Chapter 4: Jonathan

1. Tribute

Jonathan added raven feathers to the simmering brew before him, and heard Drusilla sigh.

"I can feel the darkness coming, like a cat. It's purring."

The new vampire smiled. "It's the perfect pet for you. I hope you like it," he said, while keeping the desperate eagerness he was feeling from rising in his voice. Drusilla was his mentor, his priestess, and his love. She believed that Jonathan was the only one who could conceive of designs as grand as her own. She told him so when she sired him. And Jonathan was determined to meet and exceed her expectations, to demonstrate his undying devotion to her, and to do so as spectacularly as possible.

She stroked his hair fondly. "Oh yes, darling. It's the loveliest gift anyone's ever given me."

"Even Spi-"

"Hush!" Drusilla cut him off angrily. "His name is poison! It will burn away the happiness of our new family."

"Of course," he said nervously. He should have known not to mention that name. Spike was a sore spot for Drusilla, ever since he had tried to stake her. Jonathan was confident that he would prove to be a better partner to Drusilla, more loyal, more adoring.

Jonathan recited a short incantation. Drusilla giggled.

"The sun lays down its sleepy head…" she half-sang.

"Never to rise again." Jonathan rose from his kneeling position and turned to his sire, triumphant. "My tribute to you," he spread his arms wide, "the Hellmouth in eternal darkness, to be reigned over by you in your glory."

Drusilla clapped her hands in delight.

2. This Is The Way The World Ends

It's the end of the world.

Jonathan was sure he'd failed his last exam. Stupid medieval history. He was a computer science student, how's he supposed to do well in a history course? Stupid distribution requirement. Even the TA had recognized how ridiculously hard the exam was, and had given the class an extra half-hour to finish, which Jonathan had needed. Even though it probably hadn't made any difference in the end. The extra half hour did mean that he would be late for his job at the Wireless Hut, would probably be fired as a result, and then be kicked out of his mom's basement because he wouldn't be able to make rent. Jonathan could just imagine how Warren and Andrew would laugh at him for that, being evicted from his own parents' house. They'd be laughing all summer, while Jonathan would be trudging to classes to make up his required humanities credit. That is, if he could afford the class now that he would be jobless. It was all he could do to keep from crying out at the injustice of it all.

A gleam of blonde caught Jonathan's eye, rousing him from his gloom. Ashley, a girl from his programming course, was perched on the ledge underneath an archway, talking to a friend, and looking like a dream. Jonathan straightened his posture and tried to assume a cool demeanor as he walked by, while checking surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye to see if Ashley noticed him. As a result, he didn't see the redhead coming towards him until he had collided with her.

At that moment, Jonathan definitely could have died. He glanced at the archway, and didn't know which was worse: that he had fallen flat on his face in front of the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, or the fact that, even then, she hadn't noticed him at all.

Then Jonathan saw who he was on the floor with.

"Oh, hi Willow." He began to gather his scattered study notes from the ground. Not that they would do him any good now. "I'm sorry." He retrieved one of Willow's texts from where it had landed several feet away.

Willow sat on the floor in a daze, and took several moments to recognize him. No surprise there. Why would anyone remember me? "Jonathan…" she said with a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Hi. How've you been?"

"Ugh, don't ask." He brushed floor grime off his knees as he got to his feet.

"Not so good, huh? That's too bad…" said Willow, with what appeared to be genuine regret. In fact, the news seemed to make her quite pensive; as she continued to sit on the ground, her eyes grew distant and she stared into space.

Jonathan stared. "Uh, Willow? Are you okay?"

"Huh?" She glanced up at him as she came out of her reverie. "No, I-I'm good…" She got slowly to her feet. "It's just… I wish you could be happy." Jonathan blinked, taken aback at her sincerity. "'Cause, y'know, someone in this town should be." Were those tears in her eyes? "I'd bet Buffy would want you to be happy too, since she saved your life that time…" That distant look reappeared.

"Uh huh…" Jonathan nodded, confused. He was torn between wanting to get to his job as fast as possible, and helping Willow with whatever was wrong. He liked the redhead, and she'd always been nice to him, except for a couple of interrogations. "Well, if Buffy asks, you can tell her that I am," he said uncertainly.

The girl's head snapped up, suddenly worried. "Tell her? How?"

What the heck was up with her? He shrugged. "Well, you could say, 'Hey, Buffy, I ran into Jonathan today. He seemed happy…'"

Her expression softened. "Oh, Jonathan… you don't know… I-I forget sometimes, I just figure that everyone would somehow know…"

"Know? Know what?"

"Buffy's dead."

Jonathan stared, his mouth hanging open.

The world really is ending.

3. New Friends, Old Enemies

Jonathan stood at the end of the hospital bed, unnoticed until he spoke.

"Hello Andrew."

Andrew nearly jumped straight out of the bed when he heard the young man's cool voice.

"Jonathan… hi…" His eyes flicked towards the door, then the window, as he fidgeted with the bed covers. "Are you… here to kill me?"

"No!" Jonathan protested, shocked and offended. "What kind of a creep do you think I am?"

"Well, I did, y'know, try to stab you." Andrew gingerly fingered the bandage that covered the wound from when Jonathan deflected the knife into Andrew's side.

"I remember," Jonathan replied darkly. "That doesn't mean I want you dead."

"Well," Andrew gulped nervously. "That's very… big hearted of you."

"Quit toadying," Jonathan snapped, losing his patience with his would-be killer/friend. "I came to tell you to get out of town. It's not safe."

Andrew's eyes grew wider than ever. "Leave? But… where will I go? What will I do? I'll be all alone!"

Jonathan shrugged, impassive.

"Can't I stay here with you and Buffy's gang?"

It was a few moments before Jonathan could do anything more than stare incredulously. "Andrew – you were a willing servant of the First Evil."

"Well, yeah… but that means I have inside information!"

Jonathan was unconvinced. "You tried to kill me."

"And it'll never, ever happen again, I promise." Andrew looked sincerely desperate. "Please Jonathan. I don't know what'll happen to me if I'm alone."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you tried to kill me."

"But," Andrew changed tack, "if you don't help me I-I could again fall prey to the First and its evil yet persuasive arguments."

Jonathan appeared thoughtful.

"You can help me, Jonathan. You're in with Buffy's gang now, you're one of her people. You can convince her that I can help."

Andrew watched anxiously as his friend/former victim considered his proposal.

On the one hand, Jonathan could only shake his head in wonder at Andrew's perception of what he had learned was called the "Scooby Gang". They weren't Buffy's "people" – or her socks, for that matter – they were her friends. And the idea that Jonathan was one of them… they let him help, sure, but he was still an outsider. On the other hand, he was flattered that Andrew saw him as a Scooby already, as he hoped the actual Scoobies someday would. And Andrew did have a point about having the inside scoop on the First…

Jonathan rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

4. Perspective

In the Summers' kitchen, Jonathan gazed at the top shelf of the cupboard where sat the mixing bowl that Willow needed. The spell was very specific – tempered glass, ¾" thick, 13 ½" in diameter. Luckily, Buffy had one, and she sent Jonathan to get it, without realizing that it would be out of his reach.

With a sigh, Jonathan climbed onto the counter.

"Are you sure that's safe?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see Amanda watching him sceptically. "I'm pretty light," he answered. "The counter's not going to break."

"I'm not talking about the counter," said Amanda as Jonathan took the bowl down.

It was heavier than he expected. Jonathan felt his centre of gravity shift upwards as he began to tilt backwards. He flailed his arms in circles, trying to keep his balance, while flinging the bowl aside. Amanda was there in a flash; she managed to catch the bowl before it hit the ground. Jonathan was not so lucky.

He yelped as he fell off the counter, crashing into Amanda and bringing her down with him. Amanda grunted as she got to her knees and set the glass bowl safely on the kitchen island. She turned to Jonathan with a look of exasperation.

"I was talking about you."

Jonathan only made muted sounds of pain in reply.

"Are you okay?"

"No," he finally managed to answer. "I hate being short," he grumbled as Amanda extended an arm to help him up.

"It can't be that bad." Amanda said as she looked him over. "Is anything broken?"

Jonathan rolled his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think so." He looked up at the potential Slayer. "You've obviously never been short."

"At least you don't get called bean-pole or string-bean or other bean-related things," she said consolingly.

"Well, no," he conceded. "But I still get 4-year-old nicknames."

"Anya's the only one who calls you 'munchkin'."

"Yeah." Jonathan thought bitterly of Anya. "Y'know, you'd think by now she'd stop laughing every time she said it. It was never even that funny to begin with." Amanda nodded sympathetically. Jonathan continued, "But it's not just the name calling. It's all kinds of feelings of-of physical inadequacy. Like not being able to reach the high shelves." He stared up at the shelf and sighed.

"Yeah, I guess that kind of sucks." Amanda suddenly brightened. "But, hey, at least you haven't got a freak face on top of that." It was a moment before Jonathan realized that she was referring to herself.

"You don't have a freak face."

Amanda simply gave him a look that told him to stop patronizing her.

"You don't!" he asserted. "I mean, sure, your teeth are kinda big, but your freckles are cute and you've got really pretty eyes."

Amanda blinked. Then a smile slowly spread across her face, revealing her too-big teeth, but mostly making her eyes look prettier. "Thanks," she said. Then, "You have pretty eyes too."

She wasn't merely returning the compliment. She really meant it.

Jonathan smiled back. "Thanks."

He stood there, looking into Amanda's eyes – they really were very pretty. They seemed to be getting closer. Jonathan found himself standing on his toes, as Amanda leaned down. They kissed.

5. Pain

When the school bus came to a halt, most of the able-bodied disembarked to get a better look at the sinkhole that was recently Sunnydale. Anya stayed on-board to tend to Jonathan, who was bleeding in a back seat. Andrew leaned over the back of the seat in front of them, watching.

"Well, it doesn't look fatal," Anya said, examining the wound in his side. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Actually, I'm not," Jonathan replied, surprised. In fact, he was feeling pretty buzzed. Heck, he felt like he could fight Turok'han and Bringers all day. Bring 'em on!

Anya smiled at him, misty-eyed. "Oh, you little trooper." She ruffled his hair fondly. "It's just the adrenaline. The agonizing, skull-splitting pain will set in soon." She turned to Andrew. "Take off your shirt."

Andrew started. "What?"

"Jonathan's wound needs bandaging. We usually tear up someone's clothes in a situation like this."

Andrew clutched at the garment in question. "But… I like this shirt."

Anya gave him a stern look. "Andrew, the munchkin saved my life. The least you could do is sacrifice one item of clothing."

The logic didn't make sense to Jonathan, but it seemed to work on his friend, who proceeded to do as Anya asked, talking as he did. "You were really great back there, Jonathan," he enthused. "The way you ran that Bringer through just before he tried to stab Anya –" Now shirtless, Andrew put his jacket back on and zipped it up, and held his T-shirt wadded-up in his hands. "And when that other Bringer got you with its knife, but you punched him in the face, pulled out the knife yourself, then gutted him with it –" Andrew nodded appreciatively. "That was cool."

Jonathan smiled. At the time, he had been so scared he was surprised that he could even remember which way to point the knife. But looking back, through the haze of adrenaline and blood loss, it did seem pretty cool.

"You're, like, a real hero," Andrew summed up.

"Of course he's a hero," Anya said impatiently. "I covered that when I said he saved my life. Now give me that shirt before he bleeds to death."

Andrew reluctantly handed over the balled-up garment.

Jonathan kept on smiling. Despite Anya's mention of his mortality, he had never felt better in his life. He was a hero. A wounded victor of an epic battle. A life-saver. It put his entire life in perspective, gave him a sense of purpose and accomplishment, and a warm, glowy feeling. It was a feeling he wanted to share.

Jonathan craned his neck, looking around the bus, as Anya tore Andrew's shirt into strips. "Hey, where's Amanda?" he asked, trying to see out the back of the bus, searching the group gathered around the sinkhole for Amanda's lanky form.

Anya paused in her work. "I haven't seen her since we went in."

She shared a look with Andrew, who turned somberly to Jonathan. "I-I don't think she made it onto the bus."

That was when the pain set in.

One more chapter to come!