Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday, November 12, 2002 – Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; late evening:
Charles Gunn was half-tired, half-grumpy, and half-troubled. { And yeah, three halves and all that? Listen up, logic – y'all can damn well bite me, 'cause I don't give a rat's ass right now... }
Tired, because he and the others had been busy all day, looking for Angel and Cordelia. He, personally, had looked everywhere he could think of; 'leave no stone unturned' type scenario. To borrow a phrase from his favorite movie, he'd checked out every warehouse, henhouse, outhouse and whorehouse they might have been hiding in; yet all without finding the missing members of the family.
Grumpy because, again, he had been looking all day without finding any trace of his undead employer and Barbie Girl. The lack of success did sorta grate on his nerves. Charles considered himself a results-oriented type of guy, and manly pride made Angel's disappearing act in particular kinda hard to swallow. OK, sure, vampire. Gunn knew from personal experience how hard they were to find, if they didn't want to be found. But still, that didn't make it any easier to stomach.
Troubled because... well, in a word, Fred.
Gunn still remembered everything, after taking a sip of that disgusting crap which was the cure to the magical amnesia. He remembered everything he'd done while thinking he was seventeen; everything he'd thought, everything he'd felt. And most troubling to him were his feelings towards Fred, whilst caught up in the grip of Lorne's whacked-out spell.
Or rather... the lack of said feelings towards his girlfriend.
Gunn knew he wasn't the most expressive of men in this world; the life he'd led since escaping that damned orphanage simply wouldn't allow it. The only one he'd been able to open up to in the old days was his little sister, Alonna; and even then only in private, where the rest of his crew couldn't see. He had always acted that way, because that was the only way to survive.
But then, Fred had come along and smashed that theory to pieces. After they'd finally gotten together, he'd let himself feel things he'd never felt before. And for a while, everything had been – perfect.
Funny how one little murder – even if it was the slaying of a serial killer, who had murdered at least four people himself – could change all of that, so damn quickly.
Gunn figured this was something he and his girlfriend needed to talk about. Last night, after his memory had been restored, he'd automatically moved to hug and kiss her – but straightaway, Fred had recoiled away from him. Almost like he was a leper or something. And at the time, he'd let it go, but now...
Charles hesitated, wondering if he should just walk right in, but then he decided to knock on the door to Fred's room. Their room. Whatever. "Fred?"
"You don't need to knock, Charles, come on in."
Feeling slightly annoyed, Gunn opened the door and walked inside, closing the door behind him. As he looked around, he saw all the signs of Fred's absentminded genius – an empty pizza box resting on the bureau drawer, clothes strewn everywhere, scientific equations scribbled all over the walls – and Gunn had to restrain himself from automatically picking up after her. So not the time for that, right now.
"We need to talk," he said simply, noting how his girlfriend didn't make any attempt to get within arm's reach of him – and not liking it in the slightest. Charles hated it how so much distance has grown between them, since Oliver Seidel's murder...
"About what?" Fred replied, cocking her head slightly.
"You know what, Fred." Gunn shook his head, as the Texan woman suddenly took a step back. "Look, we can't avoid talking about this forever. I mean, what happened that night in Seidel's apartment. It's like all that is tearing us apart, and I honestly can't take it no more. I don't want to keep feeling like this, baby; I hate this!"
"Well, how do you think I feel about it?" Fred shot back, her voice rising several octaves in the process. "And, and, what do you want me to say? We killed a guy. It's done. What good is it gonna do us talking about it?"
"Fred – "
"Not to mention talking about how you didn't let me do what I set out to do, that night!"
Silence. Deafening. Two words Gunn had heard before, but until now, he had never truly understood their significance. "WHAT?"
"You heard me, Charles." Fred began to pace around the room, saying, "As soon as I found out who it was that had ruined my life, not to mention killed those other four students, God help me... but I wanted nothing more than to watch Professor Seidel die! I wanted him to suffer the way he made me suffer, to hurt him the way he had hurt me. And then, when the big moment finally arrived... "
She paused for a few seconds. "You ended up killing him for me. You." Fred laughed bitterly and added, "I guess that in the end that murderous son of a bitch won after all, didn't he?"
"NO!" Gunn said desperately. He reached out and grabbed his girlfriend, forcing her to look at him. "Fred, don't think that! It's not like that – "
"Isn't it?" Fred said, shrugging away his arms and cutting him off mid-denial. "Tell me the truth, Charles. Look at what's happened to our relationship. Look at how difficult it is for me to even touch you any longer. You still think Professor Seidel hasn't gotten his posthumous revenge?"
"That guy only wins if you let him, Fred," Gunn said passionately, willing her to believe him – and trying not to think of how everything was currently unraveling, right before his eyes.
"Seriously? Now I have a choice in the matter?" Fred scoffed, coming closer.
Gunn stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're not an idiot, Charles, you know perfectly well what I mean! We wouldn't be talking about this, we wouldn't even be having any problems right now – if you'd just stayed out of it! Why couldn't you have just taken the hint that I didn't want you to get involved? Why couldn't you have stayed here in the hotel that night?"
Gunn honestly couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You really think that was an option? You were gonna go face that guy – someone who'd tried to kill you, 'n more than once – and I was supposed to just stay here? You honestly thought I wouldn't do anything I had to, in order to protect you from him?"
"Protect me?" Fred replied, incredulously. "Protect me? My Lord, but you're actually serious, aren't you? Charles – maybe you've forgotten, but I survived five years in Pylea, all alone! Did it never occur to you that I didn't need your protection? That I was trying to protect you from the consequences of my actions?" she shouted at him, emotion overwhelming her.
"And yet, you went and got Wes involved," Gunn told her bitterly, the words already spoken before he realized just what he'd said. Damn brain to mouth filter. Obviously defective. "I mean – "
"I know what you meant," Fred interrupted coldly. "And for your information, the reasons I went to Wesley for help? One, because I knew that he'd give it, if I just asked politely. Two, because I knew that helping me take a human life wasn't something that he'd lose any sleep over, not anymore. Three, because I knew Wesley would respect my right to make my own decisions."
Pause. "Unlike you, Charles."
Those three words were like a knife straight to his heart. Gunn knew that he'd sacrificed a lot in his time; but the biggest sacrifice of all – killing a man, so that the woman he loved wouldn't have to – now felt dust and ashes in his mouth. And the worst part was he knew that, if given the chance to do it all over again, he wouldn't do anything differently – not if it meant that Fred's soul would be spared that particular taint. { Damn it, why can't she see that? }
{ Or maybe I'm the one who can't get what she's tryin' to tell me, } Gunn cogitated, after replaying the conversation in his mind. { Maybe it's totally old-fashioned or whatever, but the idea of Fred wanting the right to be able to personally commit murder? I just don't have no truck with that... }
"Lemme guess what you're thinking right now, Charles. Is it something like, why can't she understand that I did it all for her? Why can't she act like the woman I fell in love with, who would never hurt anybody? Why can't it all just go back to the way it was before, and we can simply forget all this ever happened?" Fred asked, her eyes staring into his. "Am I close?"
"Not exactly," Gunn replied thickly. "And guess I do have a problem with the woman I love wantin' the right to kill somebody, when she decides it's necessary."
Fred nodded, slowly. "When she decides, right. Charles, do you know what they used to say to women in this country, like all the time? My grandma told me it was patronizing stuff like, 'don't get so upset.' 'Don't rock the boat.' 'Don't do anything that'll just make things worse,'" she drawled in a suddenly-thick Texan accent. "I'm curious – does that sound similar to what the white folks used to say, during the days of segregation and racial discrimination?"
Gunn looked at her in stunned shock, unable to believe that Fred would ever say something like that to him. "Not the same thing, 'n you know it," he eventually spluttered.
"All I know is that things are different now, Charles," Fred said in a low tone of voice, seemingly unable to look at him anymore. "I'm different. You're different. Killing Professor Seidel – I honestly don't know if we fit together any longer, after we did that."
"So what are you sayin', Fred?"
"That maybe we should take a break," the dark-haired woman replied slowly.
"OK, whatever. I don't wanna fight with you – so let's go get some ice cream, or – " Gunn started to say.
"No, Charles. I meant, take a break from us," Fred said sadly.
Silence. Deafening. Not to mention Gunn felt like his girlfriend had somehow just ripped out his heart, and stomped all over it. "You sayin' you wanna break up with me?"
"No," Fred replied immediately. "Just... I need to figure some stuff out, Charles. And until I do... maybe it'd be better if you moved into another room here in the hotel. There's plenty of empty ones, after all."
{ Sounds like a breakup to me, } Gunn thought to himself, even though he didn't say that out loud. He just nodded, gathered all his things together and carried them into the room next door; a temporary resting spot, until he could find a better place in the Hyperion to make his own.
A heartbroken shell of the man he'd been, less than ten minutes ago.
The same time – Mara Sunil Temple, Kathmandu Valley, Nepal; morning (due to the time zone difference):
Oz stood at a window and looked out at the Bagmati river, which was just barely visible from his vantage point within the temple. He suddenly recalled the lessons which had been passed on to him after he'd arrived here; including the four noble truths of Chán Buddhism.
1. Life is suffering.
As Oz meditated upon that first truth, he remembered all the events of his life that had led him here. Learning that after being bitten by Jordy, his little cousin, he'd been cursed with lycanthropy. Learning that Willow was cheating on him with Xander. Learning that Willow was utterly devastated after he'd cheated on her with Veruca. Learning that Willow had chosen Tara instead of him, after he'd (briefly) returned to Sunnydale.
All life is suffering, the Buddha had taught. Universal is the pain. Oz figured he had learned that lesson well, especially after being thrown into that Initiative prison cell by Buffy's boyfriend and getting experimented upon, before he'd finally escaped the Hellmouth.
2. Suffering is caused by the wish for non-permanent things.
The second truth espoused by the Great Teacher. Not exactly a popular concept in the West, Oz knew, given the massive consumer-oriented focus of that society. Still, he figured that all over the world, it was simply human nature to wish for such things.
Like the house with a white picket fence, the zebra-striped van, the bass guitar you'd wanted even before puberty had set in...
Maybe even the life you wanted to have, with the red-haired woman you'd lost your heart to.
{ Still, all living things die, } Oz thought to himself. { Eventually, everything physical falls apart. And in a world of violence like this one, people get killed – like what apparently happened to that Tara girl. }
3. Suffering ends when non-lasting things are rejected.
Oz remembered how, before he'd left the States for the second time, he had been in a very bad place in his life. It had taken coming back to Asia and putting the past behind him before he'd finally managed to gain some semblance of inner peace. Studying the Buddha's teachings had shown him that, in the end, only eternal goals were truly worth pursuing.
{ But if that's the case, } Oz thought to himself slowly, { then why do I suddenly find that hard to believe, after hearing from Dream Amy what's been happening in Sunnydale lately? }
If the Buddha was right, there was no past, and no future. Only the naked now.
Did that mean that his love for Willow, even if it lasted only for a moment in the grand scheme of things, ought to be grasped and cherished, because that instant lasted forever?
Oz didn't know the answer to that question. Something which troubled him greatly.
4. Seek the eternal. The forever-lasting.
Oz meditated on this fourth and final truth. He knew that the words meant different things to different people. In America, they would be taken to mean adopting a new religion, or finding God; here, they meant finding a way so that the present became forever, in order to achieve Enlightenment. Finding a way for the now to become eternity, to be freed from the endless cycle of life, death and rebirth...
Along with all the attendant pains and pleasures.
{ Everything except spirit is based on illusion, } Oz remembered hearing from one of the Masters of the temple. { Neither pain nor pleasure are real. To the enlightened mind, they simply don't exist. } And in a violent world such as this one, that theory was certainly attractive. But Hell – the Hellmouth – persisted, despite the theory.
Along with the current danger to Willow's life.
Breathing out slowly, Oz shook his head, flexed his shoulders, and looked away from the window at his surroundings. He examined the tiles and marble of the temple, and became aware of the tinkling wind chimes and the fragrance of incense. Walking away, Oz soon came to a huge golden statue of the Buddha, its surface reflecting the morning sunlight. He stared at the image of the Great Teacher, the traditional sculpture of Siddhartha Gautama seated with his legs crossed, his hands upon his knees, caught in a moment of eternal instruction.
Spirit. That was the real truth behind the Buddhist philosophy, to Oz's mind. { The one thing you can truly control, } he thought to himself, { is whether you choose to be a good person or a bad one... }
"You appear troubled."
Oz turned around, surprised to hear a voice speaking to him in English. His eyes briefly widened at seeing who his companion was. He replied in the same language, "Grand Master, this is an unexpected honor."
"Walk with me, young one." The wizened old man said nothing more, merely turning around and strolling away. Oz hurried slightly to catch up. The Grand Master then said, "Speak."
"I am troubled, yes."
The monk smiled briefly. "I will need more than that, if I am to help you."
"Help me with what, Grand Master?"
"The dream pathways to Bhaktapur have been busy, lately," the old man said somewhat cryptically. "And one such traveler has made a long journey in order to meet with you. Her visit has reminded you of things you had almost forgotten. People you had almost forgotten."
"All this is true," Oz replied laconically.
The Grand Master chuckled slightly, before leading him to an alcove. The head monk gestured at Oz to sit down, and the werewolf did so, copying the Grand Master's kneeling position. "Tell me of what transpired between you."
Oz obeyed, holding nothing back. The old man nodded, once the tale was fully told. "You are confused on what is the right thing to do next. To go back, or to stay here."
Oz shook his head. "There is nothing for me in Sunnydale, Grand Master. Not anymore."
"The river tells no lies. But a man standing close to the riverbank can still hear them," the head monk replied, before reaching for a jade cup lacking any handle. "Like this cup... you are full of questions. To see the light of wisdom... you first must empty your cup." The Grand Master drank, briefly, and then offered the cup to him.
{ Have faith, } Oz told himself, before he accepted the cup and dutifully emptied the contents down his throat.
Immediately, his head felt funny. Oz wasn't sure what was going on, as the Grand Master's voice seemed to fill his mind. "Think, young one. Meditate deeply on the words this magical traveler has spoken to you. What is the right thing to do?"
Oz almost swayed from side to side, his head suddenly full of... colors. Amy's voice echoed in his mind, { Willow needs a solid anchor from someone with the right connection to her. }
The colors swirled around in his mind's eye, making Oz feel even more confused and disoriented.
{ And even though she left Boys Town a long time ago, you two still have that sort of connection. }
The colors suddenly changed from a red-yellow hue to a blue-violet one.
{ I miss Oz, I really do. Normal guy like me, except for three days of the month; but come a full moon, he had a wolf-y mojo that was definitely not to be messed with. }
Oz barely had time to register how that sounded like Xander's voice, before the colors changed yet again. A weird combination of purple and lilac...
{ I feel like some part of me will always be waiting for you. Like if I'm old and blue-haired, and I turn the corner in Istanbul and there you are, I won't be surprised. Because... you're with me, you know? }
Willow's voice faded as the colors expanded, morphing into something that couldn't be explained or described. It was like seeing X-rays or radio waves with your own eyes, colors that held no meaning to normal human comprehension. Oz felt more confused than ever...
Abruptly, his head cleared, and the effects of the liquid vanished. Oz stared at the Grand Master, his mind and heart full of unspoken questions.
"You have come far, young one," the old man said approvingly, after he remained silent. "Further perhaps than you currently realize. And farther still to travel."
Oz bowed his head politely, knowing his path had now changed irrevocably from what it was before.
A while later – minimum security wing of the Northern California Women's Facility in Stockton, California; afternoon:
Faith paced around restlessly, looking around at her new (temporary) accommodations. Standard procedure for any inmate about to be released; plus, once the news got out that she'd been pardoned for her crimes, her enemies in here would probably go all out to get at her while they still could. Even Deb would want to try again, somehow, even though she had already been sent to the hole -slash- solitary confinement.
The events of the past two days were still somewhat hard for her to believe, to be honest. On Saturday, she'd been an ordinary convict (well, semi-ordinary; Slayer, of course), stuck away from things of the male persuasion and contemplating spending at least the next twenty years behind bars, willingly. But now, Faith knew, she had to face the fact that she was a target for the First Evil – not to mention the friggin' Council.
In one sense, arranging for her to get kicked out of here wasn't entirely unexpected. She'd been expecting something more along the lines of an assassin, someone a bit more competent than good old Deb, but Faith figured it wasn't impossible that those old farts in England might have finally wised up a bit. If caught, any prisoner (or even any guard) could be made to talk – the Warden was hardass enough to do that – and that could lead to problems for the Tweed Brigade. Problems which someone over there with even an ounce of brains could point out were totally unnecessary.
Much easier to use their political sway to get her cut loose from the system, and then pick up where they'd left off – that night those assholes had been shooting at her and B, from that goddamn helicopter.
{ No, wait, they probably won't try that again, } Faith suddenly thought to herself. { Too risky to go in for a repeat performance. If they're smart enough now to think of getting me released from jail in order to kill me, then they're smart enough to have come up with something more subtle than that whole death-from-the-sky thing. } She couldn't help wondering how the Watchers would go about it...
It suddenly occurred to Faith to wonder whether maybe – just maybe – the Council wasn't doing all this in order to kill her, but recruit her for the fight against the First Evil instead?
She quickly dismissed that notion, though. She simply couldn't let herself believe that Xander could accomplish something like that. It was tempting to think her old boy-toy would try to pull whatever strings he could after that little visit, sure; but sad fact was that no one apart from Jeeves would even listen to him. And hell, from what Harris had said on Sunday – even Buffy's Watcher was kinda iffy on that, nowadays.
{ Damn it, I hope the Council's goon squad isn't stupid enough to try to ambush the prison bus as it goes out the front gates and heads for Stockton, } Faith thought to herself in sudden concern. { Last thing I need is more civilian deaths on my conscience. } She wondered whether or not to warn Rhodes about the possibility of something like that, and eventually decided to sleep on it.
She suspected tomorrow would come soon enough, and bring a lot more problems with it.
A few hours later – 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; evening:
"Anchovies, anchovies, you're so delicious. I love you more than all the other fishes," Dawn sang in the kitchen, while eating the pizza Buffy had quite specifically told her not to order this evening. Getting bored, she grabbed the last slice and headed upstairs to her sister's bedroom. Still holding the pizza slice while going through Buffy's clothes and holding them up to her in front of the mirror, Dawn accidentally brushed the pizza against Buffy's favorite white blouse.
"Oh, no. Ah, whatever, she'll think it's blood... "
The same time – main research table at the Magic Box, Sunnydale; evening:
{ I wonder what's taking Anya so long, down in the basement? She can't be avoiding me because of what happened last year, can she? }
It was possible, and even likely; but either way, Willow knew she was fighting to stay awake as she went over the various volumes Xander's former fiancée had in stock on magical amnesia. Willow knew that she'd been neglecting her college studies, and she really ought to be studying at the UC Sunnydale library for her mid-terms right now; but kinda funny how Cordelia showing up in town again had made her adjust her priorities.
All right, maybe not funny ha-ha – but funny in terms of making up for past mistakes, and ruining Xander and Cordelia's relationship way back when.
"So," a female voice said, as Willow turned to look behind her. "This is the Magic Box, huh? Slayer Central and all that. Hey."
Willow blinked, staring at the new arrival. "I know you. I mean, I've seen your picture."
Cassie Newton, or at least someone that looked like the deceased precognitive girl Buffy had tried to help a few weeks back, walked over to Willow's table. "Yeah, I know, it's really weird; 'cause we never actually met."
Willow stared at her. "Actually, I think it's really weird because you're dead."
Cassie laughed, slightly. "Yeah, well... "
"Did I fall asleep?" she asked, partly to herself.
"No, no, I'm here. I mean, not, not here-here... it's kinda complicated. Kind of ironic, too, you know. I wrote all that intense poetry about death and dying, and yet here I am again."
"Yeah, ironic," Willow replied, feeling even more uncomfortable.
Cassie sighed. "I knew this would completely freak you out. It's just – " She sat at the table, leaning back against the chair slightly. "She asked that I come talk to you. It's important."
"She?" Willow asked in confusion.
"Don't worry. I'm not gonna hurt you, or anything – " Cassie started to say.
"Who asked you to come here? What are you talking about?" Willow interrupted suspiciously.
"She says she still sings," Cassie replied cryptically.
"What?"
"Remember that time on the bridge when you sang to each other? Well, she says even though you can't hear it, she still sings to you," the blond girl with purple highlights in her hair said, looking away to the side.
"Tara?" Willow suddenly looked thunderstruck. She reached out, but Cassie pulled away out of reach. "Are you talking about Tara?"
"Yeah, listen, don't freak out but she – "
"If that's true, then why isn't she here in person?" Willow demanded angrily. "If you can manifest yourself, why can't she?"
The blond girl shrugged slightly. "I'm sorry. She just can't."
"That's not a good enough reason," Willow said, getting up off her chair as Cassie did the same. The redhead reached forward with her hand again, but the blond backed off immediately.
"Look, I just need to tell you – " Cassie started to say. But suspicion had crystallized into something more by this point, and Willow unexpectedly darted forward, sticking her hand through the non-corporeal female form.
"You're not a ghost, are you?" Willow asked, lowering her hand. "'Cause that sure didn't feel like ectoplasm to me. Wanna tell me who you really are? 'Cause I already figured out you're not that Cassie Newton girl."
"You BITCH!" 'Cassie' suddenly snarled, dropping the act and glaring at Willow.
"I thought so. You're the First," she replied, glaring right back at the eldritch horror. "I mean, you're not actually gonna deny it, are you? So what do you want?"
"Me? Oh, Rosenberg, of all the questions you could ask," the First Evil said, as it morphed into the image of Warren Mears – the man Willow had killed six months ago. "I want it all. Fact is, the whole good-versus-evil, balancing the scales thing? I'm over it. I'm done with the mortal coil. Horror. Bloodshed. Destruction. All that crap, it's coming. And believe me, the big finish is something you're not gonna live through."
"From beneath you it devours," Willow quoted the words D'Hoffryn had spoken during the previous month, staring at the non-corporeal nightmare.
"Oh, not it. Me."
Willow watched in disbelief as Warren's skin rolled back, and his jaws flipped back and he started turning inside out until he was a floating ball of flesh, then – poof! Warren/the First disappeared altogether.
A short while earlier – Restfield Cemetery, Sunnydale; evening:
Buffy knelt beside the fresh grave, watching as a hand popped out of the soil. "Here we go... "
Soon, the undead version of Holden Webster dug himself out of his grave. He was dressed in a nice black suit, wearing a light blue shirt and a tie. Buffy didn't waste time; she started to fight him, and the ensuing battle was as vicious as it was deadly. Finally, the vampire pushed Buffy back against a headstone and grabbed her throat, going for the kill when he suddenly stopped, and said to her –
"Buffy? Buffy Summers?"
The Slayer blinked. "Have we-?"
"Oh, uh. Webs? Holden Webster. We went to school together. European History? I let you crib off my Václav Havel essay that time. You, you really don't remember me?"
"Oh, sure. Sure I do," Buffy replied, less than convincingly.
"Yeah, right. What's happened to me?" Webs asked, as his face abruptly changed from demon to human. "Whoa! Did I just-?"
"Yeah, you can do that now. On account of you're a vampire," Buffy told him somewhat sadly.
"Oh, so I'm a vampire." He laughed, briefly. "Huh. How weird is that?"
"Sorry," Buffy said sincerely, mourning the loss of someone she'd – apparently – known in high school.
"No, no. Don't be. I feel – strong. Like I'm connected to a powerful, all-consuming evil that's gonna suck the world into a fiery oblivion. How 'bout you?"
"Not so much with the connected lately," Buffy reluctantly admitted. "Still, I got a job to do. Me Slayer; you dust pile."
"Slayer?" Webs asked, with what looked like absolute fascination. "You mean, you do this sort of thing professionally?"
"Yeah. Well, not in the sense of a paying job, it's – it's more of a calling. Even back when we were in school," Buffy shrugged.
"Oh. Well, I guess that explains a lot," Webs nodded. "Maybe even why you dumped Scott Hope, back then. Even though he said that you were secretly gay."
"What? Oh, that ringworm! How dare he... " Buffy exploded, fuming.
"Hey, I wouldn't take it personally; he said that about every girl who dumped him. And then last year, big surprise – he finally comes out," Webs shrugged.
"He what? Oh ye gods. Men! Do I know how to pick 'em, or what?" Buffy shook her head.
"Oh? You've had a lot of relationship problems over the years, then? Maybe I can help, psych major at Dartmouth and all."
Buffy briefly glared at the soulless vampire. "Emotional therapy from the evil undead? Not really my thing."
Webs raised an eyebrow. "You know, back in high school, I noticed how you always had a significant tell whenever the teachers asked you something, and you lied about it. And I just saw that tell again now. So, what, you've had lots of emotional hearts-to-hearts with vampires before now?"
"I have not! And we are not having an emotional heart-to-heart, here!" Buffy exclaimed angrily.
"No need to get angry... "
"I mean, why would I do that? Why would I put myself through something like that? Why would I put myself through heartbreak, misery, sexual violence, and possible death?" she ranted, even more angrily.
"OK, it sounds like someone's got issues... "
"Issues? I'll issue you! You vampires, you're all the same. It's all about sex and death and love and pain with you, and even when you claim to love someone, you'll still – "
"Oh my God!" the vampire interrupted, staring at her in astonishment. "Well, not my God, obviously, but – wow!"
Buffy calmed down and said, "What?"
Webs asked her, "Have you ever been in a sexual relationship... with a vampire like me?"
Unfortunately for him, that was the last straw as far as Buffy was concerned, and they started fighting again. This time for real. Webs ducked and weaved, getting a few punches and kicks in here and there; but even with his Tae Kwan Do training and undead strength, he was no match for an angry Vampire Slayer with seven years' fighting experience. The vampire eventually fell to the ground and ended up flat on his back, and Buffy straddled his chest, pointing a stake at his heart.
"The condemned man usually gets a last request. So, could you answer my question? Were you in a relationship with a vampire?" Webs asked, before Buffy could dispatch him.
"Yeah. His name was Spike," Buffy admitted quietly, her arm still upraised.
"Hold the phone. Did you say Spike?!" Webs asked in pure astonishment.
"Yeah, why? You know him?" Buffy narrowed her eyes into slits.
"Sure; he was the guy who, uh, vampified – "
"Sired," Buffy corrected automatically.
"Huh?"
"Sired. Turning a human into a vampire, the appropriate term is 'sired,'" Buffy explained.
"Oh. Right. Well, it's just kinda funny, seeing as Spike was the guy that sired me," Holden said, honestly.
No sooner than he had said that, though, Buffy's stake flashed down, dust exploded everywhere – and there was the brief, horrible, whistling shriek of an escaping demon being sent back to Hell.
A few hours later – the Bronze, Sunnydale; night:
Spike sat in silence, drinking whiskey alone within the teen club, as the bartender this evening wasn't as picky as the one from last night. A blond woman in a faux-fur trimmed jean jacket put down a pack of cigarettes on the bar in front of him. He raised his eyebrows, turned to look at her and nodded to the stool beside him. She sat down next to him, and they started to talk.
Not long afterwards he escorted her out of the Bronze, smiling. The woman started laughing, at least making it seem like she was having a good time. Eventually, they arrived at her apartment building, and she gestured for him to come inside. Spike stood still, though, keeping his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. She came back down the stairs and stood close to him, a confused look on her face.
Without warning, Spike morphed into his vampire face and sank his fangs into her neck. He drank deeply, but she didn't struggle all that much and barely even made a sound as the lifeblood was sucked out of her.
A few moments later, Spike dropped the corpse onto the ground. He turned slightly, his fangs and mouth dripping with blood. He wiped his lips with his hand, before staring down at the body.
Earlier that evening – Xander's apartment, Sunnydale; evening:
Xander waited for Cordelia to get ready and come out of her room. He kept himself busy, figuring that she wouldn't be too long; not if they wanted to make it to the restaurant on time, anyway. He figured she wouldn't have forgotten that in Sunnydale, that sort of place will give away a free table (even if you'd reserved it weeks ago) at the first opportunity; because you never knew just what sort of clientele might walk through your front door.
And whether you yourself might be on the menu later on, if you pissed off the wrong sort of patron.
Still, when Cordelia finally showed up, he knew it was definitely worth the wait. Because she was looking especially edible in her fancy blue dress, her new shoes and carefully styled (short) hair.
{ Wow! } Xander thought dazedly. { Oh, man, seventeen or otherwise – am I an evil, horrible person for wanting to yank Cordy into my bedroom right now, and fuck her brains out? }
"So, what do you think?" Cordy asked, pirouetting and taking gleeful note of the stunned, slack-jawed look on his face.
"I'm thinking thoughts I definitely shouldn't be, at least not right now," he muttered before saying in a louder voice, "You look incredible, Cor. Even more than you usually do."
"Thank you. Now let's get going, Doofus," Cordelia flashed him her best toothpaste commercial smile. "We don't want to be late for our reservations."
He nodded and escorted her out of the apartment, locking the front door before they headed downstairs to his Ford Taurus. Their time in the damaged car passed quickly before they arrived at Didier's; it was filled with idle chatter, and the sound of Cordelia's laughter over past embarrassments in the life of Alexander Lavelle Harris.
"Oh, God, I'd almost forgotten about that. You and that whole 'I wanna be a fireman' thing, when we were little kids," Cordelia chuckled, as they entered the restaurant.
"Hey, we were only six! And at the time I was majorly into reruns of that old TV show, Code Red," Xander smirked.
"Ahem! Can I help you?" the maitre'd asked, looking down his nose at the new arrivals. Then his eyes widened, as he examined Cordy more closely. "Sacré bleu!Mademoiselle Chase, is that you?"
"Hello, Jean-Michel. It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Cordelia said in a regal tone, one that would normally push all of Xander's buttons completely the wrong way. But they were here to celebrate his promotion at work, and so Xander forced himself to relax. So not the time for his inferiority issues to raise their ugly head.
"Oui, it certainly has," the maitre'd came over to her, ignoring Xander completely. "Too long, ma chérie. Shall I escort you to your old table? Any riff-raff present, I shall have them removed at once!"
"Thank you for the offer, but not tonight," Cordelia sent the man in the black tux a pleased smile. "We already have a reservation for eight o'clock, under the name of Harris."
Jean-Michel went to examine his book, and nodded quickly. "I shall have you seated in a moment. Pierre!" He snapped his fingers, and a waiter wearing a white shirt and black tie came rushing over. Jean-Michel spoke rapidly in his native language to the man, and then said to Cordelia in English, "He will escort you to your table, Mademoiselle. Welcome back to Didier's!"
Xander saw Cordelia nod graciously and walk off majestically, like she was finally back in her natural element. { OK, that was kinda unexpected. Hang on, they're leaving without me! }
Harris quickly followed after them, managing to get to the table as the waiter placed two menus on the wooden surface. He quickly pulled out the chair for his dinner companion and then seated himself as Cordelia opened up the menu, and scanned its contents.
"Je commencerai par une soupe de légumes. Accompagné d'une bouteille de Cabernet Sauvignon, s'il vous plait," she said with a slight French accent, quickly putting the menu down.
"Rouge ou blanc?" the waiter inquired, taking note of Cordelia's request.
Cordelia looked at him as if he was retarded. "Rouge, bien sur."
"Immediatément," the waiter nodded sharply and turned to stare at Xander.
"Uh, I think I'll have the spinach entrée," Harris told him, after putting down the menu. The waiter made a note on his pad, muttered "Merci" and then departed with their order. Xander then looked at Cordelia and said, "I didn't know you spoke such good French, Cor."
"I've been coming to this restaurant with Mother and Daddy for years. Or, at least, I used to. It was either learn the language, or have the staff look down on you as an uncouth barbarian. And Mother wasn't going to stand for that, so my French and Italian lessons started early," the brunette explained rapidly. "Anyway, enough about that. Where were we?"
"Talking about the old days, mostly."
"Huh. Right. Remember that episode at the fairgrounds when we were eleven, how you bet me that you could win that stuffed dog at the shooting gallery, and you tried and tried and tried... "
"And then you smirked and stepped up, and won it on your first shot," Xander chuckled for a moment. "Pre-teen or not, my man card was in serious danger of being revoked that day!"
"Oh please," Cordelia brushed that aside, as the wine waiter arrived with their bottle of red. She examined it and said, "1973, a very good year. Please pass my thanks on to Jean-Michel for his generosity."
"Oui, mademoiselle," the Frenchman replied, as he expertly uncorked the bottle and poured a generous helping into their wineglasses. "Please enjoy." He then walked away.
"So, you were saying?" Xander asked Cordelia, as he sampled the wine. Not exactly big on the whole alcohol thing, and never had been – apart from the time he'd been drowning his sorrows after the failed wedding debacle. Still, he knew quality when he drank it. "Nice."
"It is," Cordelia nodded, taking a sip herself before getting back to the previous topic of conversation. "And I guess what I was saying is that one of the things I've always admired about you – even when I practically hated you, before we finally got together – is your refusal to give up. Not when it comes to something you really care about. You try and try and even though sometimes you fail, no one can ever say you didn't try your hardest to succeed. I think that's one of the things that made me start to fall in love with you, Dorkhead."
Xander was touched, and smiled at her. "That's very nice of you to say, Cordy. Y'know, it's kinda weird – but from the moment you came back into my life? Well, truth is, it's been ages since I've been this happy."
Cordelia sent him a long, penetrating, almost smoldering look, but said nothing.
"What? What is it? Because to quote you, honey, you have 'something' face," Xander said in minor consternation.
"Fine, just remember that you asked for it. 'Cause I was thinking that however happy I make you right now, it's nothing compared to how happy you'll be... once we're officially back together," Cordelia said, before taking in his open-mouthed expression. "I need to go to the bathroom, Doof. And close your mouth before you catch flies."
Xander watched her get up and leave, before finally snapping his lips shut.
A few seconds later – restaurant bathroom, Didier's of Sunnydale; evening:
Cordelia took a deep breath, heading for the bathroom mirror to wash her hands and check her makeup. She knew she was taking a big risk by putting herself out there for Xander this way – but damn it, the possible rewards were definitely worth it. She hadn't forgotten the advice Aura had given her yesterday, and figured there was no point being 'coy' any longer.
Oh, sure, still seventeen, so to speak; but somehow, Cordelia was sure that even after her memories were restored, she wouldn't be changing her mind on just who was the object of her affections nowadays. If she had to – she'd briefly go back to L.A., grab all her stuff, then come back here and move in with Xander permanently. See how long he managed to resist her attempts at reconciliation, under those circumstances...
"Hello, Cordelia."
She whirled around at the sound of that accented, female voice. "KENDRA?"
The image of the Caribbean Slayer merely smiled at her. And for some reason, straightaway, Cordelia knew something was wrong. Not that she and the mocha-skinned Chosen One had ever been close, the few times they'd interacted all those months ago (years ago, damn it!) – but she was Cordelia Chase, and her Hellmouth-trained instincts were screaming warnings really loudly at her right now.
"You're not Kendra," Cordy said accusingly, abruptly figuring out the truth. "You can't be; she's dead. Xander told me that himself. So who – or what – are you?"
The false image of Kendra raised her eyebrows sardonically. "Someone who needs ta talk wit' you... "
TBC…
A/N: Hope we got the French right, 'cause you really can't trust most online translations nowadays. And this was one of the hardest chapters of the story to write, to be honest with you. The Gunn/Fred relationship imploding (even without Wes present in this AU, that was kinda inevitable), Oz doing a real-life version of a Jedi Master in training, Faith contemplating the future, Dawn being a brat, Willow getting a clue before the First went too far, Buffy getting rid of Webs without all the undead psychoanalysis crap (seriously, did anybody other than us find that a little too farfetched to buy?), Spike killing that woman without saying a word on-screen, and Cordelia confronting the First Evil after going on a 'date' with Xander. Complicated, huh? Well, anyway, we hoped you liked it! Thanks heaps as always to everyone who's sent feedback and a review, and has stuck with the story so far. And no need to state what we're hoping you'll do next, right? :)
