involuntarily for the dart in her stomach. The ghost of a smile appeared on her lips before she sunk to her knees, toppling over onto her side unconscious.
"What is going on?" Iverson demanded, his chair falling back with a crash.
"She's got a taste for it," Faith answered knowingly, clenching her fists tightly to keep her hands from trembling.
Had they felt the same horror and shock when she had killed the Deputy Mayor and the Professor? Was this what it had felt like for all of them? The can't breathe, snakes wriggling under the skin, too far past nausea to actually throw up, kind of shock to the system that left shaking fingers and numb minds. Maybe it was only her. Because she'd been there, washed the blood off of her hands and face, knew what it felt like to drive that blade through skin and bone. Oh God. Was that what she had looked like? Some sort of Hell's Angel sprayed with death and dressed in rage.
"What?"
"It's a long story." Wesley pushed the gun away from him, eying it distastefully.
"You said she was injured. Not homicidal." Iverson took a deep breath. "Is it because of her conditioning? Did we do that to her?"
"Hey guys," Faith interrupted, not wanting to stare at the General's dead body oozing blood or the unconscious limbs of his killer any longer than she had to. It was too close to home, too familiar and too ironic. "He's doped to the gills and we're still stuck in this godforsaken bunker. How 'bout we play twenty questions once we're back topside?"
"Good idea," Buffy agreed, taking charge of the situation. "Can you get us out of here, Riley?"
"Yes." He nodded absently, eyes still on Cara's sleeping form.
"Xander, help Riley with Cara. Faith and I will take Willow. You two…Giles, Mr. Iverson…help out where you're needed." She threw Faith a look that meant an interrogation was coming.
Faith sighed as she slipped her arms under Willow's legs. They waited until Riley had opened the doors and silenced the alarms in the hallway. He took Cara's shoulders, Xander's hands under her legs as they carried her gently out of the room. Wesley was next, supported by Giles, and Iverson trailed closely behind them.
The corridors were mine fields of bodies lying where they had fallen with cold fingers still wrapped around weapons they hadn't had the chance to fire. A few had daggers buried to the hilt in necks and chests, pools of crimson spreading out across the floor. Survivors were groaning as they crawled to their feet, staggering against the walls with blood on their hands and faces. The least wounded helped each other bandage cuts and broken bones until real medical attention could arrive. Their eyes watched the Slayers move through the compound with fear and anger, Riley tried to calm and soothe them as he moved past them. More than a few probably would have loved to take a shot at Cara, glaring at her limp body with a mixture of pain and hate. Faith was shaking as she stepped over a dead body, glancing down into blank eyes and noticing the unnatural angle of his leg.
"God, B." Her voice shook.
"I know." Buffy paused at an intersection, letting the others get ahead far enough for her words to be unheard. "This…I've never. Not even when you went Psycho Slayer."
Faith motioned to another fallen soldier. "Looks like she took out his knee and broke his jaw. He's breathing though."
"She wasn't like this. I mean, even when she kidnapped everyone, she wasn't cruel. Not like this." Buffy readjusted her grip on Willow. "You said she has a taste for it, how can you tell?"
Faith shrugged as they rounded another corner. "The way she did it. Slitting his throat was enough, stabbing him the second time was for kicks. She wanted to watch him die."
"Evil?"
"Could be."
"Sucks for Wesley. Getting the evil Slayers. No offense, of course." Buffy glanced up with a brittle smile.
"None taken. Feel bad for the guy myself." Faith returned the smile sadly and blinked against the bright sun as they stepped through the doorway. "Don't think she's evil though. Or she wouldn't have asked Wes to shoot her."
"Did she?"
"Not so many words but he got the picture." They laid Willow gently in the soft grass and looked around for the others.
"Xander is bringing his car around and Riley left for the hospital to arrange care for the soldiers. I believe Iverson is going to be spending the next week trying to clean up this mess." Giles joined them, still favoring his barely healed arm. Wesley was leaning against a tree with Cara lying at his side, one hand softly caressing her hair.
Buffy pulled off her jacket, folding it into a pillow and placing it under Willow's head. "Wish we knew why."
"At least she got us out of there," Faith reasoned, feeling slightly obligated to see both sides of the issue. If there was more than one side to cold blooded murder. "General Asshole would have shot us up and made with the scalpel if she hadn't done it. I could've taken a few of those guys but up against the tranq guns, it wouldn't have been pretty."
"You're right."
"One more Slayer with a murder rap. Think they'll send her to jail?"
"They'll cover it up just like they did last time." Shaking her head with a heavy sigh, Buffy sat down in the cooler shade of the tree. "I want to know how she knew what they were going to do and we didn't. I mean, we figured they would try to screw us over in the red tape, fine print kinda way. We weren't expecting the slice and dice angle. How did she know?"
"It's the kind of thing Lilah would do." Wesley cut into their conversation, looking up from Cara. "In fact, Lilah may have known what they intended. She makes it her business to know these things."
"Lilah?"
"Lilah Morgan." Tiredly, he laced his fingers through Cara's, stroking them gently. "A lawyer for Wolfram and Hart. I took Cara in for an evaluation three days ago. We wanted to help her, reverse what the Council did to her. Instead, Lilah imprinted Cara with her own memories in an effort, we believe, to assume Cara's life. Unfortunately, the neural transfer was done incorrectly. Cara escaped. We only found her last night. Ripping a group of vampires apart, not staking, not killing; just beating them until they couldn't move, slicing them to ribbons."
"Why didn't you inform the Council of her instability?"
Wesley's jaw clenched. "So they could lock her up like a dangerous animal? Kill her? Even Angel-" He stopped, words swallowed up by his anger. "She did what had to be done here. To save us all. The world isn't black and white. We shouldn't expect Slayers to walk a line that doesn't exist."
"Even Angel what?" Faith's stomach was twisting.
"Nothing."
"If Angel doesn't think she can be fixed," Buffy winced at the phrase. "Not that she's a toaster or something but maybe he has a point. I mean, he knows a lot about that kind of thing."
"All of this has been done to her against her will," Wesley argued vehemently. "It's not her. It's not who she is."
"Who is she, Wesley?" Giles shook his head ruefully. "So far, we have nothing but your word on that."
"I've watched her take on odds you wouldn't believe just to save a homeless person too drunk to realize they're in danger. Put herself between demons and humans regardless of the danger. When she woke up last night, her first question was if she'd hurt Angel. What Lilah did was vicious, maybe even irreparable. But I will not stand by and watch the Council destroy the rest of her. As long as there is a chance, a possibility, that part of Cara is still there."
"We're not saying we want to hurt her Wesley," Buffy began gently.
Faith stopped her, placing one hand on Buffy's arm. "It's cool, Wes. Just let us know if there's anything we can do. We want to save her as much as you do."
His grateful look thanked her and he leaned his head back against the tree, cradling Cara's hand in his lap. It was too similar to her own desire to save Spike without caring about the cost. Even if it had meant sending the world into hell, she would have kissed it good-bye and wished it well. If it meant Spike would still be in her arms. Her own pain surfaced again, refused to stay anchored in the background where she had buried it, hoping it would go away.
It was easy to concentrate on other things, to worry about the Council and the military and fiendish plots to remove internal organs. Always easier to sit beside Willow and keep watch over her, to stay quiet and watch the world unfold around her. Wonder if there was a pattern and a reason for everything that happened. Or if they were all just careening through life doing the next thing and then the next, without rhyme or reason. Seeing Cara stretched out on the ground was surreal, watching another Slayer get sucked down into the pit of bloodlust and despair. Not for the same reasons, there were different whys and hows but it all came from the same source.
Even Buffy, bright and polished Buffy, hadn't been able to escape the darkness of their power and it's questionable origins. Maybe the Slayers were born in darkness, in sin and evil. If Cara hadn't been called, would those men have lived? Would Buffy and Faith be blissfully unaware of being anatomically strip-mined? How many innocent people would have died without her? Did it really balance out? She had argued that same point with Buffy years before and she still didn't know the answer.
The sound of a car engine cut her off before she delved deeper into serious philosophy. Pulling back to the safety of isolated interest, she focused on Buffy's soothing voice as she joked with Xander. They lifted both Cara and Willow into the backseat with Wesley between them as a buffer just in case Cara woke up on the way back to Revello Drive. The threat was gone, they had beaten the bad guys. It wasn't exactly satisfying. Like winning a war without firing a single shot. At least it was over and she could retreat back into her cocoon where the dull ache of loneliness kept her company. Treading the fine line between trying too hard to be all right and not hard enough. Too much and Dawn would notice the false effort, too little and Buffy would resume her new pastime of making sure Faith was getting better. There was a narrow pathway between the two that kept everyone satisfied and left Faith to her own devices. That was all she really wanted. To be left alone.
It read like a war report. The pictures were worse. Images of men fighting and dying, necks snapping, bones breaking, and bullets leaving scorch marks in bruised flesh. Beyond the human casualties, more than half of the base had been slaughtered, there was a list of mechanical and technological victims as well. Computers, surveillance cameras. Hard drives and electrical equipment ripped apart by the same bullets that had peppered the hallways with holes.
The President of the United States shuffled through the pictures again. "One girl did this?"
"Yes sir." The Secretary of Defense was sitting in the couch, looking more tired and pinched than usual.
"One little girl. Amazing." He shook his head slightly and kept reading. "This is the official statement from Agent Finn. Interesting read. Is it true?"
"I believe so, sir. Pascal had been running training camps in Sunnydale for the last three years, getting the Special Ops teams field experience fighting demons." He winced at little at the word demon. "He was originally part of the Initiative and has kept information on the Slayers over the years. There are his travel plans and the arrangements he made to transport human organs as well as a person we believe was intended to be Miss Sewell."
"She didn't like the idea, apparently." Tapping the photographs lightly, he swiveled his chair around and stared thoughtfully out the window of the Oval Office. "Not that I blame her. The idea of being a test subject is singularly unpleasant."
"What do you wish to do about the situation, sir? Obviously, the Slayers are uncontrollable and dangerous."
"It would appear that way."
"Should we neutralize them?"
"You mean kill them? Why would we do that?" The President shook his head.
"With the damage that just one of them is capable of, sir, how can we allow them to exist?"
"I suppose they're here for a reason. Vampire Slayers. Probably not something that our government has jurisdiction or control over." He closed the file and motioned to the stack of folders on the desk. "If even half of this is true, Miss Summers has saved all of our lives a dozen times."
"Then perhaps only the girl is dangerous."
With a smile, he turned to face his friend and colleague. "Stanley, if this little girl was not a little girl, if she was a man, a Seal or a Green Beret, and this wasn't our own facility but an embassy. Say in one of the more unstable African countries. Would you be worried about her being dangerous?"
"No, sir."
"Exactly. She would be your most prized possession."
"But it was our facility, sir."
"And she was about to be taken hostage and her fellow Slayers violated."
"I fail to see your point, sir."
"She just needs to be pointed in the right direction. Perhaps find a place for her where her talents and obvious affinity for violence would be better utilized. Harness her energy rather than waste it." He nodded to himself, agreeing with his own plan.
"And the others?"
"I should think that would be very simple." When the Secretary's face remained blank, he smiled and pulled out a piece of paper, scribbling quickly and signing his name with a flourish. "Here's your official order to deal with the Slayers."
Leaning forward, the Minister took the sheet of paper, frowning slightly as he read it. "Give them whatever they want, sir?"
"Unless, of course, you want to lose more of our country's soldiers. It's their game, play by their rules."
Warm fingers were brushing against her face, causing pain in a good way. The pain of healing wounds and fading bruises. She had been fighting. Again. When had she done anything else? There were the familiar aches and pains of muscles and tendons, pulling and stretching. Something cool and hard around her wrists. Eyes still closed, she tried to bring the memories back into focus. It took a considerable amount of effort to wade through the memories of Cara Sewell, then through Lilah Morgan's past, to what had happened yesterday, today. Men with guns, a trap.
Cara had known it was a trap, watching the nervous eyes of the young soldier leading them through the hallways. The sympathy, the pity, on his face had been more eloquent than a full report and strategy review. When he hadn't fought back, when the doors had closed to seal off the compound, her suspicions were confirmed. She'd told him the truth, it was something Lilah would do. After that point, the memories were fuzzy. Full of blood and violence. A few of the soldiers had managed to connect; a fist here, a boot there. Enough to leave her just a little battered and sore. The weariness and fatigue wasn't from the fighting. She couldn't explain it, settling into her bones like a cancer feeding on energy and life. So tired. Tired of fighting, of running, of hurting.
Beneath her head, someone was adjusting a soft pillow and tipping her face to the side to dab at the cut on her cheek. Keeping still, she opened her eyes slowly. Where she had expected her Watcher's face, she saw kind brown eyes and dark hair. Xander Harris. It was a relief to see someone who didn't have any associated Lilah memories, who hadn't spent the last seven years in Los Angeles being manipulated by Wolfram and Hart.
"Sorry to wake you up. Everyone else is duking it out with the U.S of A upstairs. I got the short straw." He blinked at her, smiling nervously. "Not that I'm uncomfortable with blood. Even other people, dead people, blood. Just not used to taking care of a Slayer, usually it's the other way around."
Cara noticed the stained cloth in his hands and touched her cheek tentatively, feeling the pull of a butterfly bandage over the cut. Metal clinked softly, her wrists were shackled with a chain attached to the wall.
"Brand new for your bondage pleasure. Though not in a sex way. Spike broke the old one." With a sigh, he pulled another soft strip of cotton from a plastic bag and started again. He dipped it into a bowl of warm water and dabbing gently at more wounds she hadn't noticed; slices across her arms and shoulders, scrapes on her knuckles and elbows.
"Wes has some clothes for you to change into later." The damp cloth was cool against her skin, sweeping down her forearm and around her wrist. "That was something. What you did back there."
"Is he angry with me?" Air rasped through her throat painfully.
"Wes? No. He's, well, he hasn't really said anything since we got here. But I'm not a card carrying Watcher so they don't have to let me in on their secrets." Xander shrugged and moved to her other hand. "He told us the basics. About Lilah, Wolfram and Hart."
Cara tried to smile, twisting her hand slightly so that he could clean away the blood on the underside of her wrist more easily. "Do they think I'm like Faith?"
"You mean, are they going to try to kill you? Not that I know of. I think they learned their lesson with Faith."
Weary, she closed her eyes again and laid her head back down.
"So…" He started on her right shoulder. "I've never met this Lilah woman but she must be a real bitch to do this to you. The mind meld thing."
"She wanted him back."
"Wesley?"
Cara nodded, easing her eyes open once more to see his face. "I think she loved him. I'm not sure what love is. It feels strange, I think."
"That would be love."
"Like butterflies inside. Sometimes it hurts. Is that love?"
"Could be." His head turned to the side and he watched her quietly for a moment before moving the cotton down her bicep gently. "Love can make you happier than anything in the world and it can break your heart into a million pieces. It makes you strong, it makes you weak. Sometimes it even makes you a little crazy. And sometimes you don't even know it's love until hits you like a runaway train."
"Do you love?" She shifted uncomfortably, straining against the chains enough to push her tired body into a sitting position. Undaunted by her movement, he kept working, washing away the blood from her arm.
"You mean, do I love someone?"
"Maybe." She didn't know what she meant. Wasn't sure of her own emotions, if they were actually hers or Lilah's and if she'd given them the right names. It was still hard to decide what was real.
"Right now?" He shrugged. "I'm working on it. There's this girl. And maybe it isn't the grand sweeping love you see in the movies. Maybe it's just the quiet, sit home and grow old together love. I don't know yet."
"What is it like? To be loved." Her question stopped him and he met her gaze evenly.
"It's what makes life worth living. It's what gets us out of bed in the morning and makes the world go round. Although you could argue that's coffee rather than love. It can feel like a good caffeine buzz sometimes." Lifting her hand, he began cleaning away the dried blood from her knuckles. "When there's nothing else to hold on to, love keeps you going. Gives you the strength to do things you wouldn't be able to do otherwise."
"It sounds very complicated."
"Usually is. Now your life, it's pretty simple, isn't it? Kill, fight, more killing, more fighting."
"I'm a Slayer," she answered softly.
"The thing about Slayers, Cara." He smiled as he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Is that they're never just a Slayer. Not even you. In fact, since you have a bunch of pre-fab memories from someone else's life, you're definitely more than just a Slayer."
"What are you?"
"A lowly human. No super powers, can't leap buildings in a single bound or run faster than a speeding train. I'm lethal with a power drill though and I know the California building codes like the back of my hand. Until they change them of course, which will probably be next Tuesday."
She looked down at her hands as he brushed away the blood of men she had killed. "Should I feel guilty?"
"Jury's still out on that one. They weren't exactly white hats but they weren't black hats either. Caught in the crossfire, I guess. And it was almost worth it to see a little bit of the old Faith again. Not that you would know Old Faith from New Faith, so you'll have to trust me on this one." He paused for a moment to adjust the strip, looking for a spot that wasn't stained with blood. "Do you feel guilty?"
"I'm not sure. I didn't know them and they would have hurt me." They weren't like the people she was supposed to protect. They weren't like Xander. Sorting through the conflicting emotions, she struggled to find a definitive answer. Her extra memories weren't particularly helpful. "Guilt wasn't something Lilah actively practiced."
"Apparently she had a sense of humor though. That's always good. Life is hard and laughter is the only weapon you have against that." Finishing her hands, he folded the cloth neatly and flashed her a smile.
"Life," Cara repeated thoughtfully, thinking back over Lilah's memories. "It's strange. To know there's something else. Other than slaying. Movies and music. And skin care products."
"Don't forget an infinite variety of footwear."
"I've never been to a mall. Not really."
"It's your lucky day then, we just happen to have a mall rat here in this very house. I'm sure Dawn would love to take you. If they ever decide to get rid of the chain motif."
"It's safer this way. I don't always understand. Sometimes it's…it's." Her voice trailed off as she realized she didn't know how to explain the violence inside and she changed the subject abruptly. "I had a family. Sisters like Dawn. In England. Lilah has files about me."
"Oh." There were several layers of emotion in the single word. She filed them away for reference.
"They're dead now. Should I be sad?"
"Traditionally."
Cara turned her eyes to the rest of the basement. She was sitting on a folded futon across the room from the washing machine and dryer. There were baskets of laundry coming and going, some folded, some crumpled haphazardly. A home. Where people lived and loved and did so many things that she didn't understand. Lilah's life had been hollow, lacking the things she saw around her. A mother who didn't remember who she was, locked away in an expensive home with a hundred other women who didn't know their own children. There was a graveyard outside San Jose where her father lay quietly in his grave. Pretty, shiny objects. Jewelry, shoes, designer clothing. And nothing but an empty apartment waiting for her. Now that she was dead, there was even less. An office and a man who would never love her.
"You'll be fine. Just take it one day at a time." He patted her shoulder a little awkwardly. "When Anya first became human again, she had a hard time adjusting to the real world but she got the hang of it. And if Anya could do it, anyone can."
"I think, maybe, that I am not a good Slayer."
"Of course you are. You kick butt like a pro." He motioned to the bloody cloth and rust tinted water as proof. "Everyone has to go through the fire at some point. Where they're miserable and destructive. Willow tried to blow up the world, Faith tried to kill everyone, even Buffy had a one-way ticket through the land of the living nightmares and boinking the semi-evil undead. Another part of life. Not one of the better parts, like ice cream and comic books, but you really can't get out of it."
"And you?" Cara asked curiously.
"Still working on it. Becoming issues."
"Does it get better?"
"Eventually."
"What is going to happen to me?" She didn't think he knew. It was just a question spinning through her mind like a tornado and ripping the rest of her thoughts into pieces. She'd never wondered about her future, seeing only more demons, more blood and pain. Now that she had lost the security of her calling and the certainty that came with obeying her duty, she didn't know what her future held and couldn't imagine where she would go next. What happened now?
"I wouldn't worry too much. You've got an English bulldog named Wesley looking out for you. Gotta tell you, he's a whole new man and a little on the scary side since he left Sunnydale." Moving the bowl and cloth out of the way, he leaned back against the folded cushion. "You know, I've haven't really talked this much with a Slayer for a few years. Not since Tara was shot, really. Just talked."
"I don't usually talk." Cara felt her cheeks get hot and turned her eyes to her hands.
"You should. Talk more, I mean. Good for the soul. At least I hear it is and hey, psychiatrists get paid the big bucks to do just that so there has to be something to it, right?"
"Why do you fight?" It was something that had puzzled her since she'd left Sunnydale. She was Chosen, she was called. Why did Xander Harris fight vampires?
"I'm addicted to the pain." He grinned, but shook his head immediately. "Kidding. I started because I wanted to help Buffy. Hot chick fighting vampires, it was pretty cool. It made me feel cool. Then I fought because trouble seemed to find me and it was either go down kicking and screaming or whimpering like a little girl. Now? Because I can do something good. Make the world a little better."
Cara understood the desire to make a difference, to put a dent in the armies of evil and horrors that crept through the night. She'd seen them, fought them. Somehow she felt better knowing she wasn't the only one. That it wasn't just one Slayer holding back the tide.
"So, I guess the real question is, what do you want to do now? Buffy and Faith are wheeling and dealing to get what they want. I'm sure Wes would go to bat for you if you had a plan."
She could tell he was sincere, that the question was honest and real. But she couldn't think of anything she wanted, anything that she would ask for. All she knew, all she had, was a seven year history from a life that wasn't hers and a string of violent memories that were. Vaguely, she knew that Lilah would have a list of requests. A new apartment, a raise, no longer having to run Angel's errands. But that was Lilah. Not Cara. Cara had never had an apartment, never driven a car, never gone shopping in a mall, or seen a movie in a theatre. Buffy and Dawn had invited her, but she had declined, wondering why the two Summers women wasted their time when there were demons to kill.
Frowning, she tried to spread her life out in her mind, push it into a shape and order. A few things she knew for certain: there would always be demons to kill, she would always be a Slayer and chosen to fight the forces of darkness, and she couldn't stay in Los Angeles. She couldn't stay with her Watcher. Not without fighting Lilah every second of every day. Xander was still watching her, waiting for her answer.
"I want to fight," she responded simply, no knowing any other way to answer.
"Did you sign it?" Riley pressed his fingers against his temples.
"I signed it," Buffy answered brightly.
"I didn't see you."
"My signature is right there. Check for yourself." She waved the heavy stack of paper past his face. "Are you sure they'll take it?"
"Yes, they'll take it."
"Promise?"
"Yes."
"You know I'll hunt you down if you're lying."
"Were you this violent when we were dating?" Riley made a grab for the contract and missed. He scowled at Buffy. It was nearly four in the morning and he was exhausted from a night of hammering out their demands.
"You just didn't notice. Not big with the observy-ness. Remember the Buffy Faith body swap?"
He stopped trying to take the contract and glared at her. "Are you going to bring that up fifty years from now when we're both in wheelchairs and diapers?"
"Just making a point."
"Point taken. Now will you sign the contract. I'd like to go home to my wife."
"How is Sam doing?"
"Buffy."
"Riley."
"It's four o'clock in the morning. You got everything you wanted. Just sign the contract."
She looked down at the contract again, opening it up to flip through the pages one more time. "You're sure there aren't any clauses I need to know about? Like ripping out my internal organs without asking?"
"You've read it fifteen times."
"And Faith is taken care of?"
"She's already signed hers."
"And Giles?"
"His too."
"Xander and Willow?"
"They left two hours ago. Like sane people."
"Dawn?"
"Sign the contract, Buffy."
"I just want to make sure this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass."
"If it does, I'm sure you'll turn right around and put a few more Marines in the hospital."
She raised an eyebrow. "That was Cara."
"It was a figure of speech. I hope."
"What about Cara?"
"She has a bright future in Special Ops."
"And Wesley?"
"Back to L.A. without her. She didn't want a Watcher."
"How did he take it?"
"I don't know, Buffy." Riley gave up and took a seat on the couch. He stared up at her and wished he had half her energy. Maybe years of spending her nights fighting evil made it easier to stay up all night; lots of practice. "He seemed alright."
"That's because he's British. Stiff upper lip and stoicism. Is that a word? Stoicism."
"I'm sure he's fine."
"Would you be fine if your second Slayer massacred an entire army base?"
"Probably not. Are you ever going to sign that?"
"I don't remember you being this impatient."
"You were a little distracted."
"With Glory, yeah."
"With Spike," he countered, not without feel a bit of petty vindictiveness. At this rate, he would never leave the Summers' home.
"That is so not true!"
"Right."
"It's not. The thing with Spike didn't start until after…after Glory."
"Whatever you say."
"Oh, no you don't." Buffy scowled at him. "You can't just bring it up and then say…whatever you say. There was nothing between me and Spike, Spike and me. Is it Spike and I?"
"It's me. And there was something between you two. It was obvious."
"Obvious? Mr. I Slept With Faith."
"She was in your body."
"That's supposed to matter?"
"Will you please sign the damn contract?"
"You said damn."
"I'm going to be using worse words than that if you don't pick up that pen and get this over with."
"It's just so cute…you swearing."
The landscape was stark, a world of bleeding contrast between dark and light. Good and evil. It should have been sweltering and the sunlight should have scorched Cara's skin as it had seared the rest of the world; instead, it whispered heat and promised calm. Golden sand slipped around her feet as she wound through the dunes, watching mirages shimmer above the ground all around her. To pass the time, she counted pieces of driftwood and Joshua trees, wondering how she'd found her way from the bustling streets of civilization to the serenity of the desert.
Her mind was clear for the first time in months and despite the grainy scenery around her, she was at peace among the bright dunes and prickly plant life. She was waiting for someone, that much she knew and understood even if she didn't know who or why. It didn't matter. All questions would be answered in due time and she continued to wander through the sand. The position of the sun never waned, continuing to beam down a heat that was never more than comfortably warm. Pushing forward, she reached a sheltered cove of sand and soft grass. Nestling down into the pale green fronds, she stroked them casually, savoring the cool silk against her skin.
"Welcome." It was a man's voice. Looking up, she saw him standing beside her dressed in heavy camouflage pants and a dark t-shirt.
"You are not who I am supposed to see," Cara responded intuitively.
"I have taken her place." He crouched beside her and she studied his face carefully, wondering why she wasn't afraid of him when he was obviously inhuman. Black hair was cut short and nearly black eyes burned with a supernatural fire, his skin bronzed by countless hours in the sun. His face was all sharp angles and chiseled lines, a strong nose and cheekbones. Handsome in a frightening way. Tall, muscular, she knew his hands would be rough from a lifetime or more of handling weapons.
"What have I come here for?" Cara asked, her voice all but swallowed up in the silence of the landscape.
"Clarity."
"Will I ever understand?"
"You already understand everything you need."
"To be the Slayer." Cara flicked a piece of grass over her palm. "To hold back the night until the floods roll in. But I'm not beautiful."
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."
"Mirrors laugh when they see my face. Plain as the day is long." She almost smiled, feeling as though she was reciting a poem. "Slayers should have golden honey hair and lips like blood red roses. Beautiful prey for ugly creatures."
"Do you truly think them ugly?"
"No. There is no ugliness in my world. There is no beauty. There just is."
"That is your strength."
"How can I be strong?" Gazing out over the dunes, she trailed her fingers lazily through the sand and grass. "I'm broken."
"You are unbreakable."
"Then who am I?"
"Who do you need to be?" He was smiling. It was a great and terrible smile. A smile that meant the destruction of worlds and bloodshed without end. It comforted her because it was familiar and it was for her.
"Just a Slayer," she answered softly, wishing it was always this simple, that she could take the peace of mind back with her when the desert faded away.
"The rest is up to you. Mortals cannot change who you are." He reached out to her, brushing long hair away from her face and raking his fingers through the heavy waves. It felt good to be touched.
"Who are you?"
"I have a thousand names."
"For a thousand voices that raise your name in battle and offer their victories up to you."
"I am the call in your blood, the glory when you kill."
"Can I stay here? It is peaceful and I understand." Cara waited for a single hopeful moment before the smile returned and he shook his head slowly.
"You are needed. It is just beginning, Slayer. You are just beginning."
Cara smiled, reaching out to touch the hard angles of his face. There was a hint of apprehension in his eyes and something that she recognized from seeing the world through Lilah's jaded sight. "You think I am beautiful," she whispered softly.
"Never have I seen such beauty," he answered, voice rough and hushed in the heavy silence.
Still as statues, they basked in the empty heat and space of the desert, palms pressed against the other's cheek and eyes locked together in a gaze Cara found to be a source of strength and humility. Who or what He was would remain beyond her and she could never hope to do anything more than touch the power she felt beneath her fingertips. Whatever destiny laid in wait for her once she returned to her world, she would take with her the knowledge that in this place of silence and power, He did not think she was broken. He thought she was beautiful.
It was a place to start.