"Hey..." a mellow voice called into the nothingness.
Buffy scrunched her nose a couple times before opening her eyes. This situation felt mildly familiar but the pretty teen could not place why. The utter unknown factor of the situation offered no reason for the girl to struggle with her strategically missing memories. Accepting the situation at face value since it felt natural and offered no conflicting memories that led to other missing thoughts, the slayer decided to investigate further. Senses tuned, she found herself reclining in the softest grass she had ever felt. The earth beneath seemed to radiate a comforting warmth and Buffy could not resist shifting her hands across the inviting plant covered ground. The teen transferred her gaze from the fresh green plants, down her legs, and to her feet. Near her fashionable ankle boots, a weather-beaten picnic table sat. Buffy lifted her eyes further and encountered a pair of scuffed boots. Unlike her impeccable designer footwear, these boots were well worn work boots with heavy tread and frayed laces.
"Hey," the owner of the boots called once more.
Buffy raised her gaze further to meet the slightly smirking gaze of a green-eyed male that she estimated to be around her age. The left side of his mouth quirked higher as the blond turned to see if the redhead with the spiked hair was speaking to her or someone else. When all Buffy saw was more grass and a bright expanse of nothingness, she turned back to the young man. Since no one else was present, it was obvious the cute young man was addressing her. Feeling uncomfortable from her weaker position on the ground, the teen gracefully moved to her feet. She brushed her pants to remove any stray dirt or grass even though nothing marred her pristine white pants.
"I don't know you," Buffy stated.
"Not yet."
"Are you a friend?"
"Potentially," the male replied as his fingers moved over the strings of his unamplified electric guitar resting against his chest. For a few moments, Buffy watched the teen's chipped black nails as his fingers stroked the strings of his red and white instrument.
"You're a musician?" the pretty teen inquired as she settled onto the picnic table beside the unknown male.
"Sometimes," the guitarist admitted succinctly before adding a bit of self deprivation. "When my delusions escape their cage."
"Modest too much?" the blond replied jokingly as she clasped her hands together. When she lifted her eyes to her potential friend, his hair was no longer red. Instead, it was a pure black that made him appear almost deathly pale. His clothes had changed from dark jeans and a dark t-shirt to baggy blue jeans, a white t-shirt and an unbuttoned dress shirt. The worn boots remained in place as did the dark nail polish. Accepting the change as just a natural progression in this strange world, the slayer sat with her own thoughts for a moment.
Her companion quirked his lip after her joking quip but remained silent.
"So why are you here?" Buffy asked after sitting silently for less then a minute.
"Answers."
"To my questions or yours?" the pretty blond responded. The soft sound of fingers moving over guitar strings was the only reply.
"Guess mine," Buffy finally responded when her stoic companion failed to answer. The now strawberry-blond haired male just tilted his head slightly forward in a barely perceivable nod as if to encourage her to continue. Once again, his clothing had changed with his hair color.
"You know, this would work way better if you just, I don't know, talked?"
A chuckle from a source other than her companion seemed to caress the slayer's body. Buffy's breath caught because she wasn't sure if the reaction was pleasant or painful. Her eyes closed for just a moment but when they opened, the short musician was no longer sitting beside her. Instead, a slightly older man dressed in what the teen knew to be outrageously outdated formal wear stood beside her. Instead of the picnic table, the blond teen now found herself seated on a stiff couch with a thick almost velvet like cushion. The thick red fabric was stiff under her questing fingers. The teen raised her gaze from the ornate furniture to the overdressed young man.
"Perhaps this will work better, Miss Summers," the stiff gentleman offered quietly in an articulate yet soft British accent. His conversation was extended while staring at his dress shoes instead of her face.
Although she was unable to remember any specifics regarding the scene from an obviously other era, Buffy realized that the man, unlike the previous music-skilled teen, was a number of years older then her. It didn't stop her from addressing him in a casual manner.
"Are you a potential friend, too?" the blond inquired of her timid companion.
Almost overly eager, the gentleman lifted his head. He smiled hopefully. Buffy's breath caught in her chest and she just resisted whispering an unconscious response to the gorgeous blue eyes that lit with excitement at the prospect of being her friend. Even the slightly geeky glasses perched on his nose could not detract from the liveliness in the gentleman's expression. His eyes coupled with his accent innocently appealed to her. Unconsciously, her hand moved to her hair to ensure that she looked presentable. A soft blush rose across her cheeks and she smiled a bit nervously.
"I certainly hope so, Miss," her handsome companion replied before he too began to blush. To hid his reaction, the gentleman fixed his attention over the pretty teen's shoulder to avoid meeting her direct gaze. "I should quite enjoy pursing your acquaintance if you would be so inclined."
Buffy giggled at the gentleman's very precise speech. Despite being once again empty of her personal memories, something about the young man's voice gave her pause. Much like having a word stuck on the tip of ones tongue, it was as if his speech pattern reminded her of something or someone but she could not find the right connection.
"So why are you here?" she inquired before motioning him towards a seat on the couch. The older man glanced about as if confirming that no one would accuse him of untoward action by sitting beside the inviting young woman. He then perched himself on the seat stiffly as if anticipating the need to flee quickly.
"I wish to assist you in understanding what is occurring, Miss Summers."
"I think I have done this before. I'm dreaming, right? What are you doing in my head?"
The young man tilted his head just slightly as he considered her words.
"I dare say that you are dreaming, as am I, but we are not exactly in your head," he replied. "Nor am I in mine."
Buffy snorted and informed her overdressed companion that if she was dreaming then it had to be in her head.
"If this was a normal dream, you would be correct. Alas, your dream is both in your head and in the Vacuity."
"Vacuum-y what?
"Vacuity, Miss Summers," the gentleman stressed. "It is the place before and after, outside and inside, was, is and will be."
Buffy giggled.
"Ok... I totally want back that cute musician guy with the changing hair. He might not have said anything but at least he made sense."
For a moment, her companion seemed confused. The entity he represented was unsure if the slayer was being flippant or earnest with her request. Once again, his head canted to the right as the entity pondered the need to change persona yet again. The scene flickered between nothingness and the Victorian era setting.
The amusement on Buffy's face fled.
"No... wait. I didn't mean it," she pleaded as the thought of losing this chance at understanding not only what was happening with her but also her sense of self again tightened her stomach in an uncomfortable manner. Unconsciously, the pretty teen reached for the older man's arm. Her fingers grasp his wrist firmly and her palm brushed warmly against his bared skin. Her companion's breath caught and the world froze for a heartbeat as the man reeled from the unexpected touch.
Finally, he swallowed then nodded in acceptance of her request to stay. The entity's persona had always been a sucker for a pretty damsel and the entity could not help but react in the same manner as it wore the essence of her temporary body.
For a moment, Buffy smiled radiantly before returning to a more somber and serious mien.
"So, share-age?" the teen prompted.
"You were Chosen," the man's voice stated with obvious disdain dripping from the words. "The Powers took your freedom with their version of destiny. You have jumped through their hoops enough. I wish to offer you a choice."
At the mention of the word Chosen, Buffy's heart rate raced. The thumping in her chest became uncomfortable as her breath began to escape is short bursting gasps. Fear washed over her entire body as adrenaline released. The pretty teen began to shake. She stood and assumed a fighting stance although she did not consciously recognize it as a preparation for battle.
"What am I choosing?" Buffy nervously demanded. Her instincts warred within her body. The physical response served to further confuse the blond. She was unsure why she was reacting in such a manner and so began to struggle for her missing thoughts once more.
Although manners would force him to stand when Buffy arose, the entity overwhelmed the vessels preferred response. Instead, the Great Power held its puppet's hands up in an attempt to convince the distressed female that he meant her no harm.
"I just want to know if you wish to rest," quietly offered the entity through the lips of the Victorian gentleman.
Buffy snorted.
"How should I know?"
The teen relaxed her fighting stance. Although her feet remained in a ready stance, she crossed her strong arms against her chest and a truly annoyed expression marred her features.
"You are keeping me from knowing who I am. How can I know if I want to rest? I don't even know if I'm tired."
The entity lost control of its vessel for a second as the gentleman giggled in a rather ungentlemanly manner at the petulant antics of the pretty blond. He pulled his wire frame glasses from his face and pulled a crisp handkerchief from one of his pockets. While attempting to compose his inappropriate outburst of amusement, the gentleman absently cleaned his glasses.
Buffy caught her breath as she stared at the efficient movement of her companion. Once more, her heart rate escalated and her breath labored. She began to finely tremble. Buffy stared hard at the hands carefully cleaning the eye ware and she knew that the hands and the glasses were wrong. Forcing her formidable will onto the feeling of wrongness, the slayer concentrated on the action and the elusive memory. Just like her previous experience with attempting to force the memories to return, her mind sluggishly found against the nothingness that welled inside. Refusing to yield, Buffy fought for the coveted memory.
"NO!" shouted the suddenly distraught gentleman as he dropped his spectacles and handkerchief to reach for the trembling teen.
The nothing shimmered and Buffy remembered another British man. He was older and less formally dressed but still out of date in his attire. Buffy gasped in confusion as the memory shimmered back and forth from the young man now cradling her in his arms and her unidentified watcher. As she struggled to remember, a thin trickle of blood dripped from her nose. It trailed in a sharp red line across her upper lip and down her cheek towards her ear.
"Please stop," pleaded the soft English voice. "You are hurting yourself."
Buffy concentrated on the concerned blue eyes swimming in and out of focus directly above her face.
"I need them," whispered Buffy desperately. She had to make her companion understand how important it was that she be returned her memories. She knew that she needed them in order to properly make decisions and plan a way out of this confusing dream place.
"But they will hurt you, Daughter," whispered a voice inside her head.
"Don't care," the teen huffed as she pushed herself weakly up from the man holding her tenderly. He allowed her to go without a fight.
Buffy rose shakily to her feet. She placed her hand on the shoulder of the still kneeling gentleman while she regained her ability to stand independently. Buffy removed her hand from her companion's strong and convenient shoulder. She clasp her arms around her strangely chilled body. The teen glanced around at the vibrantly bright nothingness that now surrounded her and the entity-abandoned vessel.
"You offer me a choice but you leave me with nothing to choose. You hold from me myself. I can't take a test without the material," Buffy proclaimed then took a gamble. "If you don't provide the facts, you're no better than the Powers and their hula-hoops."
"Fine," snapped the Englishman who had remained by her feet. With an unexpected flourish, the gentleman rose. He reached forward and gently cupped her cheek. His expression faded from his face as the entity surged forward and finally allowed Buffy's memories to soak from the fog of nothingness and back into her mind.
Silent tears coursed down Buffy's cheeks as she welcomed the wave after wave of childhood memories. Both the happy and the sad were welcomed with open arms and appreciation. The entity allowed everything to return except the final hours of her life. Those the entity held in reserve to be returned only if the slayer chose to resume her previous existence.
When the onslaught of thoughts finally receded, Buffy stood more confidently despite the threat of the still nothingness that surrounded her. A slightly irreverent smile sneaked across her face.
"Peachy... Now we can talk."
Blue eyes opened to stare at the cracked ceiling. Without even moving his hand to the empty spot beside him, the vampire knew that his lover no longer remained beside him. Although she offered no physical warmth to the bed, her presence always filled the vampire with a mental warmth and a strength of purpose. He felt less when she was gone from his presence and more alive when she was near.
"Dru?" the bleached vampire called as he shoved off the confiscated silk comforter.
"Dru, Luv?" he called again as he slipped into a pair of black jeans. Leaving the pants unfastened, the compactly muscled demon padded barefoot from the bedroom and down the stairs. He followed the soft murmurings of his dark princess until he found her laying naked on the expensive Persian rug in the middle of the modernly decorated living room.
"Feeling better, Pet?" the blond inquired as he sunk to the floor beside his sprawled lover. Since their confrontation with an angry mob in Prague, the couple had been traveling everywhere Drusilla's visions led them in order to seek a cure for her ongoing weakness. "Did the monk give you the boost of energy we had hoped?
Drusilla shifted just slightly so that her lover could catch the gaze of her dark eyes. He could see them but he immediately realized that his princess was not seeing him.
"Oh, My Spike," the beautiful vampire chortled with glee as she began to dance on the ground to music only she could hear. Her body moved with a sinuous seduction that seemed to enthrall her besotted companion. The male's body responded to the luscious feast before him and he would have shucked his pants and joined his love in bliss on the carpet if she hadn't continued to speak.
"The shutters are open and the sunshine warms our frozen hearts," Drusilla whispered huskily as she raised her hands above her body as if warming them in the unseen light.
Spike cast a quick glance across the room to confirm that the windows and their shutters remained safely closed. With Dru, the British blond could never be sure if she would do something as dangerous and unpredictable as opening the shutters herself if the pixies floating in the air or the stars in the sky or the nasty gremlins under the bed told her to do so. In relief, he found the room was undisturbed by her flights of fancy. All the furniture remained in place and Drusilla's ragged collection of dolls remained clustered on the ornate marble mantel above the unlit fireplace.
"We are safe in the dark, Dru," the vampire promised his softly humming lady. He reverently smoothed her tangled dark hair away from her face.
Suddenly, Drusilla bolted into a sitting position.
"Miss Edith says we must choose," she proclaimed as she grasped Spikes forearms roughly. His pale skin whitened further under her impassioned grip. Her blood red nails bit into his skin and created little crescents of matching blood wells. "Choices and choosing... Chosen and chances."
"What choices, Pet?" Spike prompted as he sought to focus his lover's vision on something useful.
"The new Chosen One dances homage with Shiva."
A light burned in Spike's blue eyes and he grinned in evil anticipation.
"Shiva... the new slayer is Hindu. So India, Pet?"
Drusilla giggled as she placed an imaginary crown on her lover's head.
"In Delhi, William the Bloody wears his third crown. A bloody king for a tarnished crown... crown... crown... crown..." the naked vampire repeated as she became increasingly agitated. She began to shake and cry. Spike immediately attempted to sooth her but she thrashed in his grasp. "A bloody crown and no cake for princess."
Her hand flew at Spike's face. A harsh crack ripped through the air as she struck her lover on his cheek. Drusilla scrambled from the British vampire's grasp screaming at him that he would have all the cake and leave nothing for her. She ranted that he would be a king and she would be nothing. She shrieked that he would forget her and leave her to burn.
Horrified at the harsh accusations which eclipsed his momentary thrill at knowing he could take his next slayer soon, Spike rushed to subdue his frenzied companion. He bore her blows and vicious tongue and teeth until finally able to wrap her securely in his arms. He forced her to the hard wood flooring and pinned her hands against her chest as he pulled her back against his now scratched and bitten chest. Softly he whispered in Dru's ear in an attempt to calm her. He promised her all the cake she could eat and jeweled crowns for her beautiful head. He promised that he would never leave her to harm. He promised his love and devotion to the woman who gave him life though his heart ached that she would believe him capable of ever harming her. She was his everything. He would never leave her to burn as long as he still possessed an unlife.
Finally, the dark haired vampire allowed the blond to sooth her into a relaxed and quiet state. When she attempted to move, Spike released his punishing hold on her arms. She turned in his arms and snuggled against his bloodied chest. Drusilla's tongue darted from her mouth to slowly lap the crimson streaks. Spike shuddered under her rough tongue's ministrations.
"A crown for me, a crown for you," whispered Dru as she rubbed her cheek against Spike's healing chest. "Mummy's the lamb and we'll pop the cork and drink champagne in hell, my knight."
"If that's what you want, Luv," Spike promised as his hands trailed softly over Drusilla's cool skin.
"We will go where you want," he whispered as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Choices and Chosen," Drusilla murmured against the skin of his neck before she licked along his pulse line. Spike moaned softly in anticipation.
"And the Angels won't just watch," the vampire muttered as her face shifted form and she sunk her fangs into her lover's waiting flesh.
"Yo, Oz-man... wakey, wakey," called Devon as the lead singer for Dingos Ate My Baby companionably smacked his friend on the shoulder as he finally strolled into his friend's garage. As usual, the singer had been late to arrive for practice and the lead guitarist had allotted the down time for grabbing a quick nap. Although not normally prone to sleeping during the day, the red-haired teen had felt the overwhelming urge to curl up in the discarded lazy-boy gathering dust in the corner of his parents' garage.
"Glad you could make it," their drummer called as he happily tossed aside his losing poker hand onto the pile of washers and screws that the other band members had been using as chips in their make-shift gambling game.
"You didn't miss much," the bassist added as he too dropped his cards despite holding the winning hand with his full house.
"Well, except for sleeping beauty's dream. Must have been a floozy-doozy," the drummer added with a teasing grin. "I think he almost cracked a smile for a moment."
Devon laughed and pounded his short friend on the back as he demanded to know about this world changing dream. The singer rambled about fantasies of scantily clad women with large breasts for a while before finally refocusing on his friend.
"So?" Devon demanded with an expectant look as he stared at his buddy.
"Yeah, there was a girl," Oz responded with a slight smirk of amusement as he moved to retrieve his guitar from its stand.
As expected of the rowdy teens, his band mates clamored for him to expand on his fantasy girl. They pressed the musician about the topic while he hooked his red and white instrument into the amplifier and settled himself into position. When Oz finally tired of the ranting, he succinctly reminded everyone that they really needed to practice.
"Aw, come on, man," whined Devon "just give us something about your dream girl."
Oz stilled as he thought for a moment. With a slight smirk, he finally replied, "Potential."
"Huh?" the drummer complained. "Potential? What the hell does that mean."
"It means just that. She's got potential," Oz confirmed before blocking the remaining questions from his mind and concentrating on his instrument.