CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Tally and the Talisman
(November)
"Looks like the gang's all here," Buffy announced as Xander ushered her into his home. She tried to keep the anxiousness out of her voice as she continued, "I'll have quite the audience, whatever happens."
I didn't know Xander was going to invite everyone …
She glanced around the room and took stock of the situation. On the couch, Xander and Dawn sat next to Giles and Olivia, and despite her nervousness Buffy felt a renewed tremor of happiness at the sight of Xander and Dawn together again. Faith and Willow were occupying the loveseat … no sign of Oz or baby Ellie anywhere … while Connor, Colleen, Spike, and her younger self perched on dining room chairs that had been scattered about the room. The curtains had been pulled back and the rays of the morning sun gave the premises a warm, cozy feeling that nevertheless did little to calm the butterflies flittering in Buffy's stomach.
Of Dana and Jess, she saw no sign, which she supposed was to be expected.
Where is Angel?
For a moment, she was irritated at herself for even thinking the question, then she spotted him lurking in the kitchen. She decided to ignore him for the moment as she gazed at the expectant faces staring at her.
"Well …" Buffy announced, "it's been a long journey to get here. I can't express enough how thankful I am for your support, particularly Willow's help with … well … everything …" she gestured at Willow, who turned a cute shade of pink and voiced a 'thank you.' "Now, all we can do is hope that the voters see it my way."
Buffy did her best to beam a smile as a chorus of cheers, applause, and well-wishes were issued in her general direction.
"Buffy, I have a good feeling about this," Giles announced when the noise had died down.
I wish I did.
"Thank you, Giles," she replied as walked over to the couch and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I'm basically a ball of nerves right now, so forgive me if I don't have anything pithy and wise to say."
"Don't worry about it, Ms. Mayor," Willow reassured her. "You'll have plenty of time to write your victory speech later."
Xander scooted closer to Dawn and patted the empty space on the couch thus created. "Why don't you settle in? They'll be reporting ballot counts all afternoon, so you might as well get comfortable and enjoy the show."
"I think I'll grab a glass of wine first, if it's all the same," Buffy replied as she surveyed the beer cans and wine glasses clutched in hands throughout the room.
Faith smiled. "Now you're getting into the spirit of things, B."
As Buffy headed towards the kitchen, Spike reached out and tapped her arm. Surprised, she stopped and looked down at him.
"What you've done, to come all this way, it's bloody impressive," Spike informed her.
Her teen counterpart nodded. "It really is. I'm proud of you, meaning I'm proud of me, too, I guess." She smiled.
The younger me never used to be this chipper … I think I maybe preferred her a bit more on the dour side.
"Thank you," she replied. "Now, let's just hope I can bring it home.
Win or lose … though she definitely wanted to win with every fiber of her being … a huge part of her was happy it was over. Sure, being mayor of Moonridge might be tough, but at least she'd no longer be fighting an uphill battle merely to be taken seriously. No more phone calls to PTAs, no more police fundraisers to attend, no more campaigning. Towards the end, she was beginning to wonder how politicians found the energy to do anything besides run for office. Their actual jobs had to be vacations by comparison.
When she wandered into the kitchen, she found Angel pouring Chardonnay into a wine glass.
Not normally his drink of choice, but I guess he's expanding his horizons.
When he'd filled the glass, he proffered it to her. She sighed in exasperation and tilted her head to the side as she replied, "Really?"
She did, however, reach out and take the glass.
Angel shrugged and grinned. "A little booze as a peace offering couldn't hurt."
"We're not at war, Angel," Buffy reminded him as she walked back towards the living room.
We're not anything.
Glass in hand, she sat on the couch, took a sip, and tried to calm her nerves.
"They're going to be announcing running totals all day," Dawn informed her. "It should be exciting."
"I'd settle for a quiet victory," Buffy replied as she settled in to watch the spectacle that would determine how she spent the next four years.
. . . . . . . . .
The rays of the late afternoon sun had just begun to shimmer orange on the horizon when Richard Wilkins ascended the battlements of the Valle dell'Ombra castle. Nattily attired in a blue suit, though he'd foregone a tie, he gazed down into the courtyard. Below him, the air rippled above the enormous black iron brazier that had been kept burning since January. The fire had been continuously fed with wood, a variety of mystical components and, most importantly, living beings, for day after day, week after week.
Buffy Summers and her friends had thinned the ranks of his potential recruits rather diligently over the past year, which had been a consistently irksome nuisance, yet nevertheless the courtyard, battlements, and corridors of the castle swarmed with demons of all shapes, sizes, and planes of origin. No vampires were in sight, of course; they'd be clustering in the shadows or hiding indoors.
The day had been long and stressful … though not for him, he was a veteran of more campaigns than he could remember, though admittedly they usually they weren't as honestly conducted as this one. His panicked and near-hysterical staff, bless their hearts, seemed to hang on each and every report from a voting booth. They probably assumed anything less than victory would result in their execution.
Then again, their assumption was an accurate one.
"I can feel you hovering, Allan," Wilkins said as stared downward in thought. "What is it?"
"The vote disparity is wide enough that a recount won't be mandated," Allan replied.
Wilkins nodded in reply. "I thought that would be the case."
"Do you want me to make the call?" Allan asked. "Regarding a concession, I mean?"
Wilkins shook his head. "Ms. Summers isn't a politician, she wouldn't understand. Besides, I don't think we want her looking up the finer points of the election rules on this particular issue." He turned towards Allan and fixed him with an almost regretful smile. "It's almost unbearably sad, in a way, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"By any objective measures, we aren't the good guys."
Allan turned white, and he began to mumble an incoherent reply.
Wilkins waved him off. "That was rhetorical, Allan. I have no illusions, I'm not the guy riding into town wearing a white hat by any interpretation of the scenario we find ourselves in. Buffy Summers, whatever else you want to say about her, she has gumption. She's dedicated, she's feisty, hoo boy is she feisty, and you've got to hand it to her, she put on a hell of a campaign." His smile turned from regretful to genuinely cheerful. "Had me on my toes during that debate, let me tell you. I was not expecting her to be so … what's the word …"
"She was incredible," Allan said.
"Watch it, Allan," Wilkins said in a deceptively placid manner. "Let's not go overboard in terms of admiration, she's still very much our enemy." He breathed deeply. "Still, you've got to admire her." He turned back to the courtyard and resumed staring at the assembled horde. "Buffy, Faith's gang of slayers, all of them, will probably attack in the next few days. To use the common parlance of rogues, I imagine they'll try to get the jump on me, so remind Joshua to have whoever he's picked ready and waiting."
Allan nodded. "I will." He hesitated, then continued, "How soon before they make their move, do you think?"
Mayor-elect Wilkins considered the question for moment, then replied, "If they haven't figured out by now that big things are coming down the pipe once I put my hand on the good book and say the words, then I've been overestimating them all year. No, if I was in their position, I wouldn't wait until after I'm sworn in." He tapped his fingers along the sandstone balustrade and smiled. "They'll come for me in the next few days and try to make a fight of it. Most importantly, Faith will come."
Faith had better try to kill me, or all of this … everything I've done … will have been for nothing.
. . . . . . . . .
"Buffy's been out on the patio a long time," Willow said in a quiet, mournful voice. A pall had fallen over the room, and crestfallen faces had replaced the merry expressions evident only hours earlier. "I know she wanted to be alone, but someone needs to go talk to her."
"Buffy asked to be alone," Angel replied. "We should respect that."
Giles turned to Angel and frowned. "How zealously supportive of you. Too bad this wasn't your attitude when …"
"Giles!" Olivia whispered as she grabbed Giles's knee. "Now is really not the time."
"I'll head out there," Xander said as he slowly rose to his feet. "Will's right, Buffy needs to know that she ran an amazing campaign and that we'll figure out what to do next together."
"I'll go, too," Willow said as she pulled herself upright.
She and Xander walked over to the patio door, opened it, and stepped outside.
"Wilkins will come for us now, won't he?" the younger Buffy asked once the patio door had slid shut.
"You can bet on it," Spike replied.
"Not if we go after him first," Dana announced.
Heads turned in surprise at the unexpected voice. The grey-haired woman was leaning with crossed arms against the wall near the open front door, and Jess stood next to her.
"I didn't know you guys were coming," Faith called out.
"We did what Buffy asked and we waited out the election," Jess replied as she glanced around the room, fixing each of them in turn with a heated, sullen stare. "And look what a waste of time that turned out to be."
Dana's face was set in grim lines as she spoke, "Now we're going to try doing things our way."
. . . . . . . . .
Buffy flinched when she heard the patio door open. As twin footfalls moved to flank her, she tightened her grip on the wooden railing and tried to quell the nausea that had been steadily growing over the last few hours. When Xander and Willow were standing on either side of her, she found she couldn't meet their gaze, so she just continued leaning on the railing surrounding Xander's patio and stared down into Moonridge. The streets, buildings, and trees within the canyon glowed a burnt orange in the light of the setting sun. All those people … they needed her, even if the majority of the voting public didn't realize it … and she'd failed them. Not in terms of fighting or slaying, two things she couldn't do anymore, but in making them understand that they did need her.
Everyone who didn't know me in Sunnydale sees me as a college drop-out who gave their daughter up for adoption. What was I thinking?
"You guys didn't need to come out here," she finally said, after it became apparent that Willow and Xander were going to wait for her to speak first. "I'm fine, really."
Xander stretched his arm around Buffy, and Willow did likewise. Part of her wanted to shake loose from the embrace, another part was desperately happy for the support. She imagined sinking her head into Angel's chest and feeling his arms wrap around her, and then she immediately wished for a stake so she could root the unwanted thought from her brain.
"I think we did need to come out here, Buff," Willow replied.
Xander pulled her tighter. "You gave Wilkins a hell of a fight."
I identified the exact problem live on television: Wilkins told people what he thought they wanted to hear, and I told them what I thought they needed to hear. It was always going to end like this.
Buffy laughed. "Unless those last few boxes had nothing except ballots for me, I didn't even force a recount."
"Buffy," Willow said, "you're a fighter, and you're a winner, and those kinds of people don't want to hear about silver linings, but if it wasn't for you drawing Wilkins's attention all year, reminding him that he needed to play by the rules, keeping him honest, who knows what he would have done?"
"Or who we would have lost if you didn't make him play nice," Xander added.
"You're right, Will," Buffy replied. "I absolutely don't want to hear about silver linings right now."
Willow nodded, and she and Xander stood and waited until Buffy was ready to speak again.
"Once he's sworn in," she informed them. "Whatever spell he's been working on, whatever he plans on doing with the Valknut, it'll probably happen immediately. There won't be any reason for him to wait."
"What about the truce?" Xander asked.
"That only protects us, not the people of Moonridge … and who knows whether he'll care about a truce anymore if he can find a way to forge a connection to that mystical tree …"
"Yggdrasil," Willow prompted her.
Buffy shrugged, then carried on, "… whatever its name is, after he gets what he wants, I don't know if we can count on him still needing Wolfram & Hart."
Willow cleared her throat. "Buff, I heard your feedback on the whole silver linings concept, and I want to respect your truth, but keep in mind … you're the one who clued me and Giles in on what Wilkins was planning with Mímisbrunnr and its water. Without that, we'd still be completely blind, research-wise."
Buffy turned to stare at Willow. "You two still aren't sure exactly what this magical tree water does, other than probably give Wilkins wisdom, or power, or something, and that means we're no closer to stopping him." She paused a moment, then added a nauseating observation, "I suppose it's Mayor Wilkins now … ugh."
"Not until he's sworn in," Xander reminded her.
The patio door slid open.
"Hi, Buffy," Dawn called out in a hesitant, fearful manner as she stepped outside and closed the door. "How are you holding up?"
"I've been better," Buffy informed her sister.
Dawn's been through enough … I almost wish she'd go upstairs.
"I know that you've got other things on your mind," Dawn continued, "but Dana and Jess are here, and they're … well … I think you need to come inside." She glanced at Willow and Xander. "All of you, I mean, I think all of you should come back inside right now."
"Let me guess, they want to be in charge?" Buffy asked. "I have to admit, that's not looking like the worst idea."
"Buffy, they're slayers, and not slayers like you," Dawn said. "They're going to want to charge in stakes a-blazing … you know that."
"Maybe that's what we should do," Buffy said with a shrug, even though her gut was screaming that they should take the opposite tactic. "The powers know that trying to beat him at his own game wasn't the best idea."
"C'mon, Buff," Dawn said as she stepped forward and rubbed Buffy's arm. "I know you well enough to guess that you haven't been out here moping, at least, not entirely. I think you've been coming up with our next move."
"I have," Buffy admitted as she pivoted and faced the patio door. "At least, my next move." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and continued, "I have a plan for me, that I think will help, but I'm done making plans for anyone else. We tried it my way, and it didn't work, so I am officially going to take a backseat."
"Buff, don't say that," Xander said. "We're going to need you."
"Maybe," Buffy agreed, "and I'm going to be working on bringing back the version of me that might actually be helpful."
"What do you mean?" Willow asked.
"I'll explain inside," Buffy said as she patted Willow's arm, "but long story short, I need to fix myself before I can worry about fixing anything else."
They're going to think it's my ego talking, but I know … somehow … that if we're going to win, I need to be able to fight.
Willow, Giles, and Xander exchanged confused glances as she walked towards the patio door.
"Let's go inside and you can tell us all about it," Dawn suggested as she stepped out of Buffy's way.
. . . . . . . . .
"All we are saying," Giles roared as his face flushed red and his temples throbbed with anger, "is that you hear Buffy out." He stood from the couch and stared at Dana. "Is that too much to ask? The two of you have voiced your unproductive and very much unwanted opinions on the election, and now the rest of us would like to hear what Buffy has to say."
"Listening to her is why we've wasted nearly the entire year!" Jess screamed.
Teen Buffy, who had managed to steer Spike away from a physical confrontation and into the corner of the room, placed her hands on the walls on either side of his body to corral him from starting a fight.
Angel, even more worryingly, was beginning to drift from the kitchen towards Dana and Jess, and Buffy noticed that his hands were clenched into fists.
No, Angel, not now … please.
Buffy stepped further into the room and raised her hands in an attempt to defuse the situation. "Everyone, I'm just trying to explain what I'm going to do … I'm not trying to tell anyone else to do anything." She glanced over at Dana and Jess. "Dana's right," she admitted. "I have no right to order anyone around."
Dana put a hand on Jess's shoulder then raised her other arm in a conciliatory gesture. "I appreciate you confirming the obvious, but you don't need us here while you chat about whatever wheel-spinning nonsense you've cooked up now." She pointed at Colleen and then Faith. "The four of us discussed this day, remember? We've fought, and killed, and bled all year, and we agreed that if Buffy didn't win, Moonridge and Wilkins would become slayer business. Stand up and leave with us, now." She stared at Faith, and her eyes narrowed until the gaze seemed hard enough to bend steel. "I came to this town for you, Faith, and you gave me your word."
Faith and Colleen, both of whom looked somewhat abashed, avoided eye contact with Buffy while they nodded in response.
"You've been making plans behind our backs?" Connor asked as he stared at Colleen. He sounded hurt, which Buffy found to be a surprisingly uncharacteristic change from his usual taciturn manner of speaking, and his eyes were wounded.
Buffy caught a mouthed 'I'm sorry' from Colleen that seemed strangely … intimate?
Come to think of it, didn't Giles restructure the patrols a month or two ago so that those two were usually teamed up together? I've really been wrapped up in my own drama …
"Everyone, please hear me out," Buffy said as she decided to be blunt. "I tried to beat Wilkins doing things his way, and I failed."
The room fell silent.
"Dana and Jess are right," she said as she gestured towards them. "Slayers … slay. Moonridge is broken, but …" she had to force the words out, "… I'm broken, too."
"Buffy, don't say that," Angel exclaimed.
Most of the room, but not all, shook their heads and vocalized disagreement.
"Really, it's true," Buffy said. "I was a slayer for a long time, longer than almost any slayer in history, and I was a lot better at slaying than I am at politicking." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked around. "What Moonridge needs right now is people who can fight Wilkins, and that isn't me. Not anymore."
Angel walked over to her side, and while he didn't, thankfully, try to embrace her, she appreciated the kindness of his words. "You're being too hard on yourself, Buffy."
Buffy shook her head. "He's a bad guy, my job is to fight bad guys, only now I can't. Because I can't, people are going to die."
"Buffy, please remember that one way or another, nobody can fight the good fight forever," Giles reminded her. "If your time as a slayer had to end, I'm glad it ended the way it did, and there are others who can carry on."
"Wilkins is going to come for us," she announced to the room. "I know it, and you all know it, too."
"Unless we take the fight to him, B," Faith said. "Giles and Willow have been talking for weeks now about how, once he's mayor, all those spells he cast on the election will kick in." Faith rubbed a thumb along her nose, then plowed forward, "I'm thinking we act before then."
"We can't break the truce," Buffy reminded Faith. "Every instinct that I have tells me that we must not break that truce."
"Instincts?" Jess asked with a snort. "What are you talking about?"
Buffy walked over to Dana and stared at her. "Dana, go your own way, do what you feel you have to do, but please … keep that truce intact until you've given me a chance to do what I have to do."
Dana stepped closer, and even worse than anger, her voice was indifferent when she replied, "Do whatever you want, Buffy. As for the truce, from what I've been hearing, it won't matter too much once Wilkins is sworn in." She shrugged. "We gave you your shot to win that election, and it didn't work out. What exactly do you want from me?"
"A few days."
"A few days for what?" Dana asked. She seemed to loom taller than Buffy had remembered, and her face had grown harder over the long months that the quiet, shadowy war had been fought in Moonridge. "I have been wading through literal alleys of blood for months now. What is going to change in the next few days?"
Buffy walked towards the couch and looked at Giles. "Elections aren't what I do, slaying is. I need your help to get back what I've lost."
The room fell deathly still, and Buffy tried to ignore the glances of skepticism or impatience being exchanged.
Giles removed his glasses, began to clean them, and Buffy resisted the urge to snatch them out of his grasp. "Buffy, we've talked about the Shard's effects … many times, in fact … and while I understand how you feel, let's take stock of the situation. What is done is done, and we know of no way of undoing it. If you were called upon to take up the burden of being a slayer, consider that perhaps you were also called upon to lay it down. Nobody here doubts your heart, but you may have to accept your current physical limitations."
Buffy kept her eyes locked on his as she responded, "We don't know how to fix what's wrong with me. Well, we've had problems like that before, we've always solved them, and we'll solve this one, too."
"Oh, come on," Jess interjected. "If you guys could make more slayers, or fix ex-slayers, you'd have done so long before now, right?"
"She's right, Buff," Willow said. Her eyes were sad as she looked at Buffy. "If we knew how to turn you, or anyone else, into a slayer, we'd have tried by now. The slayer line is broken, and we don't know how to reverse what the Shard did to you."
Giles continued, "Buffy, I'm not sure that one more slayer, even if it is you, is going to make all that much of a difference … and like Willow said, we don't even know where to start with reversing the Shard's effects."
"I've been giving that some thought, and I'm pretty sure I know what I need to do," Buffy replied with as much fake confidence as she could muster.
"And what would that be?" Willow asked.
Buffy looked at Giles. "We need to go get the Scythe."
"Oh, you have to be kidding me," Jess said, her voice dripping with scorn. "We have plenty of weapons, how will one more help?"
"Buffy, if we can't take down Wilkins with four slayers and …" Dana gestured around the room … "everyone else, your being a slayer isn't going to make a difference."
"I think it will," Buffy replied.
When Faith spoke, the doubt in her voice nearly broke Buffy's heart.
Faith, you, too?"
"Buffy, like Willow or Giles just said, if they thought some old slayer talisman could fix you, they'd have said so by now." Faith paused a moment, then continued. "Maybe you need to let go?"
"What are you saying? That I should give up?" Buffy asked. She could hear her voice becoming shrill, but she didn't care. "This isn't about my pride, all I've ever wanted is to win some version of a final battle and after that get to live in peace, but peace isn't in the cards for me."
Dana walked across the room to stare at Buffy. "We're supposed to just twiddle our thumbs while you do … what exactly? I don't even know what term to use."
"Re-slayer-ify?" Dawn suggested.
Dana shot her a quizzical glance. "Sure, that works … I guess …" She turned back to Buffy. "Say you manage to turn back into a slayer, what then, you'll take the fight to Wilkins with us?" Dana glanced around the room. "Let's be clear about one thing, it would be a lot better if we worked together on this."
That's what I've been saying all year!
"Just give me a day or two," Buffy said. "Wilkins isn't going to be sworn in until next week, at the earliest, and I guarantee you that he won't do a damned thing until that happens. Let's go after him when the time is right, with our full strength."
We can't be the ones to break that truce!
The moment hung for a long time, minutes it seemed like, but finally Dana nodded. Colleen and Faith bowed their heads in relief, and Jess's face turned purplish red in anger.
"A few days," Dana said as she looked around the room. "Then, I expect everyone here to extend to us the same support we've been giving you all year … namely, that you help us fight."
. . . . . . . . .
"Buffy, I know you said this isn't about pride, but I'm going to be honest, that's what this is feeling like," Giles informed her as soon as there were fewer interloping ears about. Faith and her three slayers had long since departed, Dawn and Olivia had excused themselves, retreated upstairs, and not returned, and only the faintest light from the setting sun remained visible in the windows.
Angel opened his mouth to protest, then closed it when Giles fixed him with an ominous scowl.
Buffy tried not to sound hurt as she replied, "Giles, that's not what this about, I promise you. I just want … no, I need to be able to help."
"Buffy, let's say you become a slayer, what then?" Willow asked. "I'm still not seeing how that helps all that much."
"I just know," she replied. "I can't explain it, I just know that we need to fix what's wrong with me."
"What's the big deal with Buffy taking off on a road trip for a day or two?" Spike asked. "I mean, it can't hurt to have her back in fighting shape, and either that fancy red axe will work, or it won't." He shrugged. "It's not like I'm hearing any other great plans in the meantime."
"I read about the Scythe," the younger Buffy said, "but how is it supposed to help? And if it's so powerful, why didn't you guys hang onto it?"
Giles and Willow exchanged worried glances.
"The Scythe has a mystical, though admittedly somewhat nebulous in terms of specifics, connection with the slayer lineage," Willow explained. "And Giles hid it because it's power was starting to draw too much attention."
"What kind of attention?" the teen Buffy asked.
Giles cleared his throat, then fielded the question, "The Watchers Council kind of attention. As the years went by with no new potentials being identified, the Council started to become desperate. If the Scythe had been used to turn potentials into slayers, some of the Council reasoned, perhaps it could be used to turn ordinary girls into potentials."
"Could it?" Xander asked. "And if it could, would that be a bad thing?"
"Probably not," Willow admitted. "But we're not sure."
Buffy interjected, "We decided long ago that the Council cannot be trusted with the ability to make slayers or potentials. Giles hid the Scythe to prevent them from eventually getting desperate enough to steal it, and after that we simply stopped answering questions about it. Hiding the Scythe isn't the biggest reason why we're persona non grata with them, but it didn't help."
Giles pulled out his phone and began typing. Everyone watched him for perhaps a minute, then Spike finally spoke, "Urgent shopping? Tea supplies running dangerously low?"
"I'm texting Buffy the location of the Scythe and directions on how to find it," Giles replied. He tapped the phone a final time, then tucked it away.
What? I thought Giles would be driving.
Buffy felt her phone buzz in response to an incoming text.
"Thank you," she said, her voice hesitant as she speculated as to the possible reasons why Giles had no interest in accompanying her. "It's been quite a few years, but I think you said it was a two or three hour drive?"
Giles could hear the unspoken question in her voice. "I can't take you, Buffy, because I need to spend this evening, all night, and possibly next morning, convincing Olivia to leave Moonridge." He glanced around the room. "I'm sure someone else can drive you."
"I'll take her," Angel announced.
Buffy found the eagerness in his voice irritating beyond all reason.
There has to be someone else …
Giles shook his head at Angel's offer but voiced no objection.
Spike glanced at the younger Buffy, noted the slightest narrowing of her eyes, then spoke, "Might as well be Angel, as I'm staying here in Moonridge."
"What Giles is doing with Olivia," Xander said, "I expect I'll be doing the same thing with Dawn."
Willow's voice was thick with concern when she spoke, "I won't need to convince Oz to take Ellie and leave … but I'll have to work really hard to make him understand why I'm not leaving also." She glanced at Buffy. "I … I can't drive you. Sorry, Buff."
Buffy reached out and held Willow's hand for a moment.
Connor stood. "I need go talk to Colleen, Buffy … and the other slayers, of course." He spoke the last few words in a breathless hurry, and knowing glances were exchanged around the room. "I'll make sure they don't do anything rash, that sort of thing."
I'm now officially out of other options.
"Fine," Buffy said without looking at Angel. "Angel will drive me."
"When do we leave?" he asked.
"Now."
. . . . . . . . .
"First rule of the road," Buffy said the instant after she had sat down and buckled her seatbelt, "this is a business trip, and I cannot stress enough how much I don't want to talk about us."
"I don't want to talk about us either," Angel agreed as he triggered the ignition and pulled away from the curb. "We've both got enough on our mind." He glanced over at her as he began to navigate towards the highway. "You did a hell of a job with your campaign, and I honestly thought you were going to win."
"Thank you, but it's water under the bridge now," Buffy replied as she fought down a twisting, slicing lance of disappointment knifing at her innards. "All we can do is move forward."
"And if you manage to become a slayer again, what then?" Angel asked. "I know you were being vague in there, but did the Powers send you some sort of message that you have a mission, or task, that you need to be a slayer to accomplish?" Even though there was no one else in the car, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Was it Cordy?"
Not exactly.
Buffy turned to stare out the passenger window. "It's more like a hunch."
"A hunch?"
She nodded, then turned to him and shrugged her shoulders. "It's not like I'm doing much good in Moonridge anyway."
"Don't say that."
"It's the truth."
Angel's frown was deep and worried as he glanced over at her. "You've always been more than just someone who can throw a punch, Buffy, and it's a damned shame you forget that from time to time."
"Well, what we need right now are more punchers."
Angel adroitly changed the subject. "Where am I heading?"
"An old, abandoned silver mine a couple hours out into the boonies," Buffy replied. "Shouldn't be hard to find."
"A mine?" Angel asked. "Giles didn't bury the Scythe, or drop it in a lake, or something?"
"He thought we might need it again, and he also told me he had gotten too old to go around burying chests in the middle of the wilderness."
"Fair enough."
Buffy gave Angel the directions, then she reclined her seat, closed her eyes, and did her best not to think about the election.
. . . . . . . . .
Night's darkness had descended over the desert by the time Angel awakened her. Buffy worked the latch to raise her seat upright, blinked a few times as she stretched her head from side to side, then stared out the windshield.
"Barstow?" she asked as she glanced at the orderly rows of lights spreading for a few miles on either side of the highway. The only businesses she saw were a seemingly unending assortment of gas stations, fast food restaurants, and the occasional motel.
"Barstow," Angel confirmed. "If I remember correctly, there's hundreds, maybe thousands, of old mine shafts in the hills north of here. I hope Giles gave you pretty specific directions."
"He did," Buffy assured him.
Angel exited the freeway, navigated down a few side streets and past a wild west-themed tourist attraction, and finally turned onto an unpaved road. The terrain proved to be far rougher than anticipated, and they had to navigate several course-reversals after taking a wrong turn, but eventually they found themselves parked near a slot canyon on the far side of the hills north of Barstow. The lights of the city had long vanished and their only source of illumination was the moonlight and their cell phones. When she exited the car, Buffy shivered for a moment.
"Aren't you going to be cold?" Angel asked as he eyed Buffy's stretch pants, sneakers, shirt, and light windbreaker.
Buffy's only response to Angel's question was to zip up the windbreaker.
Their cell phone lights pierced the darkness as they entered the slot canyon. Buffy's show of bravado as to the inclement temperature did nothing to alter the reality that the air seemed to be growing colder by the minute, and soon, she suspected, her teeth would begin chattering.
Thankfully, they found the mine's entrance fairly quickly. A heavy, rusted metal grate set within the rock blocked access to a tunnel leading into the stone wall of the slot canyon. Buffy examined the grate and quickly spotted a heavy metal door set within the metal. Hung from the chain securing the door was a large padlock. As Buffy reached into her pocket to retrieve the key Giles had given her, Angel extended his arm, grabbed the padlock, and tossed it to the side.
Buffy, key in hand, blinked a few times in surprise. "That was supposed to be locked."
"I'm thinking that isn't a great sign," Angel replied.
She pushed on the metal door, and motes of dust from the sudden movement sparkled in the light of the cellphones as the door swung open.
"Buffy …" Angel said in a worried, nervous tone as he tentatively gestured towards the opening, "maybe I …"
Yes, Angel, I know you should go first.
"Don't say it!" she snapped at him. "You're right, I just … I don't want to hear you say it."
Angel nodded, then he waited until Buffy stepped out of the way before he entered the mine. The shaft was large enough to stand upright, though not so large that Angel could extend his arms in both directions without striking the jagged walls. They proceeded perhaps fifty yards down the tunnel, which had been hewn from the dark, red rock of the hills, before the tunnel branched in two different directions.
Angel glanced over at her. "Which way?"
Buffy raised her cellphone, flipped back to Giles's message, then pointed to the left. "We go left twice, then right once, and we should be there."
Angel strode off to the left, Buffy following close behind. After the second intersection, the mine's ceiling began to steadily lower and the walls drew closer, almost as if the tunnel was shrinking around them. When the rock above had descended low enough that Angel had to be careful not to strike his head, he noticed that the surface beneath his feet had changed.
"Sand," he announced as he pointed down.
Buffy pointed her flashlight at the ground, then shrugged. "Yup, looks like sand." She moved to jostle past Angel in the cramped space, but he held out a hand and blocked her.
"At this point, I'm pretty sure nobody else is here," Buffy informed him, "so go ahead and move your arm out of the way."
Angel shook his head, and Buffy was just about to explode in irritation when Angel tilted his flashlight downwards. "Look."
Oh … that's why he wanted me to stop …
Being careful not to disturb whatever Angel was pointing at, she craned her neck around his arm and peered downwards.
Footprints in the sand …
"Maybe they're from Giles's shoes?" Buffy suggested. "Or anyone else, really."
Angel pointed at the nearest footprint. "Put your shoe next to that, then pull your foot back."
Buffy obliged, then she and Angel both stooped to compare the footprints.
"Well, it isn't Giles's," Buffy announced.
Angel shook his head. "Not unless he's been wearing a women's size eight." Angel shone the flashlight a few feet further down the tunnel. "I'm pretty sure those other footprints are from Giles … they're men's loafers, if I'm not mistaken."
Buffy gazed where Angel had indicated, and she immediately spotted a different set of footprints … from someone with far larger feet … lining the sand.
Angel crouched on his hands and knees and peered sideways at Buffy's footprint, then at the similar sized print next to it. "Whoever came down here was heavier than you, but not by much."
"If we ever find out that the person who made those footprints weighed, like, three hundred pounds, you're going to need to leave Moonridge and never come back."
Angel stood, dusted himself off, and ignored Buffy's comment as he moved forward.
"Shouldn't you have a stake handy, or something?"
"Don't need it," Angel replied. "Those same footprints are also heading in the opposite direction, back the way we came. Whoever was here, they left a long time ago."
When they reached the next tunnel intersection, the last one for which Giles had given them directions, Buffy wasn't surprised that the footprints veered to the right. Angel and she followed them perhaps a dozen yards until they reached a small room, little more than an alcove, secured by another door set within another large iron grate. The padlock and chain for this door lay on the ground.
"This is the spot," Buffy announced as she eyed the lock on the ground.
Angel nodded, pushed the door open, and they stepped inside.
Buffy shined her phone to the left and immediately spotted what they'd come for. She hadn't seen the titanium, lockable storage case for the Scythe in so long that she'd forgotten the little details. The beaded pattern on the surface of the metal, the raised numerals on the number pad, and even the way the light gleamed off the case triggered nostalgic memories.
I don't think I realized until this moment how much I missed the Scythe.
The case was padlocked to the metal bars of the grate, but she didn't bother with those keys, the only thing they needed to bring out of the mine was the Scythe. She reached out her hand and extended a finger to press the first number of the code that would open the case.
Angel reached out and grabbed her wrist.
The same wrist he'd grabbed in September just before he'd handcuffed her to a piece of furniture. The memory was a viper-strike on her soul, and she tried to keep from flinching and screaming as she felt his grip.
Buffy gasped for air and tried to relax.
He probably had a good reason for that … he'd better.
"Angel," she asked in as neutral a voice as she could manage, "I'm trying not to get upset, but right now all kinds of unpleasant memories are being stirred up."
Angel pulled her wrist well away from the case, then let go and pointed at the LED display above the number pad. "Let me check it first."
Buffy stood on her tiptoes and looked at the display. Or, more accurately, what used to be the display. The screen had melted and twisted into black goop, and the wires within were blackened and scorched. Her stomach churned in frustration as she realized that they were too late. Someone else had the Scythe.
I should never have given it up.
"Looks like someone took a blowtorch to the case," Buffy observed, "but I'm sure it's safe to open."
Angel made a clucking sound of admonishment that he knew she hated. "This wasn't a blowtorch, this was electricity."
"Electricity?" Buffy asked. "Are you sure."
Angel reached out his hand towards the number panel, and as his finger neared the case, a bright blue arc of energy shot from within the charred wiring to strike his fingertip.
"Ouch," Angel exclaimed as he whipped his hand away from the case.
"Did it really hurt, or was it just surprising?" Buffy asked as she took a half step back.
"That really hurt," Angel confirmed. He sighed deeply, then looked at Buffy. "Well, here goes nothing. If this stops my heart, I hope you'll be willing to perform CPR."
Must he always be so dramatic?
She stared at him in concern. "Angel, what are you …"
Angel reached out and laid both his hands on the case. Sparks and bursts of that same blue-white lighting crackled in the cavern, sunk into Angel's hands, and then, thankfully, vanished after a few seconds. The dark stillness of the mine, once again lit only by the lights of their cellphones, was ominous and oppressive.
Buffy winced in sympathetic pain as Angel lifted his arms and stared at his fingers. Minute tendrils of smoke curled from scorched fingertips.
"Are you alright?" Buffy asked.
"I'll be okay," Angel said as he worked the latches of the case and flipped it open. The gray foam inside was still indented from where the Scythe had been pressed, but of the weapon itself there was no sign.
Buffy put her back against the wall and fought the urge to sit down.
"That's it, then," she announced. "I've led us to another dead end … at least it was just you and me this time, and not all of Moonridge."
"Not necessarily," Angel informed her.
What?
Buffy's head snapped up as she tried to control the sense of hope that threatened to spiral out of control. "What do you mean?"
"I'm pretty sure I know who took the Scythe," Angel replied. "Maybe more than pretty sure."
"Do you know some electrical demons, or something?"
Angel smirked, and for the first time in months she found such an expression on him endearing rather than infuriating.
"Not a demon," Angel explained. "This kind of build-up of electrical energy, long after the power source has vanished …" he gestured at the case, "… means one of two things. Magic, or a psychokinetic ability to influence the electromagnetic spectrum."
"It's been a long year, just get to the good news," she requested.
"The size eight shoeprints from someone about your weight gave it away," Angel continued. "We need to find a woman named Gwen Raiden."
Buffy mouthed the name a few times, then shook her head. "Gwen Raiden doesn't ring any bells. Did you date her, too?"
Angel, clearly shocked at the question, spluttered for a moment.
He did, didn't he? Have I been shacking up with the worst vamp-slut in California for the past decade?
"We had history, yes, but no, we never dated," Angel finally said.
Buffy arched an eyebrow at him.
"I'm serious, Buffy!" Angel protested. "She dated Charles Gunn for a while, but she and I were never together. I swear it."
"I'm just giving you a hard time," Buffy replied as she tried to fight back a smirk of her own. "Tell me about her, most importantly, where to find her."
"She has powerful telekinetic abilities, electricity is her specialty, and she also happens to be a mercenary, thief, burglar … anything that pays, really. At least, she used to be."
"Why would she want the Scythe?"
Angel pursed his lips in thought. "I doubt she does, it was probably just a commission."
"I don't suppose you kept her number, just in case you needed a booty call?"
Angel stared at Buffy and silence hung heavy in the cavern.
Maybe I've pushed enough of his buttons for a while.
"I told you it wasn't like that with Gwen," Angel said in a low, even tone. "And a cell phone number wouldn't do us much good at the moment."
"Why not?" Buffy asked. "Where is she?"
"In prison," Angel said as he brushed by her and began retreating the way they'd come. Buffy had to struggle to keep up with the length of his strides.
"County lock-up, Federal Supermax, work with me here, Angel."
He glanced over his shoulder at her. "More like a military prison that used to be part of the Initiative."
She froze for a second in surprise, then hurried to catch up. "Are you serious?"
She could see Angel's head nod. "I'm serious. It's in Nevada … as a matter of fact, it didn't occur to me until just now, but I'm pretty sure it's the facility where they interrogated Ethan Rayne before they turned him over to the Council."
"Angel … you can't be serious?"
She was pretty sure she heard him chuckle before he replied. "How many more times are you going to ask me that?"
The trip out of the mine, for some reason, seemed to be over in seconds, in contrast to the interminable journey to the Scythe's former resting place.
"I don't suppose you have any pull with whatever paranormal division of the military my tax dollars are helping to pay for?" Buffy asked. "If we can get in there, ask this Gwen person some questions, explain what's happening in Moonridge … unless she's a total monster, she'll help us."
Angel pulled out the key fob for his car, unlocked the doors, then turned to stare at her. "You're asking if I have connections with the folks who took over the Initiative's operations? Buffy, I was a vampire until ten and a half months ago … they definitely considered me persona non grata." He pointed at her. "But I'm pretty sure you have a connection we can use. Why don't you try to call in a favor for once?"
It took Buffy only a few seconds to guess who Angel was referring to.
He cannot possibly mean who I think he means.
"Angel," she said, "Riley and I haven't spoken in years … actually, it might be getting close to decades at this point."
Angel shrugged. "We're not going to be able to just waltz into a military facility, not if we don't expect it to take days or weeks of arguing. I don't know anyone else who might be able to help us, so unless you can think of someone else, that's the only suggestion I have."
"Why do you think I'd still have Riley's number?"
Angel walked over to his car, leaned against its side, and folded his arms. He stared at her dispassionately and made no move to reply.
"Fine," she snapped as she retrieved her phone. "I'll see if he even picks up, particularly this late."
"He'll pick up," Angel said, "so long as he knows it's you."
Buffy's fingers froze on the screen for a moment as she considered what Angel had said, then she continued scrolling.
Riley Finn … there it is.
. . . . . . . . .
"See, this is where not knowing the ins and outs of our admittedly convoluted election ordinances is just a killer," Mayor Wilkins said with a smile as he disconnected the phone call.
Buffy, Buffy, Buffy … if you had just filled gone to City Hall tomorrow morning and personally filled out a one-page form, instead of skipping town, it would have taken me a week, at least, to be sworn in … maybe a lot longer.
He pressed an auto-dial button his phone and made another call.
When Allan accepted the call, his words were thick and slurred, undoubtedly due to his having been awakened in the middle of the night. "Yes?"
"Find Joshua," Mayor Wilkins instructed Allan. "He needs to have his team ready tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Allan asked. "That soon?"
Even though he knew Allan couldn't see his smile, Mayor Wilkins went ahead and smiled anyway. "When the position of mayor is vacant, and the only other candidate concedes, which Ms. Summers did by leaving town without personally submitting a request for a formal tally of votes … well … it'll take only a few phone calls to the right people to expedite my swearing in." He sighed deeply into the phone. "By the end of tomorrow I will be acting mayor of Moonridge, a position I shall fill until my term officially starts."
"And I assume acting mayor will be good enough?"
"Good enough for all the spells that were jumbled into this election?" Wilkins said. "Absolutely, and once I'm sworn in, I just need Faith to do her part."
. . . . . . . . .
Willow awoke, not from Ellie's crying, but from the unexpected, and unpleasant, sensation that she was alone in bed. She extended her arm, confirmed the lack of Oz's presence, then glanced around the room. The rocking chair next to the bassinet, both of which were made of glossy, dark wood, was empty. Willow stood, glanced inside the bassinet, and confirmed that their daughter was sound asleep.
The urge to poke the tiny sleeping form vanished when Ellie opened her mouth and expelled the cutest little sigh.
It was extremely difficult for Willow to pull herself away from the sight, but she forced herself through the door, and from there down the hall to the living room. The suitcases she had seen scattered about the room when she'd returned from Xander's hadn't been put away, but at least they weren't filled with clothes.
Yet.
"Hey, you," Willow said as she reached for the wall switch and flicked on the light.
Oz glanced up from where he was sitting on the couch. "Hey."
Her husband resumed staring into space, apparently content to say nothing else unless prompted.
"Oz, whatcha doing?" Willow asked.
"Thinking."
Willow nodded, then sat down next to him on the couch and held his hand. "We talked tonight, Oz, we talked a lot, and I think you and I are in a good place. Come to bed."
Oz stared at her, and his gray-blue eyes, usually vibrant with mirth, or with inner thoughts, or with … life … seemed flat and empty.
"A good place?" he asked. "Willow, Ellie and I almost weren't here when you got back from Xander's."
"The election was …"
Oz waved his hand. "This isn't about the election, it's about everything. Our family wasn't even supposed to be in Moonridge anymore."
"I can't leave," Willow said. "I just … I just can't. We talked about this."
"I know that."
She looked at him in surprise.
He smiled at her, but there was no joy or warmth behind it. "I get it, I really do. Saving the world is your priority, and that's just the way it is."
"Oh, Oz," Willow intoned, "that's not true."
Oz shook his head. "That's always been the way it is. You do important things, Will, and maybe what's best is that I just clear out of your way. For a while at least."
"What are you saying?" Willow asked. "You and our daughter are the most important things in the world to me, you know that."
"If Richard Wilkins, or whoever the next apocalyptic threat might be, is going to destroy the world, maybe you should be worrying about defeating them first," Oz suggested. "Maybe I've been looking at this the wrong way from the beginning."
"If somewhere in all of this," Willow said as she tightened her grip on Oz's hand, "is a suggestion that you and Ellie should leave, while I stay here, then please, Oz, don't even think that."
Oz took his hand away, stood up, and he walked into the kitchen.
Willow followed and watched as he filled a glass with water and slowly drank it. When he was finished, he set the glass on the counter, wiped his mouth, and turned to her.
"It's not a suggestion, Will," he said. "Tomorrow morning, I'm taking Ellie and we're leaving."
"No, you are not!" she said in a heated, angry tone, without even thinking.
What am I doing?
A second after the words left her throat, she clapped her hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened in shame.
"Oz, I didn't mean for that to come out that way," she exclaimed as she reached for him.
"I know," Oz said as he pulled her close. "But however you say it, it isn't going to matter. I'm not going to have our daughter in Moonridge one more night."
"We can't run from Richard Wilkins," Willow tried to explain. "He isn't just an end-of-the-world type threat, he's a I'll-be-coming-for-Buffy-and-her-friends type threat."
Oz pulled her closer. "You're not listening, Will. I don't want you to run from anything. I love you, I trust you, and I can't in good conscience get in the way of what you need to do." He stepped back, held her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. "But what you need to do, isn't the same thing as what your husband and daughter need to do." He released her shoulders and walked back into the living room.
"What I need is you," Willow said as she followed him.
Oz shot her a bewildered expression. "Willow, I'm leaving town, not this dimension. You can do incredible, awe-inspiring, amazing things, and you can help Buffy with whatever is coming, but I can't. I can't, and our barely a month-old daughter definitely can't."
"I'll leave," Willow promised. "If the choice is that I lose you, or Buffy and everyone else has to manage without me, then I'll leave."
Oz sighed and shook his head. "Even if you did leave, you'd just live the rest of your life wracked with guilt … that's assuming the world didn't end because you weren't around to help."
Willow found herself with no ready reply.
Oz continued, "I thought about asking you to come with us, Will, in fact, I thought about it non-stop for weeks. Then I realized that would be incredibly selfish and wrong of me, because, frankly, maybe because you're needed for bigger things."
"This isn't what I want, Oz."
Oz wiped at his eyes for a moment before he responded, "Your husband and your daughter don't want this, either." He paused, then continued, "So maybe what you should be focusing on is keeping yourself, and everyone else, in one piece, so that maybe someday we will get what we want." His eyes grew vacant and hollow. "Maybe someday."
Willow found that she had run out of words to voice, so she simply sat down on the couch next to Oz. He held her in his arms long after her wracking sobs had finally subsided.
. . . . . . . . .
"It's not like you and Riley kept in touch, Buffy," Angel reminded her, "so I'm not sure it's fair for you to feel offended."
"Still," she replied as she stared out the windshield. "He's been in Las Vegas for the last five years and he never even bothered to say hello?"
"I'm sure Riley has his reasons."
"I guess," Buffy said as she reclined her seat. She squirmed a few times in an effort to get comfortable, then closed her eyes. "Wake me when we get there?"
"Sure," Angel replied. "Barstow is halfway to Vegas, so we'll be there long before sun-up."
"I texted everyone and said we'll be back tomorrow evening at the latest," Buffy replied. "Hopefully all hell doesn't break loose before we get back."
"Willow and Giles don't seem to have any idea of how the Scythe is going to help you, Buffy," Angel said. "I don't suppose that hunch of yours has given us anything more to go on?"
"No," Buffy admitted. "I just … know. I'm not sure what else I can say."
It was a long time before Angel replied.
"Okay," Angel finally said. "First things first, we need to get the Scythe back in your hands."
Buffy considered suppressing the words trying to force themselves from her lips, but eventually her conscience got the better of her, and she gave in and uttered them.
"Thank you for understanding," she said in as loud a volume as she could muster. "I appreciate the support."
Is it possible for me to have said that with any less emotion?
"And I appreciate you saying that," Angel replied. "I'm … so sorry, Buffy. About everything."
"We agreed we weren't going to talk about us."
She fought against the wave of sadness that washed over her and tried to sleep.
