Chapter four

Buffy woke up late one morning. She turned over in bed expecting to see Riley, but remembered he was long gone. The aching in her limbs and the pounding in her head; testament to a long night of hunting down the un-dead, took her mind off the space in her bed left by her former lover. She had quickly gotten used to him not being around; not being there when she returned from her exhausting forays through Sunnydale's obscenely numerous cemeteries, or accompanying her even, and not being there when she rose the next morning. She still slept to one side of the mattress, however, as though afraid to roll onto some unseen lover asleep on the other side.

The slayer of all things unspeakable lifted her legs over the side of the bed and arched her back in a vain attempt to drive out the weakness she felt. The effort, however, caused more pain than it dispelled and she gripped her left arm as a spasm of pain pulse from shoulder to hand. The pain only lasted a few seconds but she felt beads of perspiration form on her forehead.

Buffy finally stood up and walked over to her window. It was a glorious morning; the sun shone in wide angled rays through fluffy white clouds. She turned away from the blue white canvas to face Whistler standing by her bedroom door, which was still closed behind him.

Her world suddenly zoomed forward and panned back, causing her legs to almost give way under her. She recovered her poise and faced her uninvited guest, a mix of fear and suspicion evident in her expression.

"Wow, I don't usually elicit such a response from young ladies," opened up the enigmatic visitor.

"Perhaps you don't always appear in their bedrooms unannounced," Buffy suggested acidly. "Hello, Whistler," she acknowledged the messenger of the Powers-that-be. "You obviously don't take your name seriously; you scared the crap out of me." She sat back down on the end of her bed and cradled her head for a few seconds. She dragged her hands down her face and massaged her eyes with her fingertips.

"Can I get you anything?" Whistler offered.

"Some rose coloured glasses wouldn't go amiss," she replied looking up at him. "I'll settle for my dressing gown, though. It's hanging on the wardrobe door," she pointed. Whistler was polite enough to blush at her lack of sufficient attire to greet guests with. He handed the robe to her.

"So," she said finally. "To what have I the honour….etc?" She asked wearily.

"I've come to impart important advice….."

"No kidding. You always turn up with earth shattering news. I'm guessing you don't get invited to many parties. I mean, can't you just pop round for coffee?"

"It can be lonely sometimes, but we each have our responsibilities."

"So, what is my job this time….excuse the tone, but last time we met I had to go drive a sword through my boyfriend," she spoke bitterly and felt ashamed afterwards.

"Nothing so traumatic this time, I assure you. This visit is by way of a genuine concern for your well being." He paused expecting Buffy to comment. "You have been experiencing discomfort after your patrols."

"Before, during and after actually. Do you have an explanation for it?" she asked desperately.

"I do."

"Do I want to know?" Buffy asked hesitantly. "Tell me anyway," she added before Whistler could answer.

"A slayer's career is supposed to be a short one; like a firefly, it should burn brightly and beautifully before being extinguished and replaced by the next."

"That was quite beautiful, Whistler; a wonderfully subtle way of saying I've survived too long and should make way for a younger model." She laughed humourlessly. "Would the Powers That Be mind if I stick around a bit longer?"

"They would love you live a full life, Buffy. In fact, they're quite fond of you, which is why I'm here actually. I have been allowed to reveal something no former slayer has been allowed to know – to warn you."

"Now you're starting to scare me. What secret am I being allowed in on?"

"That slayers have a natural life span built in to them: a design that ensures the incumbent is always the fittest and in his or her prime. If they constantly survive battles and look to celebrate multiple birthdays, their bodies ensure they do not succeed."

"Life just gets better and better. I sometimes wonder how I keep up, or why I fucking bother to try. You know, Spike told me slayers have a tendency to….let go because of loneliness and disillusionment. Are you saying that if we don't get killed or kill ourselves, our bodies self destruct on us?"

Whistler nodded gravely. "It starts with an urge to hunt; to push your body to its limits and beyond, until it eventually gives out."

Buffy quickly wiped away a tear forming. "Why have I been singled out to receive this blessed information?" She asked bitterly.

"I told you; the Powers like you."

"Ha! Then tell them to extend the sell by date! I'm not some car that gets cast away when a better model comes along!"

"They can't do that; they didn't create the slayer. Your kind originates from a power more ancient."

"What can I do then?"

"Take it easy…"

"What…..slay gently and every second Tuesday?"

"Actually, that's not far off the mark."

"What!" Buffy looked around her room. "If I didn't feel so stupid standing here in my dressing gown, I'd start breaking things. I'm a slayer, Whistler. I'm still conscious that I have a duty to protect the innocent. I can't just go part time."

Whistler shortened the gap between them. "Yes you can…..in a way. Buffy, the Powers and you know that you cannot defeat every vampire and demon that exists. Whilst you're here doing your part, there are demons throughout the world doing their worse. If you were meant to defeat every evil that rises there would be an army of slayers, not just one. Conserve your energies for protecting the world from the worse threats it faces; opening hellmouths and prophecies coming true."

"And that will prevent meltdown; a change in my job description?"

"I can't promise you a picnic in the park with your grandchildren, but….."

"One day at a time….thank you," she smiled affectionately and kissed the messenger on the cheek. "You do your job well."

Whistler blushed again, which made the young woman before him laugh. "I must be going," he said and made to leave. "I hope we meet again."

"Give me some warning next time and I'll put a pot of coffee on."

She watched him slowly fade into nothing. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. "Buffy, are you in there?" Her mother called from the other side. Buffy opened the door and stood back to allow Joyce to enter. She was looking well. Buffy was still getting used to the wonderful news that her mother was not seriously ill as had been feared.

"How are you this morning, dear?" The lady of the house asked her daughter.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"I thought I heard you speaking to someone…...never mind," she added when Buffy didn't respond. "That's a nasty cut."

Buffy put her hand on her forehead and saw blood and some grit on it when she looked at her palm. "I thank my powers of healing for being quick, otherwise I dread the scar I'd have."

"You do seem to get cut there rather a lot."

"Oh, I get cut a lot of other places, you just get to see the head wounds and I'm guessing you don't want to hear this," she tailed off guiltily.

"I want to hear of all your wounds, Buffy. Don't ever hide anything from me. I want you to be able to confide and take comfort – if only to make up for your first year in Sunnydale…."

"I never wanted to worry you."

"I'm a parent, I get to worry anyway. A little more won't hurt. When you become a mother you'll realise that ignorance isn't always bliss."

"If I become a parent," Buffy countered, "I'm going to follow my daughter around everywhere."

"I wholeheartedly approve. In fact, you can practice on Dawn, if you like. What about a son?"

"Oh yes, I'll have one of them as well. Two even, so they can protect their sister and treat their old mother to flowers on occasion," she continued, warming to the topic.

"Mind you," Joyce added, "I'd appreciate it if you'd leave motherhood another few years; I'm too young to be a grandmother."

"Deal."

"Right then, breakfast?"

"That sounds good. I was going to go straight to Giles' but he doesn't have your knack with waffles. I'll get dressed and join you downstairs in a few minutes."

When her mother left the room, Buffy put her hand to her forehead again, and looked at herself in the mirror over her dressing table.