8.
Unfinished Music: No. 2

Kennedy hopped back onto the bed. The heels of her Doc Martens hooked the edge of the runner board. "You gonna do something besides state the obvious?" she prodded, casually crossing her legs,

D'Hoffryn put in an evasive, yet jovial, "Perhaps."

The saner way to handle this might be with a boot to the head. I am, after all, a slayer. And he's still a demon. That's how we usually work these things out. But because I like the guy, I'm going to give it one more try, "Alright then, why the interest?"

His answer was quick, firm, decisive, and intuitive in that creepy 'get out of my head' sort of way, "Because you're a slayer."

"So, bragging rights, eh?" she countered. Maybe it was arrogance talking, but that was all that came to her.

"No, no, you misunderstand me," he replied. "It's been several millennia since we last had a slayer in the family. And it was just such marvelous fun." Waxing nostalgic made him positively giddy. "Keresa was such an imaginative soul—a true artist—but then, when you consider what she had to work with, I suppose it's no real wonder. One can only deliver so many severed heads before even a sacred duty grows tedious."

With his hands held laced in front of his knee, D'Hoffryn practically mirrored her position. Kennedy didn't see this as mockery, but it did inspire her to move. She leaned causally against her left arm as he continued to regale her with his tale, "This was during the Grecian Dark Ages, before the rise and fall of Rome. Requesting the head of an enemy was all the rage back then. Your people are so bourgeois sometimes. It can be quite vexing. There are only so many creatures that will deliver a head, just like that, all neat and tidy. And let me tell you, you haven't lived until you've spent an entire evening tickling the belly of an Aglean sloth trying to get it to bring up its dinner."

The conflict of interest wasn't lost on Kennedy. This was exactly the sort of thing she was supposed to stop, but she couldn't keep from smiling. The image of D'Hoffryn giving belly rubs to some huge, slimy, scaly thing was just too good, not that she had a single clue what an Aglean sloth was. She mentally edited in hooked claws, and for some strange reason, tufts of fur behind its dog-like, turned back ears. The end result was just too cute, in a really gross, totally macabre sort of way.

The byproduct of her musings faded as D'Hoffryn picked up again, "One forward thinker broke the monotony. He asked that a plague be brought on his enemies. Being the free spirit she was, Keresa summoned a 'plague' the likes of which no mortal man had ever seen."

"So?" Kennedy said, unable contain herself. He was just too enthused not to deserve a splash of chilly water.

"She called Caertius Draconis," he replied, "Or what your people came to call 'dragons.' A more perfect predator has never been seen."

'Draco' or 'Draconis' would've done it. Both rang a bell. Though she hadn't a clue what 'Caertius' was. That tripped her up. She sputtered, "Dragons?" because she couldn't believe her ears. Maybe she'd mixed the two things up.

"Oh, yes," D'Hoffryn confirmed. "You'd be surprised how many of the beasts from your mythology were spawned this way."

So far both of the terms she hadn't recognized had prefixed the ones she had. It tracked that these were probably the names of hell dimensions that she was unfamiliar with.

Kennedy listened with interest as he went on, "Of course our visionary, Seleukus Demetrius, failed to ask that he and his people be made immune; a minor, but costly oversight on his part. That lovely loophole allowed a beast that formidable to be summoned. Caertius Draconis cut a swath across Europe, from Greece to France, laying the countryside to waste, until one sweet little girl wished the monster away."

That final statement, coupled with his fatherly demeanor, threw a fairytale-like spin on the whole history lesson. She also realized that he was paying her a great compliment by saying that the greatest 'plague' of the Bronze Age had come from the analytical mind of a slayer. Her own mind raced with the possibilities.

D'Hoffryn gave her several moments to entertain the fantasy before he concluded, "Most humans are so plebeian in their thinking. They don't appreciate the power of a wish. They cast the word around to curse or to covet. A wish is a gift not to be taken lightly."

If what he was saying was true and his implications weren't exaggerations, this was real power.

The weight of Willow's head lifted. She shook the hair from her face. As she came to rest against Buffy's shoulder again, she said, "I wasn't scared."

"No, you were terrified," Buffy countered without a moment's hesitation or any real thought.

Willow wasn't as quick to respond as Buffy had been, but she was equally resolute. "You don't understand."

Buffy tried to snark, 'What's to understand?' in turn, but she only managed to get out, "Wha—?" before she was interrupted.

"I kinda like being scared." Willow rolled away. As she put some distance between them, settling on her side and taking her head in hand, she continued, "You're probably just going to think I'm—" She stopped cold. Her throat played through the motions of a sluggish swallow.

The separation brought more mixed emotions. It was like a godsend that ached. Buffy told herself it was for the best, because really it was. "Please don't stop on my account," she said, hoping to encourage Willow to continue. The conversation they were having was really more important than any of the other stuff anyway. I think I know where she's going with this. It's not like I've never gotten—

"I love you."

That was such a sweet, but random thing to say. It threw Buffy. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts. The conclusion she arrived at stung. "I don't see how you can even stand to look at me."

"I can see how you'd say that," Willow reasoned. "At first I didn't understand how you could forgive Angel for everything he'd done, but you loved him and I loved you, so I trusted you."

One moment everything felt abstract to Buffy, disjointed and random, the next things slipped into place. The realization dawned so suddenly that Buffy wasn't even sure that the places they slipped were the places Willow intended, but it made perfect sense to her. Oh, she's saying that once she got things figured, she wasn't scared. Like it was for me with Angel. That was a little different. Maybe more confusing. I don't know. I had to view him as two different people, but I wanted to so badly.

That was actually part of the problem. I was afraid for my friends and myself. Most of all I was afraid of my own judgment. I couldn't stand the idea that anyone else might get hurt because of me. I had to figure it out. Know it was him. Understand the difference. I guess it isn't that much of a stretch to think Will's going through something similar.

As Buffy's mind steadied from the excitement of newfound understanding, Willow's gentle voice broke the silence, "Not so much in the past tense because I still do. I could spend the rest of the day showing you how I feel about you." She reached out to take Buffy's hand. "But I think you're right. That'd just be confusing."

Buffy was dangerously close to being in favor of bringing on the confusion. The pull was that magnetic. She resisted the urge to touch the narrow strip of Willow's stomach just below her ribs left bare by her bunched up tee-shirt and the rumpled bedclothes. It was hard to imagine Willow being any thinner and still healthy, but it seemed like she was. Her skin rippled, conforming to the individual groups of muscles. Buffy imagined kissing her. The way it would start off sweet, then snap suddenly, irreversibly volatile.

It felt like another, minor godsend when Willow derailed her letch-fest by saying, "I was afraid you'd hurt Kennedy," at least for one brief moment. Buffy looked up to meet Willow's eyes. Willow didn't falter, which meant her claim was sincere. "I'm not sure I could live with that. And I'm even surer you couldn't. Not once you really understand." That sincerity left Buffy feeling floored. Unbelievable. It's as bad as I thought. She's gonna tell me there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything Kennedy did.

Willow averted her eyes by turning onto her back. Buffy took that for delayed evasiveness. She'd done the same herself. The ceiling was a much easier thing to face.

"I know what you think," Willow whispered. "Or think I do." Her hand slipped free, which just validated Buffy's impression. "You look at her and all you see is what you believe she's done to me. That makes you furious. You're consumed by it. You want to protect me." She turned away to completely hide her face. "Which is wonderful…and horrible." A brief pause, a gulp, a breath, she summoned her courage. "The thing you don't see is what I've done to her. You only know half the story. Everything that's happened here, I've allowed to happen. It was my choice."

All of the pain and guilt Willow felt came through in her voice. At this point, it didn't so much matter what Buffy believed she knew. She kept her mouth shut. It was Willow's turn to talk.

The blankets rustled and rose. Willow lifted her bottom using her legs. Her shoulders pressed flat against the mattress. She unwound the tee-shirt from around her torso, pulling it down to cover herself. As her body came to rest, she stretched out her legs, tugged the sheet up. "When the others left, Faith begged me to come with them. I just couldn't. I couldn't leave you. She tried to reason with me. She said that I could help you from anywhere. And she was probably right. There was no reason for me to stay here."

That was a 'tune in next week' bombshell if Buffy had ever heard one. Unfortunately, Willow was wearing a pensive moue that said her chances of getting even a minute to gather her thoughts were pretty slim. I get two and I'll have to consider that my luck's really looking up, go buy a lottery ticket or something.

Buffy's luck wasn't looking up. She got a quick, concerned glance and another bombshell. "It almost killed Xander when Anya chose to go with them."

"Anya's alive?" she asked. The disbelief in her tone was a little embarrassing.

Especially after the way Willow smiled. "Yeah, she's with the others." Her attitude turned upbeat, like she was happy to be able to deliver one piece of good news. "I wasn't sure what she'd do. I guess she went because of Andrew, but it was probably just as much because it was the smart thing to do. Anya always was the practical one."

Missing the contact, Buffy sought Willow's hand out. When Willow felt her take hold, she clamped down, giving Buffy's fingers a quick, reassuring squeeze. Her head rolled right on her pillow. The momentary distraction ended in a warm, infectious grin. "She and Andrew have a thing. I'm not even sure what kind of a thing it is. I can guess, but—umm…let's just say, they're pretty inseparable."

"I sort of figured that they got each other on some level," Buffy observed. "It was a little weird." She didn't share the memory of watching Andrew grieve for someone she thought he barely knew. There was no point. For what it was worth, Willow's observation was enlightening.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I'm not sure if that had anything to do with Xander's decision." Willow's attention turned to the ceiling again. Buffy followed suit to give her space. "I know that he loves you. And he loves her. That decision was really hard on him. But those last few nights were hard on all of us. I begged him to leave. Faith begged me to come with them. Both Andrew and Wood tried to persuade Giles in hopes that he'd persuade us. It was horrible."

Was this before or after Wolfram and Hart started leveraging them? Interrupting again to ask didn't seem fair, not when Willow sounded so upset. The change had been so abrupt. Midway through her recollection of begging, melancholy had fallen like the proverbial wet blanket.

"They tried to talk sense to Kennedy too, but she wouldn't leave me. I wanted her to go. She cared so much and I—" Stress broke her voice. She picked right back up, sounding determined, "I was in love with you. There's no way she couldn't have known that. Not after everything that had happened—" she angled her head to the side, facing away from Buffy "—that was happening. She had to see, but she loved me. She wanted to protect me. I just wish I could've done the same." Willow grew more and more agitated as she went, which meant she spoke faster. "It wasn't that I didn't care. My feelings just weren't—I was obsessed with you—with putting things back the way they were—so obsessed that I almost—I hurt her…really, really bad."

Had it not been for years of experience decrypting antsy Willow, Buffy might've gotten lost. The worst part was that being able to piece it together left her more overwhelmed.

Not that Willow allowed her any time to react. "I thought that maybe, with just a little more power, I could force the issue. Y'know, give the you that's you here back her soul. Kenn allowed me to use her to help you." Her grip on Buffy's hand lightened. "It went badly."

Feeling returned to Buffy's fingers as she wiggled them. That hardly seemed to matter.

Willow was running out of steam, turning sullen, muttering under her breath, "I might've ensouled a bunch of random vamps that night, for all I know. For all of the good it did."

It hurt like hell, but Buffy flopped over onto her side. She hoped that touching Willow's face would bring her back around, but it had no effect. Willow just mumbled, "After that—after Kenn recovered—everything changed. I let it change. She felt misused. And I agreed. What with the near death experience, she had every right to feel that way." Willow brought her other hand up from beneath the covers and rested it over Buffy's. "She's the only thing that's been keeping me together. The only time I really feel in control is when I give up…"

Buffy didn't believe that for one minute, but she let it go. It wasn't worth arguing over. She'll see this however she sees it. Whatever way works best for her.

A measure of D'Hoffryn's joy abated. "But pardon me, I digress," he said, his hands returning to his lap. "Even before we understood you to be a potential, you had potential. You possess the primary qualities we look for in abundance."

Kennedy had been leaning against her arm for too long. Her wrist felt like so much mush where the squishy mattress held it bent. She straightened up. "And they are?" she asked as she shook the kinks out.

Her legs were pretty mangled from neglect as well. She took care of that while the big guy filled her in, "Well, enlightened self-interest for one." The heels of her shoes caught the bed frame, wedging between it and the box spring as she leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs. "We normally select candidates based on one all-consuming, self-involved, malevolent act. The person does something inventive and difficult that harms the people they most love."

D'Hoffryn considered her carefully for a moment before he proceeded, "With you that wasn't strictly necessary." The amused quality returned to his voice. "You've always been the single most important person in your life." The evil bastard ended up sounding delighted.

Kennedy wasn't impressed. She felt like she should be ashamed. It was almost worse that she couldn't find that in herself. He has to see that what happened to me was messed up.

Maybe he didn't. What he said next sure didn't lend that impression, "You've committed a hundred such acts within the past year. You've almost singlehandedly managed to subjugate the most powerful witch of your age. For that alone, the lower beings have considered erecting a statue in your honor."

Subjugate? He couldn't have been watching too closely or he would've noticed the heaping helping of guilt that caused her to flip out. I just gave her what she asked for.

Now there's a familiar theme. So far, all my contribution's gotten me is big, fat goose eggs…and grief—plenty of goddamned grief. Whatever. We'll have to respectfully agree to disagree.

Kennedy didn't get a chance to voice her differences. He'd already moved on, seemingly blissfully unaware of any offense he'd caused, "Of course, Miss Summers played a part. And believe me, were she not a vampire, I would be making this offer to her too. Unfortunately, she is. And as a human, she's just—" His face twisted with distaste. "That woman is an absolute nightmare. Full of noble self-sacrifice, righteous fury, good intentions and—"

When D'Hoffryn broke off to sigh, Kennedy cracked. His observations were just too funny. Well, he might've missed a few things, but he's pretty much nailed Little Mary Sunshine.

"Eww." He grimaced, mocking a shudder. "She's the archetypal Margery Meanwell with a martyr complex and an affinity for things sharp and pointy. Every time I have dealings with her, it takes me a week to wash the stench off."

Whichever, whatever…she's a little too full of herself to pull off a proper Pollyanna.

Of course, D'Hoffryn didn't stick around to debate semantics. He switched back to painting a picture of Kennedy that she didn't entirely see, "You, on the other hand, are clever, resourceful, egotistical, vindictive, and ever so put out by the injustice of it all."

It was harsh in a lot of ways, but she let that slide too. Her hands hung limp between her knees. She took an interest in them instead of him. He was too busy running his mouth for her to butt in.

"You know that there's nothing for you here, except your family's money. You could live out your days as a bored little rich girl—I've seen lives more frivolously squandered—but you and I both know that your father will never entrust you with the family business. You stand to inherit nothing more than ones and zeros…and not nearly enough of those considering his net worth. The bulk of that has been slated to be passed down to your cousin. Elias, isn't it?" D'Hoffryn was right, but she didn't even bother to legitimize his question with a nod. It breezed by, barely causing a hiccup in his spiel. "And what a fine specimen he is. A real treasure."

The whole thing was totally true and in no way fair. The standard male view that women are somehow inferior irritated her to no end. She was 'ever so put out by the injustice' of that at least.

"No. I'm afraid that the only respect you'll ever have is the kind you have to buy," D'Hoffryn concluded. He didn't say another word until Kennedy looked up and met his eyes. "Unless you take my offer. I can give you power—real power—the kind that will gain you respect…or if you prefer, fear." The intensity of his stare, the pause, it was all about the drama. He continued moments later, emphasizing his words for effect, "And all I ask is that you do something you've already done once before: walk away from your old life." He stood, once again offering her a hand.

She accepted the gesture this time. His hand was surprisingly warm, with overly-long fingers to match his lanky frame. She expected the handshake to be uncomfortably firm or his hands to be moist, but the contact wasn't unpleasant in either way.

White smoke and light filled the air as she stepped back to retake her seat. It surprised her that he was leaving so soon. She'd been under the mistaken impression that she'd had time to ask a few things and rebut a few more.

"You'll pardon me, but I simply must go. Please think it over," he said from inside the cloud. "You have my talisman should you wish to contact me." A disjointed, disembodied, "Good day," rang out from the quickly dissipating smoke.

Buffy lay, zoning in and out, flirting with sleep until she just couldn't stand it anymore. At least I got something for the flirting. A Willow-shaped lump held her pinned to the bed. Poor sleepy girl. Buffy slipping her arm out from beneath Willow's head jostled her—just a little, not too much. The pillow helped. Midway through the extraction, Buffy froze when Willow mumbled a few muzzy, incoherent, cute little sounds that fell short of actual words.

The warmth of endearing familiarity brought a smile to Buffy's face. One more slow, smooth tug and she was free. The momentum carried her upright. All it had taken was another tumultuous emotional upheaval, a few soothing caresses, lots of patience and—the alarm clock caught her eye as she rose to her feet—an hour. Wow.

It's past midmorning—well past time for all good little dead things to be asleep—which means me meeting my alter ego should be a non-issue. Which is good. This isn't even about that. It's about my peace of mind. It's about me knowing what she knows. I even know exactly what I want to check. Her knee wasn't happy by any stretch. Lancing pain hobbled her steps on the way to the chair. It's fine. It'll all be fine. I need to do this. She took her sweats from where they hung and sat down to put them on.

The idea that she and Willow might've been watched bugged her. In fact, planting that little seed in her own consciousness had pretty much sleep-proofed Buffy. Anything short of a sharp blow to the head or a class two narcotic wasn't going to stand in her way. It should be easy enough to tell. I mean, vampy-me couldn't exactly close a windowed door after the sun came up, right? Not without the usual scorchy side effects, or a really long stick. So if she was hiding in a room across the courtyard—which seems a solid choice—I should be able to figure it out just by looking.

Knowing what she knows is still good, right? It's a good thing. It's silly for me to feel guilty for leaving—for doing exactly the opposite of what Will wanted me to. I have a good reason.

Yeah, like that ever turned out well. So, how 'bout if I'm sneaky? Just don't get caught. All will be golden.

That could be my motto…if it wasn't so lame.

Buffy pulled up her sweatpants as she stood, favoring the better of her legs. Neither of them was in great shape, but the right one was totally screwed. She tied the drawstring and limped to the door. The lock squeaked and clacked like only something aged could as she turned the key.

On her way out, she glanced guiltily over her shoulder. Willow was so zonked, she hadn't budged. The stupid lock made just as much noise the second time through, so Buffy lingered for a moment to listen before she set off down the hall. Locking Willow inside really rubbed her the wrong way, but she didn't have much choice. Same thing went for the key. She didn't have any pockets, so all she could do was make do. She tucked it inside of her bra.

For someone who shouldn't be on her feet, Buffy was surprisingly nimble. She made it to the end of the hallway and around the corner in roughly the same time it took her to deal with the door. The rooms down this hall were possibilities too, but she didn't bother to stop. Going where she would go seemed like the thing to do, considering. And she'd already decided that the best vantage point would be the rooms directly across from where the gang had set up shop. It's just too easy. There's no direct sunlight and plenty of cover. We would've never seen her through the reflection on the windows. If this doesn't pan out, I'll try the third floor, same side. That'd be my next choice.

At the next corner, Buffy slowed down to check a door that hadn't quite closed. The 'exit' sign above it told her that it was a stairwell. Every nerve ending in her body stood on edge when she touched the doorknob. She made a choice. All of the doors she'd just passed had crosses nailed to them. If she was even close to right, the ones around the corner wouldn't. The next one did and the one across the hall. There was no time to turn back, so she kept going.

A soft, nasally female voice called out behind her, "I wondered when you'd figure it out."

Desperate to flee, Buffy reached the next door, grabbed the knob and turned it. It didn't budge, so she ran to the next one. She almost moved on when she saw the cross. The door should've been locked, but the knob turned freely. She shoved it open as Her Smugness said, "It sure took you long enough." She was close. Too close.

Buffy slammed the door and reached for a key that wasn't there. That realization sent her scrambling for the balcony. This is the right room. Exactly the right room. Evil-me swiped a key. The French door was open a crack. No surprise there. Buffy didn't stop until she was perched on the railing, basking in sunlight. Her heart ran rabbit in her chest. It's fine. If she gets stupid, I can always go over the rail. And maybe I'll get lucky and take the bitch with me.

Unfortunately, this bitch was anything but stupid. The next sound Buffy heard after the turning of the lock was the bed frame squeaking when her evil half flopped down. "It was thoughtful of Andrew to leave me his key. I don't think the others even noticed. They were all too wrapped up in the latest turmoil."

The vampire's voice sounded strange, but that wasn't entirely without reason. Buffy had heard recordings of her own voice before. She knew it sounded different to other people. It was something that simply hadn't occurred to her. Of course, another huge part of that is the natural tendency to want to reject things that are just too messed up for words.

"Now there's a standard story," the vampire said with a laugh.

Buffy's knees throbbed, both of them, but the right one was still the worst. The railing was wide enough to support one of them, so she scooted back to rest against the wall and lifted her leg up. From her new vantage point she could see the foot of the bed. Light leaked in through the semi-sheer curtains creating a line of shadow that divided the bed in two. Her double lay in the shadow on the far side. Buffy couldn't see much more than her feet, but from their position she could tell that her double was lounging on her side.

Guess so long as I see feet, it'll all be good.

The vampire still had on the same white pair of woven peep-toe sandals from earlier. Her toenails were painted a metallic shade of plum that was slightly darker than her blouse. Even with all of the murderous mayhem and skulking around, she still had time to squeeze in a pedicure. So, my evil half is probably the best dressed vamp in all of L.A. That's comforting. Not only am I a brutally efficient predator, I've set new standards of personal grooming for the undead. Go me.

"Y'know, I'm kind of glad I didn't kill you," the vampire who wore her face and spoke in her voice said. "I haven't had this much fun in…" The whole thing was such a mockery. The way she laughed, delighted by their situation. "Watching you squirm, desperate to figure it all out. I remember feeling that—the burning need to make things right. You know there's no way, but you just have to try."

"And that worries you doesn't it?" Buffy goaded. "The idea that I might just get lucky. I've been known to do that." No matter whose face she wears, she's just another goddamned vampire. That's all I need to know. She'll eventually screw up, get too cocky, too greedy. I'll put her down. I've put down hundreds, maybe thousands of her kind, with nothing more than sharpish wits, a sharp stick and an even sharper tongue.

"Not even a little," the vampire countered brazenly. "You've probably already gotten the hint. Your little plan isn't gonna work—the snatch and dash—bag Angelus and make things better. If it was that simple, don'cha think I would've done that ages ago?"

"Why would you even care?" Buffy sputtered, finding herself stupidly, completely bowled over by the answer. Part of the problem was her legs. The way they were aching made it a little hard to keep her head in the game. The left one was especially annoying, hanging bent and unsupported like it was. She tried hooking the baluster with her foot, but that just strained the joint.

As she mulled over moving to the floor, the vampire replied, "Well, it's not like I've retired," sounding all too much like her. "Death didn't stop me before. Why should it stop me now? I'm still doing my job, defending the innocents and taking down the bad."

"And killing innocent girls," Buffy supplied, quick and snarky. Oh yeah, she's a real humanitarian. Moving was a truly terrible idea. It was bad enough that the vamp could see her and all Buffy could see was her feet. Yeah, sitting there would put me at too much of a disadvantage if Miss Scare-All got brave, or foolish enough to go on the offensive with something besides her smart mouth.

"I s'pose you'd see it that way," the vampire reasoned. "I'll give you that the line between them and me may be a little blurrier."

"A little?" Buffy scoffed. "Tell me, just how else am I supposed to see it? They're girls." That bought her a few moments of silence, during which she figured it out. All she had to do was move down and lay on her side on the railing, just like the stupid vampire.

She was halfway to playing a severely clichéd, but not quite so comfortable bookend when her doppelganger got chatty, "Let me ask you something. When exactly was it that you lost your innocence?" A couple of heartbeats later the rhetorical question slipped away in favor of another… "Was it when Celia died?" …and another… "Did it happen when you watched that thing leech her life away?" …and eventually even an answer was supplied, "It could've been, but I don't think it happened that early."

This was fun. Buffy hadn't given the subject a single thought and she already had one pretty fair answer to a fairly pointless question from a viewpoint not unlike her own. It almost took her mind off the fact that moving her legs made her feel like someone was hacking them off. Having found a decent position, she was comfier now, though the ledge she was on was barely four inches wide. Her right hand hung down to grip the railing as she propped her head up with her left hand and settled in for the show. Listening to vampy-her playing twenty questions with herself promised to be more amusing than a one-sided game of pong.

At least the sunshine felt good. The day was shaping up to be a balmy one. A little breeze might've been nice, but otherwise it was perfect.

All except for her alter-ego running her mouth, "Was it when Mom and Dad started fighting?" recounting the life and times of Buffy Summers. "Watching my home life fall apart was scary. It took forever. The first of the bad fights happened long before anything else. I had no clue how it'd turn out. I'd seen similar things on TV. I wondered if I'd be given a choice like the kids were on those shows. But I loved them both. How could I even do that? It would've been like telling one of them that I loved them less."

Buffy found it interesting that the vampire had switched to recounting a more personal view of the events. She started looking for something that didn't fit, but this stuff was all pretty standard and pretty much common knowledge. Anyone could've told her this story and asked those questions. She wanted something—some inconsistency that would enable to her to say, 'Nope, not me.'

"That's exactly it though. The whole thing was so Movie of the Week. It really sucked, but I don't think that did it. I still felt like there might be some hope. I had this kind of fairytale expectation that goodness would somehow prevail."

So far that was a total bust.

"Was it when Tyler McNulty felt you up that one Saturday night?"

This is just infuriating. Vampy-me can't even pick a point or a point-of-view and stick with it.

"Remember how good that felt? How hard it was when he wanted more? How you almost gave in? Remember how much that hurt? How much you cared?"

This stuff was a little less 'common' in the knowledge department. No one in Sunnydale knew about Tyler because Buffy hadn't been overly chatty about her past. That didn't mean that it couldn't have come from any one of the hundreds of people who'd attended Hemery with her. For pity's sake, we were Fiesta king and queen. He was a junior and I was a freshman. That's pretty much unheard of. I see where she's going with this—and yeah, it sucked—but just the fact that I was younger than he was made me a target for that sort of thing.

Girls are mean. Can we move on?

"He was the first guy I—umm…I mean, you ever really kissed. That is assuming that you are who I think you are."

No, obviously we can't.

Her alter-ego's tripping up again motivated Buffy to reply, "Yes, I am who you think I am." She didn't see the harm in letting that much slip. "So, are we feeling nostalgic for a reason?" In her opinion this whole thing was past tedious. She needs to find one soon or—

"Yes, I have a point," the vampire replied. "Remember how that turned out? I thought we were the perfect match, until Tyler decided that occupying the seat of his Mercedes should cost something a little extra. It's totally mind boggling how not going any further than an 'under the shirt, over the bra' grope made me a slut." A snicker cut into her shtick. "Wasn't high school just a blast? I was labeled 'easy' for being one of the few girls who didn't just give it up over social bullshit. I held out for love."

Feeling like she was a captive audience was getting to Buffy. She lay, not-quite patiently listening. The material was past stale. And I thought I had trouble letting go.

The most maddening thing about the whole situation was how dispassionate the vamp's account was. "But I don't need to share that one with you, do I? Was that what did it? Did trading a few hours in heaven with Angel for months of hell finally rob you of your innocence? Or did it happen before then? Was it when you drew the short straw and got saddled with a demon and a destiny? The dreams came and you watched all of those other girls die." It kind of figured that recounting the carnage perked her right up. "You felt the life drain from their bodies one heartbeat at a time, their necks snap, blades pierce their flesh, their last desperate gasps for breath…"

Sick sadistic bitch.

The sad part was that Buffy knew the bitch had a point. That pissed her off to no end. Before she even had her head together, the vampire took another shot, "How can you possibly think that you did anything other than hurt them? All you gave them was a short, violent life. Death is your gift, remember? If you think anything else, you're kidding yourself."

Not much of one. She's still a psychopath.

Buffy took a deep breath to wring the hostility from her tone. "I'm not so sure I should be taking morality lessons from someone who brings buckets of body parts to—"

Laughter cut her off. "Is that what they told you?" the vampire asked. "My god, you must think I'm some kind of monster."

"The thought had crossed my mind." The comeback was a little too easy for Buffy's tastes, yet somehow not unsatisfying.

"Yeah, well, see it however you like. Whatever works for you," The vampire countered. "But all I've been doing is cleaning up the mess we made." Her feet moved, causing Buffy to tense, but it didn't look like she was going anywhere, just getting comfortable. "I'd consider putting them back if I thought for a minute there was any going back. You and I both know there isn't. What I'm doing is merciful."

Buffy envied her that. Her muscles were starting to stiffen from holding so still. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure you're a real saint," she replied. "Like one of those really old ones who were canonized for acts of brutality and attempted genocide."

"Well, it's not like I torture them," the vampire said. "That's not my gig. It's theirs. Your new little friends. You should ask Kennedy about torture. She could teach a class. I don't even know what you're thinking going there with Willow. The girl has seriously lost it. It's like whatever she had that made her Willowy died with Tara. She hasn't been right since."

Buffy tensed again when she heard Willow's name. Anger brewed beneath the surface of her calm exterior, but she held her tongue and let the vampire speak her piece, "You should at least get your story straight. The 'bucket' thing—that was Spike. I needed for them to know what had happened to me and somehow bringing a vacuum cleaner bag of ash just didn't seem like it'd send quite the same message."

Arguing with a lunatic was a total waste of time. Buffy felt it was better to busy herself by sitting up while she still could without taking a header off of the balcony rail.

"But you could ask Willow about that. She's watched me. She knows."

The stabbing pain that cut through Buffy's legs when she swung them around blotted out most of the vampire's statement. She heard Willow's name and that was about it. That was fine. The important thing was that she was on her feet.

"You should know too," the vampire said. "You remember how that feels. It hurts at first. And then there's fear. I try not to scare them. That's not what I'm—"

It rang a bell. That didn't help one bit. "Yeah, I like I said, I'm sure you're a total peach," Buffy snapped. "The point is you're killing. You know the drill. I shouldn't have to explain. You kill, I have to stop you. It doesn't matter whose skin you're in. You're just another monster to me." She looked the situation over. There was one thing she might be able do, provided that the open door meant there was no magical barrier.

"You see the chain hanging from the ceiling of the balcony on the far right?" The vampire's voice had picked up an amused quality that made Buffy want to stake her that much more. "That's where Kennedy leaves her, all wrapped in painted flowers like some sacrificial virgin. 'Cept Willow's no—"

That tore it. Buffy lashed out. Her left foot connected with the closed French door. Windowpanes shattered. The door latch broke. Glass shards rained over the floor. The swinging door snagged the curtains, bring all of them down. Sunlight poured into the room and the vampire went scrambling.

Buffy used the confusion to hop over the rail—tucking tail grated on her nerves—but the sad fact was, she needed to catch the railing to stop herself from falling. Her body slammed into the wall below, sending pain shooting through her legs. She looked down. The drop was only about five feet, but it might as well have been five-hundred. Her legs felt like they were on fire. At least there was nothing below her, just an overgrown flowerbed. She let go. When her feet hit, she fell backwards, intentionally busting her butt to break her fall. It was graceful.

And now she was stuck with the same problem she had before. So, how do I get out of this goddamned courtyard? The question made her giggle. She flopped back in the dirt.

She was inches from falling into a fit of hysterical laughter when her double called out, "It's been fun. We should do this again sometime." The faintness of her voice was a treat. It had worked. She was leaving.

The sun shone overhead. Buffy shut her eyes against its brightness. All she needed to do now was wait. This was as good a spot as any.