Oz pulled up in front of Pan's warehouse, and they all piled out, stretching their legs. Buffy knocked on the outer door, and feet could be heard approaching from the other side. This time, the door didn't open, however. She smiled grimly, pleased with their newfound caution, but not so pleased with its cause.
"Who is it?" a voice demanded from within.
"Grach, it's Kyon," Buffy called back.
The door opened a crack, and once Grachen had confirmed that it was indeed the Slayer waiting on the other side, he stepped aside to let them in.
"Hey girl," he greeted happily. "How was your trip?" He eyed Wesley with interest.
Buffy smiled. "Could've been worse." Following his gaze to Wes, she added, "I always say; the sign of a good trip is when you bring home more than you left with."
Grach chuckled. "Is this one of your contacts?"
"Yep. I convinced him to blow off the L.A. scene and be my partner in crime." She smirked. "Grachen, meet Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."
"Pleasure," the ex-Watcher murmured, extending a hand.
Grachen shook it with a welcoming smile. "Any friend of Kyon's is a friend of mine. Call me Grach."
"So, how's our patient?" Buffy asked.
"Same as this morning," Grach reported. "Spends most of his time sleeping."
He led them to the back room where Pan lay resting on his bed. "It's incredible how fast he's healed," Oz murmured, remembering the horrific condition they'd found him in a mere week ago.
Buffy shrugged, not wanting to get into another discussion about her healing powers. She'd had to deal with a lot more stiffness and pain this past week. Luckily, there hadn't been any major injuries. But the everyday bumps and bruises of slaying didn't automatically heal overnight anymore. There was one more week to go before her powers would return, and she mentally crossed her fingers that she wouldn't sustain a serious wound.
Pan chose that moment to open his eyes. He blinked rapidly several times until his gaze came to focus on Buffy. "Kyon?" he whispered hoarsely.
She turned to face him, eyes widening. "Pan!" she exclaimed, instantly reaching out to brush a soothing hand across his forehead. Turning to the bedside table, she retrieved a glass of water and held it to his lips. "Here, drink," she ordered softly.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks," he murmured.
"Better?"
"Mmm." He sighed with contentment when she placed a gentle hand back on his forehead.
Buffy turned to their audience and grinned triumphantly, feeling a huge weight lift from her shoulders. "How do you feel?" she asked, turning back to her patient.
"Much better," he replied. "Stiff, and there's some pain in my knee." He turned his brown eyes up to meet Buffy's. "It's incredible," he added. "I thought I'd kicked the bucket for sure."
"Well, your harem would really miss you, so we decided not to let you go," she explained lightly.
Pan watched her, the awe in his expression plain. "Why do I feel you… in here?" he asked, pressing a hand to his chest.
Buffy sighed. "When I healed you, it formed a kind of connection between us." His eyes widened, and she rushed to clarify. "It's only temporary. Now that you're better, I can sever it."
Pan rolled his eyes, meeting the gaze of the three people standing behind her. "Kyon honestly thinks my issue is being bonded to her," he stated, disbelief clear in his tone." They smiled wryly at him, knowing exactly what he was thinking.
"What?" Buffy demanded. "What'd I miss?"
He turned his gaze back to his healer. "I could think of worse things than being bonded to you, Kyon," he murmured, a faint hint of red in his cheeks. "My issue here is that I'm wondering what it cost you to save me. If I've learned anything, it's that wielding that kind of power comes with a price."
Buffy's face tightened visibly. "The price is mine to pay," she said stiffly. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat, so quit with the lecture."
"Kyon," he countered, and then winced in the face of her Slayer glare.
"I liked you better when you were unconscious," she muttered. "I'm severing the link, and then we can drop this subject."
She opened the duffel with her healing supplies and brought out a small vial filled with blue liquid. Grabbing a knife, she ran the edge of the blade across her fingertip and squeezed three drops of blood into the vial. Then, she turned to Pan.
"I need three drops of your blood," she explained, and he nodded, watching her warily.
She repeated the procedure, using his left pointer finger, and then closed the vial, shaking it so that their blood stretched and mingled to paint the liquid crimson. Joining him, she cast a circle around the bed, chanting briefly to close it. Then, she dipped a finger into the liquid and made a symbol on her forehead. Once she'd made a different symbol on Pan's forehead, she linked their hands and chanted. A red ribbon of power appeared in a line between their hearts, before winking out. She opened the circle and cleaned up the mess.
"There, no more link," Buffy murmured into the awkward silence that followed.
Pan forced her to meet his eyes. "What was the price?" he asked softly.
"It's not important," she insisted, turning away to pack her supplies.
"Kyon…" his voice warned, making it clear that he wasn't going to let up until she answered.
She refused to look at him. "There's nothing you can do about it now, so don't worry about it. Worry about getting back in tip-top shape and…"
"WHAT WAS THE PRICE!" he shouted, shifting partially into his Brachen form and then back again.
Buffy, sufficiently startled, turned to face his anger. She'd never seen him this serious, and knew that their friendship depended on her honesty. "Two weeks of healing power," she whispered.
"Fuck me," he gasped, thrown. "Kyon, what were you thinking?"
Her voice was hard and unrelenting. "I was thinking that I'd do anything to save you."
"But…" he protested.
"No." She cut him off. "You got your answer, now it's my turn to talk." She paused, taking a deep, calming breath. "I'm the Slayer. I'm Kyontar. It's my duty to put the fate of the world before my own safety. To go the extra mile, and if it comes down to a choice, to always sacrifice myself. I know the Watcher's Council would say that the fate of one should never be placed above the fate of many, but I can't live that way. It's my biggest flaw. But I'm a better, faster, stronger Slayer when I'm fighting for what's mine. It's who I AM." She sighed. "I can't be anything else, so don't ask me to."
There was a moment of deafening silence, and then Pan struggled to sit up in his bed. She leaned forward to help him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. His head came to rest against her stomach.
"And I can't be anything else but Pan, and see you as my beautiful friend, whose life I'd never want sacrificed just to save mine," he murmured.
She pulled back to meet his eyes, and nodded. "So we agree to disagree then?" she offered.
Pan chuckled. "We agree to disagree, fair lady," he replied, settling back into his bed.
The trio were walking through the poorly lit streets of Sunnydale, on their way to Bert & Ernie's bar. After checking on Pan, they'd gone to Buffy's house, where she insisted that Wes stay, rather than pay an expensive hotel fee. After reassuring him that he was welcome for as long as he wanted, they ate and got ready for the meeting.
"What can I expect tonight?" Wes questioned, fiddling with his wrist sheath.
"Wackiness," Oz spoke up dryly.
Buffy jutted out a hip, shoving him off course. "This meeting'll be smaller than the last one, 'cause about half of the peaceful hybrids went to L.A."
The former Watcher nodded. "Right. I knew Lorne was involved in the Underground, but I'd no idea he's got so much influence. To be capable of housing and employing at least 150 demons at the drop of a hat… it's an impressive feat."
The Slayer quickly explained the check-in system she'd enacted to keep track of everyone, and the events of the past week. "So we know it's a Sorcerer pulling all the strings, but we're not sure who it is, or whether there's someone higher up, pulling his strings." She paused. "Or what their ultimate goal is," she added sheepishly.
"Maybe not, but you've accomplished a lot," Wesley countered. "You've made great strides in keeping people safe, and that's the most important thing." Thinking back on their visit with Pan, he ventured, "May we speak later about your healing capabilities?"
She smiled ruefully. "Is tomorrow soon enough?"
"Yes," he assured her.
Brightening, she bubbled, "Cool," and then, winking conspiratorially at them, she stopped suddenly and bent over to fuss with the laces of her left boot.
Oz, who'd sensed the presence of 'other' by now, smirked and kept going, in keeping with the Slayer's ruse. Off Wes' confused expression, he murmured, "Something wicked this way comes."
On cue, four vamps appeared from the shadows, taking advantage of the Slayer's current, 'vulnerable' position to close in. Surreptitiously triggering the stake in her left wrist harness to release, she placed her right hand on the ground for leverage and swung her left leg in an arc behind her. The vamp whose stomach took the brunt of her kick gurgled in shock, and she allowed momentum to swing her body upright, staking him swiftly. Without stopping, she spun in a circle, lashing out with the left leg again, impacting the second vamp in the face. The third swept out a leg to trip her, so she bent sideways, placing both hands on the ground to the left side of her body. Placing her weight on her left leg and her hands, she swept the right one out level with the approaching vamp's face. Back on both feet, she lunged forward to stake him. Then, without looking, she whipped out her left hand to stake the vamp sneaking up behind her. The fourth vamp got a clue and ran, so she grabbed a spare stake from the base of her spine and hurled it through the air.
Bingo. Four dusted in under a minute. Retracting the harnessed stake, she smiled wickedly at the powdered vamp remnants on the pavement, and stuck out her tongue. Turning to her companions, she caught them eyeing her with amusement.
"Having fun, Cream Puff?" Oz asked with a raised brow.
"Nothing like a spot of demon slaughter to make a girl's night," she quipped.
Wes smirked. "I see your technique has improved."
"Yours has, too, from what I hear." They continued on their way to the bar, and Buffy watched Wes from the corner of her eye. "It shows, just in the way you move," she commented. "We all need to train together, to get an idea of each other's strengths and weaknesses."
"Good plan," Wes approved.
Oz nodded.
"We have to know what to expect in combat situations based on who's present and what weapons they've got. If we can learn to read each other, we'll be greater than the sum of our parts." She paused. "That is, if you two want to be involved in the heavy fighting. You don't have to; I'm cool with being the muscle."
"Looks like that stint in the military rubbed off on you," Oz commented lightly. She stuck out her tongue at him.
"Nevertheless, you're quite right," Wes spoke up. "Even if you bear the brunt of the physical conflicts, there always comes a time where everyone must fight. Oz and I need to be at peak capacity to protect ourselves, and if we train together, we'll greatly decrease the damage we sustain in battle."
"And I need to get used to not being a team of One," the Slayer admitted.
As they approached a worn down, seemingly uninhabited building, Wes stared at the symbol painted on the basement door. "Sanctuary," he murmured.
It wasn't until they were inside, and she turned to explain the lighting to the ex-Watcher, that Buffy realized the significance of what he'd said. To add further confusion, Wes' eyes now glowed emerald green. "Is there any particular reason you've got wonky eyes like the rest of us?" she questioned.
"Pardon?"
Oz pointed him in the direction of the bathroom. "Check it out, man."
Once he'd returned, Buffy explained how the lights worked. "Which would indicate that you're a bit left of center."
"It's probably my Mage heritage," Wes replied thoughtfully.
"Huh?"
He sighed. "The line of Watchers has been carefully controlled over time, ensuring that all potential Watchers come from one of several established families. These families all carry the Mage blood of the original Sorcerers that created the First Slayer. In most cases, we don't have the power to become full-fledged Sorcerers, like Jezza, or whoever's wreaking havoc in Sunnydale right now. Giles and I, for example, have an increased capacity for manipulating magical energy, meaning we can work fairly complex spells. We don't, however, have the sheer influence and internal power level to be Sorcerers."
Buffy stared. "Well that's nice and complicated."
"Are Mages the same as natural Witches?" Oz inquired.
He shook his head. "Mage is a broad category in which natural Witches are a subcategory. Elementals are another subcategory. The trait all Mages share is the hereditary nature of their powers."
The Slayer suddenly noticed that all eyes were on them, waiting for her to start the meeting. "Let's table this Q&A until later." Leading them over to the bar, she introduced Wesley to Bert and Ernie.
The meeting went well; thankfully the system seemed to be working, and no one new was missing. Each district had developed an internal structure to take advantage of what its individual members had to offer. With their permission, Buffy gave out Wes' and Oz's cell phone numbers, as well as her own, so everyone would have three more people besides their district leader that they could call if something went wrong.
Buffy awoke bright and early on Sunday morning, despite having patrolled after last night's meeting. She was plagued by aching muscles, so she decided to head to the basement for some meditation and Tai Chi. Throwing on running pants and a tank top, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen. Oz was sitting on a bar stool, softly running through chord progressions on his acoustic guitar. She poured herself a glass of water, and began to make coffee, reveling in the smell of the beans.
"Morning," he greeted, glancing briefly in her direction.
"It'll be better with coffee," she asserted, turning away from the percolating machine to do a few quick stretches.
"Sore?" he questioned, carefully stepping around the reason for it.
She grimaced. "Yep. Luckily nothing's broken." Pausing, she straightened up and knocked on the nearest wooden cupboard. Then she started to twist back and forth at the waist, stretching her arms out to either side as she went. "I'm gonna head downstairs for some Tai Chi and meditation, wanna come with?"
Oz gently placed his guitar back in its case. "I'm in," he decided.
They set up in the center of the basement, beginning with the Werewolf's pick for meditation. Buffy led Oz slowly through her personalized Tai Chi routine. He was familiar with the concept, as he'd learned a different version when he lived in Tibet. Once they were finished with core strengthening, they returned to meditation, this time using the Slayer's pick.
An hour and a half later, Buffy asked, "Do you wanna try phoning home today?"
Oz opened his eyes and regarded her thoughtfully. "It's probably a good idea. It's totally different to what the monks taught me. Something about YOU makes a difference."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, on some levels you excite the Wolf --- I think the fact that you're a predator plays into that. But on other levels, you calm it. So the Wolf comes out, but not automatically as a ravaging beast," he explained. "I never felt its curiosity until we started doing this."
"Huh," Buffy mused, wondering how all these puzzle pieces fit together. Deciding that action would bring more answers than guessing, she grabbed her supplies and cast a circle around them. Holding out her hands, she questioned, "Ready, ET?"
"Ready," he confirmed. They linked fingers, palms flat against each other, and focused on simultaneous meditation.
Two pairs of eyes snapped open in the same instant, one rainbow and one silver. They met, and Buffy found the core of her power. She pushed a shimmering ribbon of it through their linked hands and into Oz's body. He shivered, and felt the Wolf rise up to greet the Slayer.
The Wolf was ravenous, and enraged at the invasion into its domain. It reared up, biting blind, but the ribbon of power tickled it, wrapped around it, and soothed its lust for gore and death. The Wolf wrestled for dominance, but the Slayer enveloped it in a pulsating, golden shimmer. The Wolf ceased struggling and watched the intruding power curiously.
Oz began to change; first his hands, and then the rest of his body began to elongate and sprout hair. Buffy felt him start to panic. She knocked on that newfound internal door he'd found yesterday and waited for him to answer. He did, and she tilted her head slightly to ask if he was all right. He shrugged, his body shaking with the force of his fear.
Buffy held his gaze and whispered, "Bind," transferring a small portion of her control through the link to him. Oz focused on retracting the physical manifestations of the Wolf, sighing audibly with relief when it worked. They unlinked their hands, and Buffy dispersed the circle before they collapsed together with exhaustion.
"Shouldn't have done that before we had coffee," she murmured.
"No doubt."