3.
The Price
A faint knock came from the door, followed by Willow announcing in hushed tones, "It's me."
It figured that the icepack had only just begun to take the edge off the pain in Buffy's knee. 'Dull throbbing' was the flavor of the moment. That beat 'sharp stabbing' any day. The last thing she wanted to do was get up. "Come in," she said.
"I can't. The door's locked, remember?" Willow replied.
"Alright," Buffy said through a sigh. I knew it. "Gimme a sec." That'd barely slow my Will down. But I guess—
She leaned forward and moved the stool her leg was resting on. Getting up was no picnic. She favored her good arm, but really, with all those parts connected like they are, there was no such thing. Once she was on her feet, her leg picked up the charge of making up for lost torment. She sucked it up and hobbled to the door to unlock it. This place is definitely different.
Before the door was even open Willow began to speak, "I'm sorry, I just—"
Buffy swung the door in, using the doorknob to steady herself. She met Willow's eyes, but her attention drifted to the cross that was nailed to the neighboring door as Willow chattered anxiously, "Can I come in? I mean, I know you said 'come in,' but do you want me to drop this stuff off and leave? I can do that."
Really different.
The cross looked like something Xander might whip up in a hurry to fix a problem. It wasn't really ugly, just crude. Every door down the hallway had one. She remembered how Willow had laughed when she mentioned them. It was one of those laughs, an uneasy titter that was about as comforting as a car wreck.
Actually, I mentioned Angel too. I'm not sure which part makes me more nervous. All I did was say something snarky about how much he must love them. It seemed like a harmless thing. They gave me the creeps, so…
But there isn't much here that doesn't. Everything about this place feels wrong, except this. Buffy's room was exactly what she expected. It had the charm of upscale antiquity with a big four poster bed and a comfy sitting area. She was willing to bet that the bathroom even had one of those nifty clawfoot tubs…a fact that she would've been more excited about had it not been for the prospect of getting in and out of it with a strained shoulder and knee, multiple deep contusions and several fractured ribs.
Her recollection of how the Hyperion's lobby had looked when they passed through was another matter. One that hadn't really left her. She doubted it would any time soon. It reminded me of our home in Sunnydale after everything went to hell—the lobby here wasn't nearly as cluttered—of course, it's comparatively huge—but all of the glass was boarded up and the doors were chained. They even jammed the elevator to cut off sewer access.
Getting up those stairs was fun. Back home, Will would've just magicked me up them. This Willow didn't even offer. That was freaksome. But Angel was worse. I'm having serious trouble seeing him let things go this far. I have to believe he'd find a way to—
And that belief isn't helping one bit.
Willow's expression had picked up signs of uncertainty and hurt when Buffy finally said, "I'm sorry, Will. I've just got a lot on my mind." It's like they've been at war. A war they're obviously losing. She moved aside, gesturing for Willow to enter. "Yeah, you're welcome. Come in. Sorry." Kennedy was still a concern, but there wasn't much Buffy could do about that except admit: It's her life. If this is what she wants, I can't really stop her. Not without being mean. "I'd still like a shower soon, but there's time." I just need to be careful. 'Homewrecker' isn't a role I ever want to play.
I'm probably being weird. She just wants to talk. And who can blame her? It might be a good thing for me to listen and maybe ask a few questions. I have no clue how long I'm gonna be stuck here. Having some idea what's up might be helpful.
"You need to lock this," Willow said as she entered the room.
Buffy did as she was told. We could even start simple. It'd be nice to know what the big deal is with me locking my door.
Willow strode to the bathroom to drop off the bag, remarking as she went, "I know that seems strange, but the warding magic that keeps vamps out is pretty tricky stuff."
This was the first time she'd spoken without sounding like an absolute basket case. Buffy found that comforting if nothing else.
Willow stayed in the bathroom. It sounded like she was putting things away. "As you know, it doesn't work on public buildings, so we had to figure out a way to trick the tricky. Basically, whoever locks a room here, owns it. No one else can open it. It's the best we could do."
Buffy hobbled back to her chair and got situated with her blanket, padded stool and ice pack. Sitting was better, but getting there wasn't easy. By the time she finished, she was nauseous from the pain.
Willow was silent until she exited the bathroom and when she did, she was unable to look Buffy in the eye. She mumbled, "I, umm…"
"It's okay, Will," Buffy assured her. I wish I knew what was up with her.
Willow stammered, "No. It's just, I—" Her voice lost strength and broke. She crossed the room and took a seat in the empty chair. Drawing in a deep breath, she tried again, "I had some of your clothes. The other you. I thought I—well, umm…" She closed her eyes, bearing down and blinking them open. "I had to dig them out, but they should fit."
"I'm sorry," Buffy said.
Willow turned away and took another breath as though she intended to say something else, but she didn't. The breath made a sad, trembling sound when she released it. She brought her hand up to caress her temple. From what Buffy could tell the 'caress' was more like a 'knead' and couldn't possibly have been pleasant.
Finally, Willow replied, "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."
Wiping her eyes with her fingertips, she pulled herself together and faced Buffy. "So," she said, sounding suddenly chipper. "You probably want to know what's going on. I have no idea where to start, so why don't you ask me something?"
Well, that shower's sounding better and better, but I— "Where's Angel?" Buffy asked. I can't put this off. That wouldn't be fair to her.
Willow replied, "He's dead."
It was a straight answer. One offered in an even tone. Buffy immediately rejected it. How can he—?
Willow must've sensed that because she began to justify her statement. "Well, not really dead because he—" After stopping to compose herself again, she switched tack. "You should know this. Didn't he show up to help you out when the First got wrathy?"
"Yeah," Buffy replied. But I don't see what that has to do with—
"He had an amulet?"
"Yeah."
The questions kept coming. "But he didn't die?"
They were so predictable that Buffy didn't even have to think about the answers. "No," she said.
She found it funny that Willow was growing progressively more confused while she was starting to get the picture. One more should do it.
"Who wore the amulet then?"
That'd be it. Buffy started to answer, but held off.
Willow wasn't done being flustered. "It's not like there were lots of candidates. It had to be worn by a vampire with a soul. That's rare." The tension showed on her face. "That's still rare, isn't it? There's only one, right?" She harrumphed. "Oh, I don't know why I'm asking. For all I know in your world they could all be ensouled. They probably do charity work for the Red Cross or something."
Buffy didn't bother trying to respond to the rest of whatever that was, but she could answer the first question. And when Willow ran out of steam, she did. "Spike."
"You're kidding?" Willow exclaimed.
"No," Buffy replied. "Spike has a soul. Or the Spike where I'm from does…or did. I'm not even sure how that worked." Considering who was responsible for renewing his lease on life, I wouldn't make any bets.
"How?"
One stammered word didn't constitute a clear question as far as Buffy was concerned. She was too caught up in the issue she'd just raised anyway. Fraudulent leases are pretty much their specialty.
But yeah, whatever…
'How'?
"I'm not sure," she replied, "but he has one…or he had one. He went out and got it after—" She stopped cold, scrambling to find a good way to explain without getting into the gory details. A vague generalization worked. She filled in, "Something really bad happened," making it plain from her tone that she didn't intend to talk about it.
Willow didn't press. Instead, she stated the obvious, "Okay, well, nothing bad must've happened here, which naturally made everything worse." A snicker broke into her train of thought. She moved on to the not-so obvious and truly perverse, "Guess that proves that for things to be even remotely right with the universe, we have to be miserable." She snickered again. "Comforting thought."
"Yeah, it is," Buffy agreed. Nice. Really nice. Spike didn't attack the 'me' who's 'me' here, so they ended up lost behind the looking glass. That figures.
So if Angel's really dead, or like she implied he might as well be dead… "Why are you guys here?" Buffy asked. "I mean, with Angel gone, how are you guys even here?" It's probably too much to ask, but maybe the sharks left him alone.
Willow replied, "We didn't have anywhere else to go."
That hardly seemed like an answer. Buffy said, "So?" pressing her point with a palms up, shrugging, 'there must be more' sort of gesture. Her shoulder and ribs weren't impressed by the movement, so she cut it short. It was good enough. Or some of it was. She was a little chilled from the icepack, but her leg had gone back to throbbing. Throbbing was alright. She could deal with throbbing.
And Willow was too intent on telling her story to be rattled by anything else. She stared at the carpet at her feet, whispering, "I don't know exactly what happened, but Kennedy said that you lost it. She said you got sloppy, that you couldn't stand watching Angel suffer. But that's Kennedy's version. I don't have one. I wasn't there. And she's not exactly an impartial observer."
"What do you mean?" Buffy asked. That seemed like a jump forward or possibly back in the story. Anyway, it wasn't linear. How could I have anything to do with where they went? I wouldn't have chosen this. I didn't choose this.
Willow turned her head, briefly making eye contact. "She hates you, Buffy," she replied. "Of course, that's only gotten worse." Her incredulousness faded. "At first she was just jealous. She didn't see why we followed you. She thought it was hero worship." She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "After what happened, she couldn't see why I'd try to help you. The other you. Ensouling vampire-you seemed like a good idea to me, but she told me I was wasting my time. She did everything she could to—"
"Why can't you?" Buffy asked. She tried to imagine how she'd stop Willow if her heart was really set on something. Nothing except the obvious violent method came to mind. And that apparently hadn't happened because Willow still had a pulse.
"In short, she doesn't want it," Willow replied. "I've got a couple of theories."
Buffy really didn't care about the details. They were all Greek to her anyway. She tried to wipe the 'huh' off her face, but didn't make it in time, so…
Willow explained, "She might be using a Muo-Ping to imprison her soul. I'm just not sure where she'd keep it. I broke the last one using Delothrian's Arrow. That should've worked. So I guess it'd have to be somewhere not here…somewhere on another plane. Or—I don't see how—but she might've gotten her hands on Freor's Band. That'd work too. It's hard to say."
Thankfully, the explanation was short. Buffy only made it to 'twenty-one-Mississippi' before Willow gave up or finished. I've never gotten that. They say that the 'Mississippi' with the number equals a second, but different numbers take longer and shorter times to say, like 'twenty-one' takes longer to say than 'one.' A second should just be a second. So how's that work? Is it like an average or—?
Buffy couldn't have agreed more when Willow asked, "But really, does it matter?"
No. No, it really doesn't.
"I mean, this is you we're talking about. Imagine the lengths you'd go to to avoid something you didn't want. And she—umm, vampire-you—she knows me. If anyone could play me, it'd be you."
Yeah. "Fair enough," Buffy mumbled.
Willow clarified, "Er, her," and went quiet.
Buffy watched her intently, hoping she'd continue. When nothing happened, she prompted, "I'm sorry I interrupted."
Willow stirred from her thoughts. "Oh, it's no big." She rubbed her face aggressively, starting with her eyes.
Looks like she's rubbing herself back to reality. Earth to Willow…
"Where was I?" she asked.
Buffy offered a hint, "Angel distracted me." I wonder if she gets that she totally sidestepped my question.
"Yeah," Willow said. "That's what Kennedy said. I don't really know what really happened. I want to think you're stronger than that, so…" She shrugged, letting go of a breath as her shoulders fell. "What I do know is that we waited as long as we could, but you didn't make it out of the school. It was horrible. The loss was—"
Buffy leaned over. The two chairs were arranged so that she could just reach Willow's shoulder with her good arm.
Willow placed her hand over Buffy's, resting her folded arm against her chest. "It was impossible," she said. "But I tried to accept it and move on. It was what you would've wanted."
This is impossible. That's a good word for it.
"We tried," Willow said. "It was harder for some of us than others. But we all went on, trying to make sense of what had happened until—"
In the silence while Willow collected her thoughts, Buffy caressed her shoulder. It hurt to lean over, but being able to offer a little comfort made it worth it. If that's even what this is. It's either nice or a heartbreaking reminder of what she's lost. She hasn't pulled away and she's not bawling her eyes out, so I guess…
She stopped caressing when Willow found her voice again. "About five days after we destroyed our home and I lost my best friend, I woke up to find a tub in the garden here." She swallowed. "The others didn't understand at first, but I knew. Becoming a vampire was the most awful thing you could imagine. Anyone who did that to you—"
Oh, I can imagine some pretty awful things. Like this for instance.
But yeah, I do get it. Spike made being a vampire sound liberating. I don't buy that. It always seemed to me like just the opposite. Like I'd lose my free will. I'd have no choice but to kill. It's definitely high on my list of things to avoid.
"I don't think there's any question that Spike loved you," Willow said. Hearing Spike's name made Buffy really uneasy. "The smart money was on getting the heck out of Dodge. He could've run and no one would've stopped him, except maybe you. He stayed because of you. And that was the problem. The love he felt wasn't the kind that could let go. It was way too obsessive for that."
Her hand slipped from Willow's shoulder. She rested it in her lap. Why Willow had gone off on this tangent was anyone's guess. None of it tracked. She added one last piece to the puzzle, "Funny thing about vamps, they turn to dust when you stake 'em, but anything you cut off of them stays intact, unless it's their head." Then she fell silent.
There were dozens of questions that Buffy could've asked. She didn't because she got the impression from Willow's sudden interest in her hands that she was giving Buffy time to figure things out.
Go figure. I asked, 'Why are you here?' So far, if anything she's told me has even been remotely related to that in any way, I've missed it.
What she has told me is that Kennedy said I let my guard down. I didn't let my guard down and I still got kabobed. If I had let my guard down, I bet it would've been…
They left me behind because—well, the whole town was collapsing and I was probably somewhere—not there, with them—dying. That much really sucks. It makes perfect sense, but it sucks. They had to leave me behind. And they grieved. Again with the sense.
They found a tub in the garden here five days later. And vamps and funny things that don't sound so funny. 'Obsessive love'…and 'leaving town.' The town must've been Sunnydale.
Okay, so…I was dying. Spike turned me. No clue how we would've escaped. It was broad daylight, but assuming we did…which we did because 'psycho in the graveyard.' The tub was full of body parts. Vampire parts. Spike's parts. He turned me and I—
That's enough. Buffy tried to interrupt, "Will." I get the picture.
But Willow ready to move on, so she did. "The tub was full of body parts."
"Will."
"Not ribcages and legs and arms and that sort of thing, but bones, meat and—"
"Will!" Buffy felt terrible when Willow jumped. I understand she needs to talk, but there's just no reason for her to put either of us through this. "I get it," she said.
"Yeah, I'm sorry," Willow mumbled.
Buffy slid the stool away as she replied, "No, don't be. I know this is hard."
Following her gut, Buffy stood up, limped to Willow's chair and bent down. She was almost afraid from the looks she was getting that Willow would reject her, but she didn't.
The hug felt really nice except for the pain, but pain was just pain. The contact made Buffy really self-conscious about how dirty she was. As usual, almost the instant she got what she wanted, she wanted more. Being conflicted is nothing new. To get more she had to to do that without flinching or gasping took her mind off of the dirtiness and the weirdness. Her injured leg didn't want to bend. She didn't force it. She just knelt on her good side.
Once she was situated with her good leg folded beneath her and her injured leg extended in front of her, she pulled Willow closer. This was the first truly normal thing to happen since she woke up. And you'd think I could relax for a sec and just bask in the goodness, but no…that wouldn't be like me.
I have to wonder how Will knew. She seemed so certain. I'll just assume there wasn't a head in the tub because decapitation pretty much equals big pile of dust. There are other parts that were probably missing for just that reason, but I'm not gonna dwell on that. I don't see how she'd know for certain that the contents of a butcher shop scrap bin were absolutely a person, let alone a specific person. But I guess I'll just take her word for it. This is Willow we're talking about.
Moving on, but not in the usual, desirable 'forward progress' sort of sense. This is a subject I want to back carefully away from.
Buffy tried to loosen her hold and lean back, but Willow wasn't having any of it. "Y'know something?" Buffy whispered. "Hope isn't something you can lose. They say that, but I know they're wrong."
A shaky breath and a snuffle made it clear why Willow didn't want to let go.
Buffy rubbed Willow's back, trying to soothe her. "It isn't something that can be 'taken' either. Hope is something you give up. You have to let go of it for it to go away."
Willow's hold loosened when Buffy tried to lean back this time. As they parted, Willow mopped her eyes with the heels of her hands.
"There's always hope," Buffy said. "What I think you need is someone who's crazy enough to chase it." After a few moments, she tried to coax Willow to look up by touching her chin. It took a few tries, but her persistence finally paid off. Buffy smiled. "I'm not doing anything right now, so…"
Willow's smile was more of a quick, sheepish grin. It faded and she hung her head again. "Thank you," she mumbled.
Buffy stood. She thought it was going to be a complete pain, but it didn't end up being that bad. "I think we need a break," she said. "And I know I need a shower." She dropped the blanket in her chair and turned away.
As she started for the bathroom, Willow said, "Our last day in Sunnydale I packed a change of clothes. I just had this sense that even if we did make it through everything that had to happen, we wouldn't be going home. I knew I couldn't take much with me, but—"
Stopping at the bathroom door, Buffy turned to say, "Yeah, my Will did that too. She brought some stuff for me too."
Willow nodded. "That was hope," she said. "When we got to the motel that night and I unpacked…"
It was late. The waning moon hung low in eastern sky, too low for Willow to see it past the grungy brick wall to her right. Before long that same sky would start to warm with the coming day.
The dumpster at the alley's end had overflowed. To its left was another mess. A stack of broken skids lay stacked willy-nilly. Staring at the graffiti painted on the wall behind them, she shouted, "Look, D'hoffryn, I don't have your stupid talisman anymore. It got eaten by the Hellmouth." She lowered her voice, "Alright, so here goes…" then projected again, "Blessed be the name of D'Hoffryn. Let this space be now a gateway to the world of Arashmaharr."
She waited and nothing happened. Just a whole lot of wishful thinking. More like 'stalling.' 'Wishful stalling.' I like that. "Well, fudge!" she exclaimed, her tone shifting to a grumble, "He's gonna make me do this."
Rolling her eyes, she said through a sigh, "Alright, have it your way. Beatum sit in nomine D'Hoffrynis. Fiat hoc spatium porta ad mundum Arashmaharris. Now you'd better show up, darn it. I don't do that for just anyone."
A flashy display of lights and smoke followed the Latin and preceded D'Hoffryn's appearance. He heralded his arrival with a histrionic cry, "Behold D'Hoffryn! Lord of Arashmaharr!" The party line went on as he turned, "He whose name—" until he laid eyes on Willow, then his tune changed. He chided, "Language, Miss Rosenberg." His manner rapidly and fluidly turned remarkably genial for someone whose appearance might've been described as 'blue' and 'goatish.' "Cute jammies," he remarked, looking her up and down.
Willow hung her head, suddenly self-conscious that she hadn't changed. Whoops! I, uh…
D'Hoffryn fondled his beard pensively as he amended, "Though, I'm not so sure pink's your color." His hand dropped from his chin. He laced his fingers together over the belt of his robe. Smiling a pleasant smile, he asked, "What can I do for you?"
It was a good show. Or it might've been if Willow hadn't already caught the first act, and the second, and the third. She got over it. "I want Buffy Summers back," she demanded.
D'Hoffryn's smile turned wolfish. "You and the rest of your world," he replied. "Not that they understand that yet. They will likely never fully understand, but her absence will be—"
He was playing to a gallery that didn't give a frilly flip. Willow folded her arms to make that plain. Then she blatantly cut him off, "What do you want?"
"Now, Miss Rosenberg, manners please," he replied. "I'm sure that sometime during your woefully short existence someone has bothered to share with you that you can catch more flies with honey."
Willow glared, mentally seeing his 'honey' and raising him an anthill. One way or another, he'll figure out that I'm not playing.
It took him a few to come around, but eventually he said, "Oh, very well, I require a trade. But then you know that."
Willow kept glaring. She knew what he wanted. This is all about the drama. He wants me to play his game.
His mood turned surprisingly chipper. "Your service should suffice for what you ask," he said.
"My service?" Willow asked, not quite believing what she'd heard. "You want me?"
"Yes, that should be quite equitable. You've been coming up in your world," he replied, sounding delighted. "Very impressive." He took Willow by the shoulders, and holding her at arm's length, began to look her over. "A few centuries of servitude would be an adequate exchange."
So now what? I really hadn't thought this through. There's not much I can do. Uh, er…
She tried to shrink away, but D'Hoffryn was so much stronger than she was, she didn't have a prayer. Next he's gonna check my teeth.
He did something worse. He turned her around to inspect the other side.
"Stop that!" she shouted and yanked herself free. Actually, it was more like she hunkered down, prepared to put all her might into a hopeless struggle, and he let go. It was a small miracle that she didn't land flat on her face.
There was a lingering trace of a smirk in his amiable grin when she turned to face him. I see now why he has two sets of horns.
She brushed the shoulders of her jammies 'clean' where he'd touched her and said, "I thought you'd want the life of a vengeance demon. That's what you asked for last time."
"Yes, that is what you'd think, isn't it?" D'Hoffryn replied. "Though, surely an intellect such as yours is capable of comprehending simple economics. Similar items carry similar values. All you required of me then were the lives of a few insignificant, albeit affluent mortals, none of whom were destined to do much more than squander their family's vast fortunes on beer and porn. What you ask now is a very different matter. The Summers woman has a grand destiny, as do you."
"I can't give you that," Willow said.
"That is your final answer?" D'Hoffryn asked, eyeing her with interest.
"Knock it off!" she fumed. "I said 'no'."
"Good day to you then," he said, producing a coin from thin air. He handed it to Willow. "Here is my talisman should you have a change of heart." He vanished in another showy flourish of light and smoke.
"Shit!"