CHAPTER TEN
The Young and the Deathless
Xander glanced up from his prone position on the couch as Faith swung open the lobby door. "I don't see any donuts," he observed disconsolately.
Angel looked up from his map and frowned. "Faith, it was your turn."
"You two don't need any more donuts," she replied as she stepped inside.
Both Angel and Xander resisted the urge to glance down at their waistlines.
Faith continued, "I've got news: Colleen is pretty sure she's found another one of those Hellspot dealios."
Buffy poked her head out from Angel's office. "Did you say Hellspot?"
"B," Faith remarked in surprise. "You're still here … I thought you were heading to the Spirit Square?"
"You've only been gone about five minutes," Buffy reminded her.
Faith snapped her fingers. "By the way," she said, "I just heard your radio ad, the one where you ask people to vote for you? You sounded very determined. Hell, I'd vote for you if I could register."
"Thanks," Buffy replied drily. "Did the tone sound too ominous?"
"No, it was just the right amount of omin-osity," Faith assured her. "This town is in big trouble, so you might as well tell it like it is."
"Speaking of trouble," Angel interrupted, "where did Colleen find a Hellspot?"
"A hockey rink, if you can believe that," Faith replied. "Apparently there's a whole bunch of demons who have taken up residence in the arena … some species Colleen hasn't seen before. Big furry bastards by the sounds of it."
"A hockey rink?" Angel asked. "Seems like an odd place for demons to congregate, it's way too public."
"Maybe they just got there?" Xander speculated.
"Maybe," Buffy said thoughtfully as she gazed at Faith. "Also, maybe this is a good time for your slayer pals to finally say hello and start coordinating with the rest of us?"
Faith frowned at Buffy. "This sounds like a pretty straightforward smash and slay. Dana is thinking we hit them early this afternoon, and I agree." Faith's jaw set in a grim line. "I spoke to Giles, and he's already getting his phase-shifting spell ready for the Hellspot." She looked around the room. "Anyone who wants to be in on the party, that's the plan."
"That's a good starting outline of a plan," Buffy said firmly, "but I still think everyone should meet up and discuss options."
Faith glanced at Angel and Xander. "You guys want to weigh in here before I say
something I regret?"
As Buffy's expression began to tighten with anger, Angel quickly moved to intervene. "Faith, Buffy has a point. The new slayers have been in Moonridge for weeks now; don't you think we should try to get everyone on the same page?"
Faith tilted her head appraisingly at Angel. "I see your mouth moving, but somehow, I'm hearing the voice of Buffy Summers." She ignored Angel's spluttering protests and continued, "we can get on the same page at the hockey rink. That's if…" she fixed Buffy with a measured stare, "you aren't too busy with your League of Women Voters interview."
"That'll take fifteen minutes," Buffy snapped. "At most." She forced down her irritation and tried to find a more diplomatic tone. "Faith, why are you fighting me on this? I'm not saying we need to do things my way, I'm just saying let's meet up and plan."
Faith rubbed her forehead. "Look, Dana's plan is the plan. I'm going to go chat with Giles and slayer Buffy, maybe even try to round up Spike, and we're going to take out that Hellspot."
"Slayer Buffy?!" Buffy asked incredulously. "That's the nickname you're going with? Way to rub salt in my retirement wounds."
"In fairness to Faith," Angel gently suggested, "you two do have the same name. It can get confusing."
Buffy resisted the urge to throw something heavy at Angel.
"Look, B," Faith said, "I know you're itching for a fight, heck we all are … I could not possibly be more tired of the patrol routine, night after night, but it's not going to do any of us any favors if we have to watch out for you the entire battle."
Angel and Xander winced at Faith's comment.
"That's a low blow," Buffy said quietly. "I don't need anyone to watch out for me, I just need them to want to work together."
"And you're in charge of how we work together?"
Buffy shook her head. "I didn't say that. I just said we should meet and coordinate. You know, like teams do."
Faith swung the door open and paused at the threshold of the lobby. "Look, you're making too big of a deal about this, but I'll talk to Dana."
"That's all I ask."
Faith nodded once, then departed.
"Well, that went great," Xander announced in a tone of faux cheeriness. "All of us getting together to bicker and argue sounds like a really productive dynamic moving forward."
Buffy scowled at him. "And what do you suggest?"
"I'm glad you asked," Xander replied. "It seems to me like you're trying to win an election, me and Angel are trying to catch a serial killer who makes Hannibal Lecter look like a jaywalker, and we've got five slayers out on endless patrols. You can't be everywhere, Buff, and I'm thinking you shouldn't try." He gestured towards Angel. "Tell her that I'm right."
Angel quickly held up a hand in protest, "Leave me out of this, Xander!"
Xander continued, "All I'm saying, Buff, is that we might need to divide and conquer a bit."
Rather than the seething anger she'd expected, Buffy realized she just felt numb. "Well, you're right about that," she admitted to Xander as she took a deep breath and refocused. "Angel, I can't be late for that interview. Can I get a ride?"
Angel grabbed his keys from the lobby desk. "Absolutely." At the sound of his phone buzzing, he retrieved it from his pocket and checked the screen. "Some good news, Connor will be here this afternoon."
"Nice timing," Buffy said. "Welcome to Moonridge, a wolf-in-white-picket-fencing of a town, and now, Connor, it's time to go put some demons on ice."
The lobby door swung open and a young woman stepped inside.
"Angelina," Angel said in surprise. "I haven't heard from you in a while; thought you might have left Moonridge."
The young woman shook her head. "Not yet, but that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." As she closed the door, Angel was certain he detected an undercurrent of nervous fear.
Angel leaned back against the lobby desk. "What happened?"
Buffy held up a hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name."
"Angelina," Angelina replied with a wan smile. "And you must be Buffy. It's great to meet you." She held out her hand, and after a moment Buffy reached out and shook it. "You have my vote," Angelina whispered conspiratorially.
"Thanks," Buffy whispered back.
Angelina appeared to notice Xander for the first time. Excitedly, she pointed at him. "You're Foreman Fury, right? The eyepatch, was that a disguise?"
Xander smiled at the nickname. "No, I actually was missing an eye for a long time. Not anymore, though."
"Wow …" Angelina remarked as she blinked in surprise.
Angel interjected, "Angelina, you said that maybe you should be leaving town … what happened?"
"I think I'm being followed," she explained. "And not just me, a bunch of the apocalytes feel the same way."
"Followed by who?" Angel asked.
Angelina turned back towards Angel. "I'm not sure. We feel like someone is following us, or watching, and it's been going on for weeks."
"A feeling?" Angel asked. "That's all it is?"
"Jonathan, the one who was writing that book about all of you, mentioned the same thing the day before he was murdered," Angelina explained. "So, I don't think we're imagining things."
"Get out of town," Buffy said flatly. "That's my advice."
"We all live here, too," Angelina retorted. "We can't just bail and leave Moonridge to get torn apart." She looked around the room. "Some of the apocalytes have talked about starting to patrol in groups, to try to keep the streets safe."
"It's not anything you can help with," Angel informed her. "You guys are just going to get hurt. Or worse."
"They're right," Buffy informed Angelina. "Leave Moonridge."
" If someone, or something, is following you," Xander added, "make them follow you to Japan."
Angelina seemed to gather herself before she replied, "I've got a better idea," she said reproachfully. "Stop leaving the apocalytes on the outside and, instead, try teaming up. We all know it's getting bad out there, so let them … let us … work with you."
"No," Buffy said flatly. "Stay out of it."
Angel more gently added, "Really, Angelina, that would be for the best."
Angelina fixed them with an expression of wounded frustration, then opened her mouth as if to argue. Thinking better of it, she simply shrugged and yanked open the lobby door. "Like I said, Angel, I think my life was saved for a reason. I'm going to find out why."
Angel opened his mouth to call out to her as she stepped outside, but the door had already closed before he could voice them.
After Angelina had left, Buffy stared at Angel with a carefully neutral expression. "And just how do you know our young new apocalyte?"
Xander began to chuckle from the couch.
"Hey!" Angel howled as he realized what Buffy was suggesting. "It's nothing like that, I just helped her mother out a long time ago, that's all."
"Glad to hear it," Buffy remarked caustically, "cause she's young enough to be your great-great-great-great-great granddaughter. Maybe a few more greats for good measure."
Angel ignored the comment and headed towards the parking lot. "We need to get a move on if you're going to make your interview."
Xander was still chuckling when Buffy followed him outside.
. . . . . . . . .
Across the street, a figure seated at the same table he'd used a month or two prior made another note in his journal.
She visited him again … that's not good. At least that girl is human. She'll be easy.
Things were moving faster than he would have liked. He'd expected to have the entire summer to find a suitable location, get to know the identities and habits of all of Angel's nearest and dearest, and to be able to take his time and enjoy himself.
Angelina's life, he savored the intimacy of using her first name in his thoughts, had a mirrored symmetry with his own that was almost too delicious to bear. After all, she had been a girl who Angel had saved.
The synchronicity is perfect.
He tucked away his phone and notebook and headed towards Moonridge Investigations. In contrast to the unhurried, almost desultory stride that he usually affected, he moved with an energetic purpose.
. . . . . . . . .
Buffy's request rang in Angel's ears as he drove back to Moonridge Investigations.
Promise me that you'll wait for me before you move on that Hellspot?
He already regretted making the promise.
Inside the office he discovered Connor sitting on the lobby couch, feet propped on the coffee table, and Xander leaning against the front desk.
Angel found himself grinning ear to ear as he looked upon his son for the first time in nearly a year. Gray hair hadn't begun to creep into Connor's brown locks, nor had his thirties brought with them the lines or wrinkles of advancing age. A happy realization settled over him.
My son won't grow older than me.
Connor leapt to his feet and embraced him. As sunlight streamed in through the lobby windows, Angel hugged him back.
Connor leaned away and looked up at him. "I know you and I talked about it, but honestly, dad, until I saw you walking outside in the middle of the day, I really couldn't believe it." He reached up to poke at a vein bulging in Angel's neck.
"Hey," Angel said as he swatted Connor's hand away. "It's true, I'm alive."
"He eats and poops and pees and everything now," Xander added. "Never stops eating, actually."
Angel glanced over at Xander. "I don't think he needed that much detail."
"I have to admit," Connor said as he looked Angel over, "I was getting worried that pretty soon I was going to have to start playing the role of an older relative."
"Now you won't have to."
"Of course, there's a downside … this also means … you know …" Connor's voice trailed off.
Angel caught his meaning almost instantly. "Yup," he said somberly. "I need to make every day count, cause for the first time in hundreds of years, I'm running out of them."
And thank the Powers for that.
Angel examined his son more carefully. The jeans and loose sweater were familiar, but the earring dangling from Connor's left earlobe was not.
Xander immediately spotted where Angel's eyes had wandered. "Your son got himself some bling," he explained. "We were chatting about it earlier. It's magic jewelry, so I think you'll approve."
"Magic?" Angel asked. He worked hard to keep parental worry from creeping into the edges of his voice. "What kind of magic?"
"Some Egyptian trinket a couple of my cultists found," Connor explained. "You know how they are, always worrying their 'Miracle Child' will get hurt before their day of apotheosis, or something, finally gets here?" He reached up, pulled the earring free, and held the small chunk of carved bone towards Angel. "Supposedly some Mesopotamian god blessed this … prevents enchantments, or curses, or something like that. Want to try it on for size?"
Angel shook his head. "No thanks … and maybe you shouldn't be wearing it either. I still don't trust those guys."
"The Cult of Ul-thar?" Xander interjected. "That happy bunch? What could possibly go wrong when a bunch of devoted vampire zealots make you their supreme leader?"
Connor frowned as he slid the earring back on. "C'mon, not this again. I've told you guys, the cult is limited strictly to plasma. And the occasional murderer."
"Any of them in town ... your cultists, I mean? I know Moonridge already has murderers a plenty," Angel asked. "I know you swear the cult is on the straight and narrow, but we still need to know."
"Some," Connor said evasively.
"How many did you bring?" Angel asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Connor considered the question for a moment. "Twenty, maybe twenty-five. A lot more wanted to come, but I talked them out of it. Told them I needed some more shrines to my magnificence built … that'll keep them busy for a while."
"Twenty?" Xander spluttered.
Angel rubbed the back of his neck. "We're already overrun with vampires, and you brought a couple dozen more? The slayers are going to think they've stumbled on a hell of a nest if they come across them."
"We rented a whole slew of AirBnB condos," Connor explained. "Open-ended time-frame. I'll keep my vamps out of the way."
"How many of these Ul-thar-ians follow you now?" Xander asked. "In total?"
Connor shrugged. "Hard to tell. Maybe a hundred?"
Angel and Xander's jaws dropped open.
"Well, let's hope we don't need them," Angel said worriedly.
An instant later, both his and Xander's phones began buzzing. He fished his cell out of the pocket of his black coat and checked the screen.
"Does Faith ever listen?" Xander mused aloud.
Angel hastily tapped a reply to the message, then thrust the phone back into his pocket.
"Trouble?" Connor asked.
"That was Giles. I was hoping we might have at least a few hours to chat before a fight broke it out, but thanks to Faith's slayer pals, I guess we won't have that luxury."
"Want me to drive Connor while you pick up Buffy?" Xander asked.
Buffy. Oh, crap.
"I'll text her later," Angel indicated. "I don't have time to pick her up, not if I want to get there in time to keep Faith from doing something stupid."
Both Connor and Xander stared at him skeptically.
"Buffy will understand," Angel said with a confidence he didn't feel in the slightest. "I have to leave for the rink now."
"Rink?" Connor asked as he blinked in confusion.
"We'll explain on the way," Angel replied as he swung open the lobby door.
. . . . . . . . .
The sea of Abercrombie & Fitch, Hilfiger, and H&M … and a whole bunch of Ugg boots … parted around Buffy as she navigated outgoing traffic, ducked through a set of doors, and entered a high-ceilinged, well air-conditioned building. After finding the correct lecture hall, she quietly opened a door, then slid into a seat in the last row.
Why is summer school so busy?
Six months ago, she wouldn't have felt a twinge of self-conscious hesitation as she walked through the Moonridge University campus in her torn jeans, canvas jacket, boots, and tank top.
Now?
Maybe a mini-twinge.
The voice of the professor seated on the edge of the stage at the front of the lecture hall boomed throughout the room as he spoke into a radio mic clipped to his tie.
"So, it remains a bit of a mystery," the professor said, "why, considering that Rudyard Kipling spent so little of his life abroad, that stories and tales of far-off shores like the Indian Ocean and Pacific Rim came to dominate so much his literary work."
The blond man a dozen rows in front of Buffy raised his hand.
The professor frowned slightly, then gestured towards the upraised arm. "Yes, William?"
"I can tell you why," Spike announced as he loudly chewed a wad of gum. "Wasn't much of a secret."
Buffy couldn't help but notice that while the professor and a quite a few of the young men in the class were fixing Spike with a glare of annoyance, seemingly every young woman was leaning forward and hanging eagerly on his every word.
Jesus fucking Christ. No wonder he has such an ego.
The professor spread his arms wide, "Please, by all means, share with us your insight."
"Giggy, he hated that nickname by the way," Spike began, "was a dandy. A softy. He wrote about exotic locales because he would float around the edges of them, soak in a bit of the ambiance, then head back to the comforts of jolly ol' England." Spike sniffed disdainfully. "He liked to write about adventure cause, first off, it paid, and secondly because he had seen precious little of it and liked to imagine otherwise."
The professor sighed, frowned, and crossed his arms. "That's a perspective I have to admit I haven't come across in my studies of Kipling. Where did you derive this speculation from?"
"Ask any bloke who frequented the pubs on Villiers back in Giggy's day and they would have told you the same," Spike explained. "That git was a regular barfly."
The rustling of papers and a few chuckles could be heard in the lecture hall as the professor's frown deepened. Just as he opened his mouth to respond to Spike, the soft chime of an alarm could be heard sounding from the lecture podium.
"And that's all the time we have for today," the professor announced. "By next Tuesday, five pages on whether or not The White Man's Burden reflects a mentality that infects modern Western philanthropy in the developing world."
As the students stood and began to shuffle out of class, Buffy braced her feet against the back of the seat in front of her and forced herself to wait calmly. Spike slowly unwound, panther-like, from his chair, slipped on his black leather coat, and walked towards the aisle.
A slim young woman with long red hair, a gleaming smile featuring far too many teeth, and a binder clutched to her chest stepped in front of Spike. Buffy gritted her teeth as she watched the two of them chat, then clenched her jaw in irritation as the woman giggled at something Spike said.
Buffy cupped her hands to her mouth. "Hey, Spike," she called out.
Spike satisfyingly flinched, then turned around. Upon spotting her, his eyes widened in recognition, then he turned back, said a few words to his classmate, and walked towards Buffy. Buffy ignored the daggers being shot in her direction as the red-haired student's eyes narrowed in irritation.
"Fascinating stuff," she said when Spike reached her. "I'm surprised you didn't inform the prof that you and Rudy were old drinking buddies." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "You were, weren't you?"
Spike frowned at her. "You know what …" he started to say, then he paused a moment and seemed to force himself to relax, "forget it. See you around, Buffy." He walked past her and out the lecture hall door.
As soon as Buffy realized that Spike had no intention of returning, she scampered out of her seat and headed toward the lobby of the building. Upon finding no sign of him she stepped outside and hopped onto a nearby concrete bench to search the mingling students for signs of blond hair.
There he is … the bastard.
Spike was talking to the redhead again, but this time a few other students had joined in the conversation. Buffy hopped off the bench and began walking towards them. As she drew closer, she noticed that each of the girls wore a black ribbon pinned to the chest of their blouses, and that the number twelve was printed on each of the ribbons.
As Spike saw her approach, he frowned, excused himself once again from the redhead's company, and strode over to Buffy.
"What do you want?" he growled.
For a few moments, Buffy watched Spike's jaw muscles bulge as he chewed the gum in his mouth. "What's with the ribbons?" she finally asked. "That their current sex count for the summer, or something?"
"It's a sign of mourning for a sorority on campus that had twelve sisters murdered," Spike replied sharply. "Erin, the redhead, had the ribbons made up. I'm surprised you haven't heard of the killings, they've been all over the news."
Well, I sounded like an insensitive ass, didn't I?
"Oh," Buffy said. "I didn't know that's what the ribbons were for."
Spike shrugged. "Now you know. Are we done here, or did you want to creepily stalk me some more?"
Buffy decided to ignore Spike's provocative taunt and focus on why she was here. "There's a Hellspot," she explained. The ostensible reason she'd tracked down Spike rang hollow and empty as the words left her lips.
"So?" Spike asked. "What's that got to do with me?"
Ugh. Why does he have to make everything so difficult?
"Are you back to pretending that you don't give a shit?" Buffy asked. "If so, why'd you take out the nest at that sorority?"
Spike hastily glanced about. "I'd appreciate you not spreading that story around."
"Of course," Buffy said. "I just …" She searched for the right words and found none. "You know what," she announced. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come."
Spike silently watched as she marched away. He let her get all the way back to the campus's main walkway before he called out to her.
"I'll accept your apology," he yelled.
She turned around and blinked a few times at him in surprise before replying.
"What?
Spike strode down the steps, walked across the grass divider, and joined her. "That's why you came, isn't it?" he asked with an insolent grin. "To apologize?" He winked at her. ""Tell me I'm wrong?"
"What would I have to apologize for?" she spluttered.
Spike crossed his arms and frowned at her. "Shall I make a list?"
"Spike, please," Buffy pled. "Knock it off. We've got another Hellspot, and Giles is telling me that Faith and the other slayers aren't waiting for anyone else, or a plan, or anything …"
"And you're heading down there, I presume?"
She nodded. "With Giles, yes. We're meeting everyone else there."
"And you want my help?"
"Something like that," she admitted begrudgingly.
Spike unfolded his arms and gestured at her. "You know what this entire thing feels like between us?"
"Other than you being an asshole to me, I'm not sure … what?" she had a feeling she'd regret asking.
The scar running through his eyebrow twisted as he grinned evilly. "This is mixed signals, is what it is. That's right cruel to do to a bloke. You can't get rid of me fast enough, so I move on, but now you're here with that 'help me Spike' look in your eye, but you only want to talk to me when it's about work."
Yup, I regret asking.
"What the fuck do you want from me?" she asked. "I'm trying here, but honestly, I don't have time for this."
"Just say it," Spike wheedled. "You know what I want to hear."
Buffy paused and closed her eyes in irritation. "Can't we just consider my asking you to help slay some demons at a hockey rink to represent an olive branch, and we can just … turn the page?"
"Say it," Spike demanded.
Groan.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled.
Spike dramatically held a hand up to his ear. "Didn't quite catch that."
"I'M SORRY!" she roared. Every student and passersby within a couple dozen yards turned in surprise towards the scream.
"That's more like it." Spike flashed a satisfied grin as he interlaced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. "Did I hear something about a hockey rink? That's new."
"I'll explain on the way."
"I'll drive," Spike replied. "My car's this way."
She dutifully began following him as he marched towards the campus parking lot. After a few minutes of walking, she decided to try to defuse the lingering tension.
"So …" she started.
"Tell me about these new slayers in town," Spike interrupted. I've been scarce a while, haven't caught their names."
"Dana, Colleen, and Jess," she replied.
Spike stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her in shocked surprise. "Dana? The crazy bitch who cut my hands off?"
"She got better," Buffy reassured him. "I've still got all my appendages." She held upper hands and wiggled her fingers towards Spike.
"I think I'll keep my distance anyway, just to be sure." Spike's brow wrinkled as a thought occurred to him. "These lasses, they know I'm not, you know …" Spike bared his teeth and mimicked a vampire's bite.
"They know you're alive."
Spike resumed walking. "That's a relief, but just in case, let me borrow a big cross to wear so that they can have a visual reminder."
"I just might have a spare."
Their footsteps crunched on gravel as they left the concrete walkway and stepped onto a smaller path. Ahead of them the walls of the parking lot were visible, and to Buffy's right a white domed building rose above a sparkling reflecting pool.
"How are you getting along with them?" Spike asked.
"The slayers?"
"Those would be the ones."
Buffy considered the question. "They're fine. It's nice to have help on patrols, if for no other reason than it keeps Giles at home."
"Probably smart," Spike agreed. "He's really old."
"Still, it's tough talking to other slayers," she continued. "Although Faith isn't so bad."
"How so?"
She searched for the right words. "They don't really see me, they see her. Everything I do is measured off a history I never lived."
"It's tough," Spike replied. "What helped me shake off the Deja Buffy was that you were annoying in wholly unique ways."
She punched him on the shoulder as they entered the parking lot. "Aw shucks. Thanks."
When they reached his car, Spike retrieved his key fob and triggered the door locks. He'd started the engine and begun backing up before Buffy had finished latching her seatbelt.
A question Buffy had been yearning to ask Spike rose in her memory.
I shouldn't bring it up.
"The slayers did mention one little tidbit about you I found interesting," she said as Spike pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road.
Goddamn it, why am I bringing this up?
"Oh yeah?" Spike asked curiously. In the small confines of the car, the chewing sounds of his gum felt overwhelmingly loud.
"They told me about how Sunnydale was destroyed," she replied as she steadfastly kept her eyes on the road in front of them. "About what you did … about what you did for Buffy."
The sounds of gum chewing immediately ceased and she could sense Spike grow still.
"What exactly did they tell you?" he asked.
The words tumbled rapidly out of her mouth. "That you sacrificed yourself for her … that you took her place."
"Rather private, that was," Spike said softly. "They shouldn't have saddled you with that tidbit of knowledge."
Buffy risked a glance over. Spike's cheekbones were clenched, and the knuckles of his hands were white where they gripped the steering wheel.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Spike beat her to it.
"It was a long time ago," Spike continued gruffly. "And I was a fool besides."
"Look, Spike," Buffy said, "the 'die for you' kind of love is pretty special. Maybe I shouldn't have given you such a hard time about your past with Buffy."
"It doesn't matter," Spike said harshly as he fixed cold blue eyes on her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the road. "She and I haven't been anything to each for a long time. Heck, we haven't been together for longer than you've been alive." He seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment. "Come to think of it, I don't know if Buffy and I were ever really together, if you know what I mean."
Buffy decided to try to interrupt the stream of his thoughts, "Spike, you don't need to explain …"
"I don't mean we weren't together physically, of course," he interrupted in a defensive tone, "cause the physical stuff, I promise you that happened a lot back in the day …"
"Spike, please stop!" she yelped. "I'm sorry I even brought it up."
"It was a long time ago, is all I'm saying," he continued. "Before I was alive, before … before a lot of things."
Mercifully, Buffy's cell vibrated with an incoming text. She fished the phone out of her pocket and stared at it. "It's Giles," she explained. "Faith and the other slayers are already there, and everyone else is on their way. He wants to know how long before we pick him up?"
The car leapt forward as Spike floored the accelerator, and Buffy squeezed her eyes closed as Spike deftly wove between traffic and in and out of lanes.
"Tell the old man to be ready and waiting outside," Spike replied. He absent-mindedly blew a bubble while, with a squeal of tires, he swerved onto an off-ramp. The bubble popped as the rear wheel clipped a concrete curb.
Buffy felt a surge of disgust as she picked a strand of gum off her jeans.
"Still with the gum, eh?"
Spike rolled the window down and spit the wad out onto the street.
"Was thinking about quitting, actually," he explained as he rolled the window back up. "Might give smoking another try."
Even worse.
. . . . . . . . .
"And … we're off the air," Willow intoned as she folded her laptop screen down.
Buffy removed the bulky headset and microphone she'd been wearing and set them down on the table. "That seemed like it lasted forever … how was my energy level? Enthusiastic? Giddy, even?"
"Spirited but professional," Willow replied. "That's how I would put it."
Buffy smiled at her. "You always know just what to say."
Willow smiled back.
The door to the Spirit Square's backroom swung open as Oz poked his head inside. "Giles just texted me; Buff, I guess you aren't picking up?"
Buffy scrambled to grab her phone from her handbag. "I turned it off for the interview," she explained. Upon reading the texts from Angel and Giles, her jaw clenched in anger and blood rushed to her temples.
"I told them to wait," she growled as she hastily stood up. "Angel promised."
Willow and Oz exchanged a glance.
"What is it?" Willow asked.
"It's …" upon seeing an expression of warning flash across Oz's face, Buffy decided that Willow didn't need to know the particulars of the latest Moonridge emergency, "nothing major," she replied. "Angel and Xander just needed my help with something."
Willow's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "With what?"
"Coordinating with Faith," Buffy explained. "Faith and her band of not so merry wo-men are apparently tough to work with, and I need to head over to help herd cats."
"I haven't noticed Faith's slayers working with any of us, at all," Willow observed drily.
Buffy continued, "I shouldn't be too long … a few hours at most, then I'll be right back."
Willow gazed around the room at the stacks of paper, rows of large, printed signs, and boxes of election materials. "Can't this wait until later? We've got a full calendar today, starting with those apocalytes who are coming by to pick up the signs to display around town. You should be here to thank them, Buff." Willow gestured towards her. "They're volunteering for you."
Willow's words barely registered as Buffy rummaged through her handbag in search of a stake. She used to always pack one for emergencies, but as of late she'd begun to grow out of the habit.
Willow gently laid a hand upon her shoulder. "Buff," she said softly.
Buffy felt a surge of relief as her hand closed around a familiar wooden hilt.
"Buffy Summers," Willow said more firmly.
Buffy blinked and looked at Willow. "Yes?"
"Before you rush off," Willow continued, "keep in mind that this is how we're fighting Richard Wilkins." She gestured around the room. We've got work to do right here."
"I'm just helping coordinate," Buffy protested. "I can still juggle more than one thing at a time."
"Buff …" Willow said reluctantly.
"I need to be there," she explained. "I have to go. If I'm not back in time, but I totally will be, I promise, please thank the volunteers for me?"
Willow held her hand up for a moment as if in protest, then she just nodded. "I'll take care of it. Do you need a ride to … wherever it is you're going?"
"I'll take her," Oz offered. "You stay here."
"Are you sure?" Willow asked.
Buffy shook her head as she slung the handbag over one shoulder. "Guys, don't be ridiculous, you have a business to run. I'll catch an Uber."
"To where?" Oz asked. "It's really no problem to give you a lift."
Buffy maneuvered around Oz as she headed towards the exit.
"Uber is fine, really, you both have done enough," Buffy called out as she approached the Spirit Square's front door.
"Are you sure?" Willow yelled from the backroom.
"I'm good!" Buffy yelled back as she hastily scurried outside.
. . . . . . . . .
Oz and Willow stared at each other for a moment.
"She's about to do something really stupid, isn't she?" Willow asked in a disconsolate tone as she stared down at the table.
"Oh, absolutely," Oz agreed.
. . . . . . . . .
Ubering to a demon battle … Buffy, you have officially brought slaying into the twenty-first century.
The driver hadn't offered to traverse the crumpled metal that had once been a chain link gate, and Buffy hadn't asked.
As Buffy stared across the gray tarmac at the white and silver dome in front of her, she suddenly felt extremely alone and more than a little bit foolish. Only half an hour before she'd been answering questions about police department budgeting and explaining why reasonable curfews might be a temporary necessity, and now she was heading towards a building that, by all accounts, was housing a Hellspot guarded by who-knows-what.
She reached into her handbag, retrieved the stake, then carefully hid the handbag within a nearby bush. As a few of the branches scraped across the leather, Buffy couldn't help but wince.
That bag is brand new!
It was difficult not to feel a little silly in her black leggings, long-sleeved blouse, and tennis shoes as she crept across the empty parking lot, through another shattered gate, this one had been constructed of thick, black-painted metal bars, and found her path blocked by a turnstile. She clambered over the turnstile's metal arm, dropped down the other side, and felt a pang of irritation that she could no longer simply leap past the barrier,
Those days are done.
Metal shutters locked off large concession stands built into wheeled carts, the kiosks stood empty, and the enormous displays visible through the glass of the arena façade hung lifeless. In front of her were a row of metal and glass doors; she tested a few of them to see if they were locked. Predictably, they all were. As she turned away from the last door, something sparkled in the corner of her vision. She walked towards the sight and found, on the concrete floor of a recessed cart path, glittering shards of broken glass.
Buffy carefully lowered herself down the five-foot drop, breathed a sigh of relief when the landing didn't spark a painful protest from her knee, and turned to find an access tunnel with a conveniently shattered door. The majority of the broken glass lay on the floor within the fluorescent-illuminated corridor; someone had forced their way inside.
At least I know I'm on the right track.
The power of a slayer might no longer belong to her, but that didn't mean that Buffy had forgotten nearly two and a half decades of training and experience. She lowered herself into a crouch and focused her senses as she stepped inside. Steadily, taking care to listen for the slightest hints of movement, she crept down the gently sloping corridor. The sound of her footfalls were barely audible taps, and she kept her breathing slow and shallow. At regular intervals doors appeared on either side of the corridor; these she ignored. The air began to grow cold, and she realized that with each exhalation a visible puff of mist spouted from her mouth.
I must be getting close to the rink.
As she pressed on, the air steadily grew colder until it became difficult to keep from shivering. A fetid, rotting smell became detectible first as an unpleasant aroma, but quickly became an overpoweringly sickening stench. It wasn't long before she came across the first of the bodies.
The corpse was roughly humanoid in shape, but with clumped dark grey fur and gleaming green eyes that, even in death, glowed with an eerie incandescent light. If not for the bulging jaw, fangs, and taloned paws, it might have passed for a gorilla, at least at a distance. A dark reddish-brown ichor seeped from numerous puncture wounds, and the flesh had already decayed sufficiently to expose pale bones beneath. Given that the wounds were still fresh, the creature displayed a level of putrefaction that Buffy found herself at a loss to explain.
If they rot this quickly, by the end of the day there won't be anything more to clean up than a pile of goo.
As she continued down the corridor, she came across more of the demon-ape corpses. First a few, then half dozen, and eventually, when she spotted a wide entryway opening into the arena itself, perhaps fifteen to twenty lying massed in heaps.
There was a hell of a fight down here.
She heard a rustling sound, a muffled snort, and then one of the creatures she'd presumed dead, rolled over and slowly forced itself upright into a four-limbed crouch. The muscles of its shoulders and arms knotted like iron cables between the patches of fur, and blood dripped from its fangs as it snarled at her.
Buffy's hand tightened around the hilt of the stake as she settled into a ready crouch. She forced herself to keep her muscles loose and her breathing shallow. There was no time to worry about the loss of her powers or how she was polling online, no obnoxious emails to wade through … this is what she was born for.
Or had been born for, once upon a time.
The shining green eyes narrowed an instant before it leaped, and only instincts honed from countless fights over the years saved her as she flung herself to the side. The creature sailed past her to land, sprawling, next to one of its dead kin. Deliberately, with pained movements, it righted itself and faced her again. It coughed, and blood mixed with phlegm and sputum landed with a splat on the floor.
Springing to her feet revealed that while she'd dodged the ape-demon, she hadn't escaped unscathed. Her ribs ached where she had landed on the concrete floor and her left arm had gone numb below the elbow. Buffy warily circled, keeping her right arm facing the demon, and considered making a run for it.
Make a run for it?
She blinked in surprise at the notion that she was even considering fleeing, then a shock that felt like ice water coursing through her veins staggered her as she realized the depth of her mistake in traversing, alone, without slayer powers, a demon-infested hockey rink.
What the hell was I thinking?
Angel had been right … what was she doing? Sharp pains lanced into her side with every breath, her fingers tingled with pain as feeling returned to her left arm, and with no slayer strength or speed, she basically had nothing but a small-pointed stick and middle-aged reflexes to rely upon.
The creature leapt for her again.
In an instant she judged that she wouldn't be able to evade the outstretched claws, nor was she strong enough to shoulder the beast aside. Instinct, the one thing she hadn't lost in the explosion of the Shard of Nulvaris, was all she had to rely on. If retreat and defense weren't possible, that left alone one option: attack.
Buffy screamed at the top of her lungs, raised the stake, and brought it down in a vicious overhand arc. Her shriek seemed to momentarily shock the furred monstrosity, and then the point of Buffy's stake found its eye and sunk deep.
Glowing gree goo spurted from the wound as the creature howled in pain. As it clawed at the wood protruding from its eye socket with one clawed paw, it reached out, almost casually, with the other and knocked Buffy aside. Her jaw snapped closed from the force of the blow, the taste of copper filled her mouth as she bit down on her own tongue, and her injured side erupted in white-hot pain as she landed on a pile of rotting corpses. Buffy gagged on the overpowering stench of their blood and entrails and scrambled to get away from the ape-demon.
Dark blood spurted from the wound in the creature's eye as it hysterically grasped and pawed at the stake. Finally, with two trembling claws, it managed to latch onto the wooden hilt and with a spurt of blood yank it free. One glowing green eye fixed malevolently on Buffy as it growled in anger.
Buffy watched the stake clatter to the ground, then she forced herself onto her hands and knees and gathered herself to lunge for the weapon.
It's too close to the demon. I'm not going to make it.
The explosive, concussive sound of a gunshot reverberated so loudly in the corridor that Buffy felt the shockwave. Her head rang from the deafening noise, the creature's head exploded into a pulpy, shredded mass, and blood and tissue rained down on Buffy as the demon collapsed next to its brethren.
Warily, she retrieved the stake and stood upright.
"Buffy?" Xander called out in surprise as he tucked a gleaming revolver into a shoulder holster. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Buffy brushed some of the rancid-smelling chunks of tissue off her blouse. "Nearly getting myself killed." She stared pointedly at Xander's gun and frowned. "I appreciate the assist, but I can't say I love the tactics. A gun? Really?"
"No firearms was always your thing, Buff," Xander reminded her. "Not mine."
Footfalls sounded behind Xander as a slim, pale brunette with long hair tied into a braid stepped into view.
"What's going on?" Colleen called out.
Xander glanced back over his shoulder. "I was just helping out Buffy."
"Buffy?" Colleen asked as she tilted her head quizzically in confusion. "Buffy went the other direction."
A few seconds later Colleen noticed Buffy. She blinked a few times, glanced back the way she'd come, then her jaw hung open.
"That's right," Buffy said with a theatrical flourish. "Your eyes do not deceive you. There are, indeed, two of us Buffys lurking about." She flattened her tone to one of irritation. "You might have gotten used to it by now if you'd ever bothered to come say hello." She crossed her arms and stared stonily at Colleen. "I did give you your start in the slaying biz, remember?"
"Buffy," Colleen said in a tone that registered a mix of nervousness and genuine happiness. "I'm surprised you're here, given that, well, you know ..."
"That she isn't a slayer anymore?" a sour-faced woman with short red-hair, low slung jeans, and a black sleeveless shirt added as she walked down the corridor and joined them. "That she's a has-been who's lucky she didn't get killed? That …"
Buffy interrupted the speaker before she could continue. "You must be Jess. Pleasure to meet you." She considered extending her gore-covered hand, but she doubted Jess was the hand-shaking type.
Jess snorted in irritation, then brusquely swirled and marched … yes, Buffy decided, it definitely qualified as a march … back the way she had come. Colleen awkwardly smiled at Buffy, then she turned and followed Jess.
"I think we should head back and meet the others," Xander said as he stared down at the still twitching demon that only moments earlier had been trying to tear Buffy limb from limb. "Giles was about to do his phase-shift-spell thingy when I heard you scream and decided to check out the sound."
"Lead on," Buffy said.
As she followed Xander up a sloped concrete ramp, she rubbed at her sore left elbow and tried to ignore the stabbing pain in her ribs. When they emerged into the arena, rows upon rows of white seats sparkled beneath the maintenance lights, and the air wafting off the dull surface of the ice in the center of the cavernous structure was bracingly cold. Despite the size of the building, the rank smell emanating from the countless bodies lying in heaps upon the ice, the walkways, and the seats, was nearly intolerable. Buffy blinked in surprise when she noticed that one ape-demon corpse had been flung high enough that it had landed on the plexiglass divider that separated the rink from the seats beyond. Blood steadily dripped down both sides of the transparent barrier.
Xander stopped just short of an open gate that led onto the rink. "Look who I found," he announced to the group huddled near center of the ice. Buffy placed one sneaker on the slick surface, then thought better of it when her heel almost slid out from under her. She hastily pulled her foot back.
"Buffy?" Angel gasped as he blinked in shock surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"What do you think I'm doing here?" she asked. "And thanks for waiting for me, by the way."
"Wasn't Angel's call," a hatchet-faced, dark-complexioned woman with an iron gray ponytail called out. Buffy was impressed by the size of the mace that she was holding.
I doubt I'd even be able to swing that.
Faith had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed as she replied to Buffy. "B, it's like this, Giles had a TV show he didn't want to miss this evening, Dana thought … we all thought, really … that this place was bad news, so we …"
"Why are you explaining anything to her?" Jess interrupted angrily as she stepped towards the gate. "We don't owe Buffy Summers an explanation. As a matter of fact, we don't owe her anything."
Xander's voice rose to an angry, high pitch, "Hey, what the hell is your …"
"Now that's enough!" the gruff, hoarse sound of Giles's voice, so different from his normal demeanor, cracked through the group like a whip. Even Jess appeared cowed at his tone. "Buffy is here, and whether her coming was wise or not is an altogether separate issue, but we are a team. Or at least, we should be. How about we act like it?" He turned towards Faith and fixed her with an accusatory glare. "Also, I would like to note for the record that I casually mention that I would prefer not to miss a particular episode this evening, and that this observation was decidedly not a call for everyone to immediately take up arms!"
"It kind of sounded like it was," Colleen murmured.
Giles fixed her with an icy stare.
"So, where's the Hellspot?" Buffy asked as she looked around.
"It was right there," Angel replied as he pointed towards a mist-filled hole in the center of the rink. "Giles managed to phase-shift it a few minutes ago."
"Holy crap were there a lot of 'em back there," a voice called out from the far side of the arena. Buffy squinted her eyes, peered through the glass, and spotted Spike, Connor, and the herself that wasn't herself, exiting a passage that mirrored the one from which she and Xander had just emerged.
When the trio had worked their way around the glass enclosure of the rink, all three blinked in surprise at the sight of Buffy.
"Hey," Buffy said to her younger self. She did her best not to let her gaze linger disapprovingly on her doppelganger's ragged and ill-cut jeans, canvas jacket, and scuffed boots.
Can't Olivia do anything about her wardrobe?
"Hey," the Anyaverse Buffy replied. "Good to see a familiar face."
Buffy smiled at the jape.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Spike asked. "Angel and Xander said you had some big interview with the Girls Who Vote League."
"I did not use that term," Xander protested.
"The League of Women Voters, Spike," Buffy replied, "and you know I always try to make time for taking down demon threats. It's kind of what I do."
"Not anymore," Jess muttered sullenly.
Giles shot Jess an angry expression, and Dana laid a warning hand on Jess's arm, but everyone else ignored her.
Spike insolently sat down on one of the arena chairs and elevated his feet. "We did just fine with our pack of monsters, thanks for asking." He laced his fingers behind his head and smiled. "You shouldn't have bothered to make the trip."
Buffy rolled her eyes, looked away, and was irritated to see the other Buffy grin at Spike's comment.
"I still would have preferred to have been here," she said quietly.
"You didn't miss much, Buff, trust me," Xander said in a mollifying tone as he nudged one of the demon-ape corpses with his foot. "These things stink. Literally."
"Buffy, aren't you cold?" Angel asked as he carefully walked across the ice and stepped next to her. "Here," he whispered as he began to remove his coat.
"Don't!" she fervently whispered to him.
He looked at her in confusion.
I'm already ashamed enough!
"Buffy, did you come by yourself?" Giles asked he tucked a small book and leather satchel into his coat pocket. He frowned at her. "I really don't think that was a good …" he looked around and realized that the slayers were all staring at him expectantly. "You know what, we'll talk about it later."
Thank you, Giles.
Buffy examined the group more carefully. Cuts and scrapes were abundant, and Dana had a slash on her arm that looked like it might need stitches. Connor, Spike, and her younger self were spattered with gore, and Angel's pant leg was torn and bloody.
"You guys okay?" she asked as she eyed Angel's leg.
"Nothing that won't heal," Angel assured her.
"The cuts and bruises may heal," Spike complained, "but construction-boy is right about the stink; I am never getting the smell out of this coat." He glanced around at the slayers. "Don't you guys ever just kill vampires anymore? If it isn't lizards, it's wasps, and if it isn't wasps, it's gorillas who smell like they live in piles of shit. You kill a vampire, it's done." He brushed his hands together. "That's it, nothing to clean."
"I can think of a few vampires who just arrived in town that need killing," Jess called out in reply. Her eyes never left Connor while she spoke. "Some creepy cult that someone, not naming names, invited to make a nest here."
Connor ignored Jess, walked over and gave Buffy a hug. The gesture surprised Buffy for a moment, then she hesitantly returned it.
"I'm glad to see you," he whispered. "The real you, I mean, not the other one I just met about an hour ago."
Buffy patted him on the back. "I'm glad you're in town," she replied. "I know Angel's been dying for you to meet his now-living self."
Connor broke off the hug. "I'll never get used to seeing him in the sunlight."
"It feels weird at first," Buffy admitted with a grin. "Though not as weird as Spike with a tan."
"I'm not used to this much good news," Connor admitted with a smile. "And, of course, the best part of Dad being alive is that we no longer have to worry about the two of you awakening Angelus."
That's the socially disastrous Connor that I remember.
She forced a grin in return.
"Dad?" Colleen asked in surprise as she looked at Angel and then at Connor. "You're his son?"
"Yeah," Connor said. "Long story."
Colleen thoughtfully chewed on her lower lip while she idly played with the braid resting on her shoulder. "So, you're like, half-vamp?"
"Something else, actually," Connor replied evasively. "Not vampire or human."
"Neat," Colleen said appreciatively. She glanced over at Angel. "I saw your kid fight … he's got some moves."
"Thanks …" Angel replied awkwardly, then he turned to Jess to respond to a comment she'd made a few minutes earlier. "The Cult of Ul-thar is harmless," Angel informed her. "Or, at least as harmless as vampires can be. Also, like it or not, we may need them."
Jess leaned over and deliberately spat on the ice. "Are we done here?"
"Yes, quite," Giles replied frostily as he maneuvered off the rink. After he stepped off the ice, he reached out and embraced Buffy, firmly enough that her sore ribs protested, then he protectively kept his arm around her shoulder. She was grateful for the warmth.
"Maybe instead of everyone rushing home, we could talk about cleaning up and maybe doing something?" Faith suggested hesitantly.
"Like what?" Xander asked.
"Doing something together, I mean?" Faith explained. "Something that doesn't involve slaying?"
Dana and Jess fixed Faith with a doubtful glare.
"What did you have in mind?" Spike called out.
Faith shrugged. "Something fun. I dunno … beer and wings?"
"Can't," the younger Buffy replied. "Got my last final tomorrow morning."
Plus, you're eighteen!
"Since Buffy had Willow forge your high school transcripts, why didn't she just forge you a PhD?" Faith asked.
Before anyone else could reply, Giles broke in, "Knowledge, Faith, has its own value."
"If you say so," Faith said doubtfully."
Jess sighed and stood up. "You guys can figure out your social calendars without me. I'm getting some shut eye." She yawned and raised her arms theatrically.
"It has been a long day," Colleen said to Faith. "Raincheck?"
"Sure," Faith said quickly.
It'll be a lot more fun without them.
"And with that, I'm out of here," Jess said. She looked at Dana. "You coming?"
Buffy felt strangely uncomfortable as Dana fixed her with a considering stare, then the gray-haired slayer turned to Jess and nodded. "Let's go."
Jess stalked past everyone, brushing against Buffy's shoulder as she did so, and disappeared down the corridor. Dana, after a terse goodbye to the group, followed.
"It was really good to see you again, Buffy," Colleen said warmly as she reached out and clutched both of Buffy's hands. "Really."
"It's good to see you, too," Buffy replied. "It's been too long."
Colleen gave her another hug, then she, too, departed.
After the three slayers had left, Buffy somehow felt that the arena had grown a lot warmer.
"I'm up for wings, and a few cold ones sounds great to me," Xander said. "Nothing quite like scarfing down appetizers after massacring an entire clan of hideous aliens."
"I still have to swing by the Spirit Square," Buffy said, "but after that, why not?" She fixed Angel with a piercing stare. "Besides, I want to hear all about what I missed."
Nobody seemed in a hurry to depart the arena as a debate regarding the best restaurant for wings in Moonridge were had and a few of the more spectacular moments of the battle were recounted … and, in some instances, re-enacted. Gradually, Buffy began to feel the tight, uncomfortable sensation of not-belonging dissipate.
Eventually, though, as if by an unspoken agreement, it was time to leave.
"Can I get a ride back?" the younger Buffy asked Spike.
He nodded. "Sure." He looked at Giles. I assume you need a lift?"
Giles nodded. "I'll meet you at the parking lot. I twisted my ankle and will have to take it rather slow."
Both Buffys immediately looked down in concern at Giles's leg.
"I'll be alright," he assured them.
"Never worried about you for a second," Spike assured Giles. "Now, if all will excuse me, I need to go play chauffeur and bring the car around." He stalked off down the corridor. The newest Buffy hesitated a moment.
"Was this what it was always like?" she finally asked as she looked around at the group. "The big battles, I mean? I've seen a lot of fights, don't get me wrong," she said hastily, "but this many people actually fighting together … it's a first for me."
Buffy nodded. "The big team-up fights? Yeah, they're usually pretty exciting." She smiled. "I'm glad you figured out you don't have to fight alone."
It was like looking into a high-school aged mirror when her younger self smiled in return. "It took me a bit to figure that out."
"We can be stubborn," Buffy said.
After the younger Buffy followed Spike out of the arena, Faith clasped her hands together and prepared to make her own exit. "I'm going to go get cleaned up." She looked over the group. "Muldoon's at six?" After receiving a chorus of agreement, she vanished as well.
"Maybe bring the car around?" Buffy suggested as she elbowed Angel in the arm.
"Sure," Angel replied.
"I'll go with you," Connor said.
"Me, too," Xander announced as he also moved to follow.
After they had left, Buffy found herself standing alone with Giles in the shadows of the cold arena. He smiled paternally at her.
"Did you guys arrange this private chat?" she asked as she looked around. "It definitely feels like I'm being set up for a scolding." She sighed and looked at Giles. "Let me guess, I shouldn't have come?"
Giles tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat and shrugged. "You're a bit old for a scolding Buffy, but I suppose I could dredge something up if you insist." He cleared his throat and began to speak in a deliberately formal, solemn tone of reverence, "You must hone your skills, Buffy. You need to be a master of the night as you …"
Buffy giggled and squeezed his arm. "Okay, that's enough of that."
"On a serious note," Giles said abruptly as the cheer vanished from his face, "you shouldn't have come." He examined the expression on her face for a moment. "But, I think you know that … don't you?"
I do.
She did. It hurt, it hurt worse than the pain of the Shard eradicating the slayer essence from her soul and body, it hurt worse than almost anything, but she knew Giles was right.
"I shouldn't have come," she agreed with a nod. "Maybe I needed one last wake-up call for me to realize that this is real, that I'm not a slayer anymore." She stared down at the ground. "It's over."
Giles grasped her shoulders and rotated her to face him. "Buffy, there are other ways to fight. Try to remember that Wilkins would be running unopposed right now if not for you, and every moment he has to spend on his campaign, every lackey he has to direct towards politics, are resources he cannot utilize elsewhere. If nothing else, you're forcing him to actually pay attention to the election instead of making Moonridge even more of a haven for evil."
"If nothing else?" Buffy asked caustically. "Thanks for the vote of confidence!"
"You know what I mean," Giles reassured her. "This is a war. It's being fought from the shadows, true, but that doesn't mean that any of us, including you, are hiding in the darkness. For months now Moonridge has seen a battle every night, every patrol, and you've been there, you know what people need to hear. We have soldiers, Buffy, but given what I saw today, what we need is a general."
"The slayers won't listen to me," Buffy said mournfully.
Giles reached out and hugged her reassuringly. "They will if they want to survive."
He put his arm back around her shoulder as they headed outside. The corpses of the ape-demons had already fragmented into sloughing, indistinguishable puddles of bubbling goop by the time they reached the corridor, and the smell had grown to such an intolerable stench that they were forced to cover their noses and mouths with their sleeves. The afternoon sun blazed above as they emerged into daylight.
. . . . . . . . .
"Was it just me, or did everyone actually seem to get along tonight?" Buffy asked as she plopped herself down on the couch occupying the center of her and Angel's townhouse. "They were all in a good mood, there was no bickering or tantrums, and even if Oz and Willow weren't drinking, it was nice to see them somewhere besides the Spirit Square." Buffy leaned back contentedly as she continued recapping the evening's revelries. "Emmy smiled more than I've seen her smile in months, Olivia finally got Giles out of the house on something other than slayer business … heck, even Faith managed to be mildly pleasant right up until she vanished with that bouncer."
"Winning a battle tends to leave everyone in good spirits," Angel observed. "Another Hellspot is out of commission for a year or two, and nobody got hurt." He flexed his leg as he removed his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. "Well, not too hurt."
Buffy smiled in agreement as she admired the sight of Angel's shoulders and chest moving beneath the fabric of his black t-shirt. "That's true."
Angel kicked off his shoes, joined her on the couch, then pulled out his phone and fiddled with the screen. She glanced down in irritation at the glow of the device. "What are you doing?" she asked. "We ate too many wings, you know I had too much booze to fend off your amorous advances, and the first thing you do when we get home is start texting?" She casually draped her hand on his upper thigh and with her fingers traced a line towards his hip.
"I was just following up on something Emmy mentioned," Angel replied absent-mindedly.
"Oh yeah?" Buffy asked as she brushed her hand more firmly against Angel's leg. "What did she say?"
Angel's brow crinkled with concern as he glanced over at her. "I guess none of the apocalytes have been able to reach Angelina for a week or two, and they wanted to know if I'd seen her. She isn't answering my texts."
"Angelina?" Buffy asked in confusion. "Oh, that young gal whose mom you helped?" She shrugged. "Maybe she took our advice and got out of town. She didn't seem that happy when she left your office, so I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't feel like chatting."
Angel tucked his phone away. "You're probably right." He glanced down and watched as Buffy's playful fingers moved across his hip and towards the zipper of his jeans. "Somebody has more energy than I would have expected given how busy today has been."
"Well, I did miss most of the fight," Buffy reminded him as she adroitly unbuckled Angel's black leather belt. "Which means I have a ton of pent-up aggression."
Angel shifted on the couch and moved closer to Buffy. He ran his hand along her shoulder until his fingers reached the nape of the neck, then he brushed his fingertips against her skin until she flinched beneath the tickling touch.
"Hey," she scolded him, "I'm trying to concentrate here." With a flourish she pulled his belt free and flung it to the corner of the room.
Angel leaned over to nuzzle his lips against the side of her neck. His skin was warm and soft against hers.
Buffy laid a hand on his chest to keep him at bay. "Could you do me a favor," she asked breathlessly as she flashed her most winsome smile.
"I'd do you several," Angel whispered. "Which one would you prefer first?"
She removed her hand from his chest and lightly gripped his forearm. "I need your big strong muscles to retrieve something for me."
"Go on," he murmured softly.
"Well, there's this one box jammed way back in our closet," Buffy whispered as she idly plucked at one of the buttons on his shirt, "could you be a dear and grab it?"
Realization dawned on him. "You mean, that box."
She nodded at him with twinkling eyes and a sly smile. "That's right, the one with all the creative outfits. There may be a new and special wardrobe selection in there that, with the right amount of encouragement, I could try on." She coquettishly winked at him. "How does that sound?"
She could see his breath quicken as he moved to stand. "And what might this outfit consist of?"
The twinkle in Buffy's eyes intensified as she considered the inquiry for a moment. "Well, monsieur," Buffy purred in an exaggerated French accent, "zis place is in terrible need of dusting, and I wish to be dressed appropriately for ze task."
Angel throatily chuckled, then he brought his hand up and lightly traced the line of her cheekbone. The box in the closet forgotten for the moment, he leaned forward and kissed her. The kiss was soft at first, then as they both relaxed into the embrace, harder, and hungrier. She spread her hands against his chest and relaxed as his arms slid around her. Even through the fabric of their shirts, she could feel the heat of his body. She wanted, no, she needed to feel the living warmth of his skin against hers, but the kiss was never-ending, and he was holding her so close. Beneath her hands, she could feel his heartbeat thrum a strong, steady rhythm.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as Angel reached beneath her and stood. Distantly, she remembered not ever having been particularly fond of being hoisted aloft, but at that moment it felt entirely natural to be cradled in Angel's arms. She leaned her head against his chest as he carried her down the hallway and towards the bedroom. Angel turned sideways and walked through the open door, then slowly lowered her onto the bed. The wood of the frame creaked as her weight, then his, settled upon it. Buffy's head swam as Angel leaned down, lightly grasped her waist with his hands, and kissed her again.
She quivered at the touch of his hands on her bare skin, then she broke off the kiss so that she could reach down and yank his shirt upwards. Angel pulled away long enough to rip the shirt over his head and toss it aside, then he kissed her again, more deeply, more fervently than before.
He glanced down, watched as Buffy begin hurriedly plucking at the buttons of her own top, and whispered, "What brought all of this on?"
Buffy's voice was hoarse when she replied. "Save the talking for later."
The last button of her blouse, mercifully, came undone, and then her top and bra were added to the growing pile of garments on the floor. Angel ran his hands up her hips, then her sides, until at last they gently cupped her breasts. Softly, very softly, he stroked the sensitive flesh beneath her nipples with his thumbs as he leaned in and kissed her again.
Buffy reached down, undid the buttons and zipper of her jeans, and then fumbled on the bed in a struggle to slide the denim past her hips. Angel leaned back and she helpfully raised her bottom to allow him to yank the jeans free. Despite her state of undress, the air in the bedroom felt intoxicatingly warm.
She lay back against the pillows near the head of the bed as Angel leaned in to run his lips along her breasts. An involuntary moan escaped her throat when he swirled his tongue around first one nipple, then the other, then she pulled him close for another passionate kiss. He reached for her hips, grasped the waistband of her thong, and unhurriedly pulled the thin scrap of fabric down her legs. When the garment reached her ankles, Buffy kicked it away.
She could feel the heat of his breath and the thrumming of his pulse as Angel laid next to her, brushed his lips lightly against her ear, and placed one hand on her waist. Buffy found herself trembling as Angel steadily moved his hands downwards, then she shuddered in involuntary pleasure and bit her lower lip when his questing fingers reached their goal.
Angel's hand continued its pleasurable ministrations for a time, then with a smooth, sinuous motion, he slid off his jeans and boxers and shifted his body on the bed. As he braced his hands beside her shoulders, Buffy arched her back and made room for him to slide his legs between hers. She was hungry for him, desperate, and as she reached down to guide Angel inside of her, all of her worries dissolved into nothingness. She pulled him close with her legs, he lowered his lips until they were once more locked in an ardent kiss, and then conscious thought escaped her as the two of them moved together in rhythm.
. . . . . . . . .
Their lovemaking simultaneously seemed to last forever and to be all too brief. When the tremors had subsided from Buffy's lower body and the spasms of bliss had receded enough for her to think again, she nestled alongside Angel and hugged him close.
He smiled down at her and whispered, "And here I was worried you were going to be mad at me about today."
Buffy looked at him and scowled. "Here you are, spoiling the moment." She nestled back against his shoulder. "I'm not mad. I mean, I was, but now I'm not." She lowered her voice to the barest murmur. "I get it."
"Get what?" Angel asked as he held her tightly.
"I have to be fine with helping in other ways besides brawling," she admitted. "Faith and her bitchy slayers have their thing, Giles's protégé can take my place with the patrols … literally … you and Xander's partnership's hasn't resulted in one of you killing the other, yet, and Willow and Oz are retired." She sighed. "Things change, and maybe that's for the best."
Angel sighed deeply. "You can't believe how happy I am to hear you say that."
She ran a hand along his sweat-drenched chest. "Now, that doesn't mean I want to be ignored by everyone. The muscles might not be there, but the mind still is." She tapped her head. "My advice still works as well as it ever has." When Angel hesitated before speaking, she playfully smacked him. "That's when you say something nice, sweetheart!"
"Absolutely," Angel said with a chuckle.
Buffy smiled to herself as she entwined a few of her fingers in Angel's chest hair. "I almost forgot, birthday wishes and gifts are in order." She blew him a kiss. "Happy birthday."
Angel blinked a few times. "I had forgotten. Birthdays haven't meant anything for so long, it completely slipped my mind."
"They mean something now," Buffy reminded him. "It won't be too long before you'll have to join me in checking for grays."
Angel ran a hand along her arm. "What did you get me?"
Buffy smiled impishly as she glanced at the clock at the wall. "I've still got ten minutes to get it ready, which, thankfully, is more than enough time." She reluctantly detached herself from Angel, stood up, and felt a faint twinge of embarrassment when her legs wobbled for a moment.
"Time enough for what?" Angel asked curiously.
Buffy walked over to the closet, swung it open, then with a flourish turned towards Angel and put her hands her hips.
"Monsieur," she scolded him, "only a few moments ago, did I not mention ze dusting that this room so urgently needs?" She placed a hand against her forehead and intensified her French accent past the point of parody. "Quel dommage, I must begin ze cleaning immediately."
"I love you," Angel said.
She winked at him. "I know."
