a/n: This chapter's a bit short but I thought you'd prefer something small to nothing at all. Sorry it's been so long since the last update, but things have been crazy busy. I hope everybody likes this chapter and reviews :) Thank you

"Well, she was not happy to hear from me," said Jesse, strolling into the den with his cellphone slack in one hand.

Quinn sat up on the uncomfortably square couch, clutching at one corner of a paisley velvet throw pillow. "What did she say?"

"That she has no idea how I got this number but I'd better stay away from her."

"That's... not what I meant," she said, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile, "What happened between the two of you, anyways?"

Jesse took a seat on the other end of the couch, facing the St. James's impressive marble fireplace, and pursed his lips in thought. "It's a long, unpleasant story that I don't quite understand. The details aren't important. Either way, Shelby made her choice. Motherhood and a legacy... one that doesn't include me."

"What does that mean? A legacy?" asked Quinn, wondering how much would be put on her daughter's shoulders.

"Shelby doesn't want all she worked for to be in vain. She wants her power to live on when she's gone. She was my mentor for so long that I thought I could be her legacy... But apparently not."

"Why?" asked Quinn.

"She wanted it to be someone she could teach from the beginning. Someone who could be far more powerful than her one day."

"And she thinks Beth will be a powerful witch?"

"She's your daughter, isn't she?"

Quinn looked down at her lap. "So will she help us?"

"On certain conditions."

Quinn looked back up, surprised and hopeful. "What conditions?"

"She needs someone to help her with Beth while she's here," said Jesse, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Quinn pursed her lips. "...Me?"

"No, she needs you. In fact, she needs all the power she can get. This kind of thing won't be easy. She'll need a concentration of otherworldly energy."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that for her spell to work, she'll need us to be there. Maybe more..."

"Who else?"

"...Rachel."

Quinn widened her eyes. "Rachel? You expect Rachel to help us?"

"What? She's your friend, isn't she?"

"Sure, there's a possibility she would do it for me, but not for you, Jesse, and sure as hell not for Shelby."

"Yes, okay, it's asking a lot, but all she has to do is be there. It's worth saving Santana for."

"She would never do it! And I would never ask her to!"

Jesse furrowed his brow. "Why?! What do you owe her?"

"Everything. I've been horrible to her, Jesse, since freshman year."

"So what? You were a bitchy cheerleader. You were protecting yourself. That's not you anymore, so stop acting like Rachel Berry is the ultimate victim. Why do you care about her so much?"

"Because I love her, Jesse!"

Jesse reeled back a little and widened his eyes, in both surprise and realization of something he should've noticed a long time ago. "...Oh," was all he said.

"Yeah," Quinn sighed, turning slightly red as she turned her gaze to the hardwood floor, "I'm not going to ask her to do anything. Not for me."

Jesse clasped his hands together. Quinn had turned away from him now, embarrassed, and he was glad, because it somehow made it easier to speak to her without her cold green eyes settled on him.

"She used to talk about you," he said.

Quinn wrinkled her eyebrows. "What?"

"When we were dating - well, sort of dating, briefly - she used to talk about you. Just mention things about you, like a song you sang in glee club or how much nicer you looked in your own clothes than in your cheerleading uniform."

"She did?"

"Yeah. I guess I thought it was odd that she'd bother to mention you. Sometimes it felt like she mentioned you more than any of her other friends; even Buffy. But, of course, I told myself that it was only because I knew you, and who you were, and what you were like when we were kids; that that was the only reason I seemed to notice. But now... maybe not."

Quinn looked back at Jesse. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if it's possible that someone like you could fall in love with someone like Rachel, then maybe it's not so far-fetched that those feelings could be reciprocated."

"And what if they are?" asked Quinn, shaking her head, "She deserves a lot better than me."

"Relationships aren't about who deserves each other, Quinn. If Rachel wants you and you want Rachel... then that's that."

"And I'm just supposed to use Rachel's feelings to get her to do things for me? I'm not going to manipulate her like that."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe Rachel wants to help you and be there for you, but you won't let her because you have this vapid idea that she deserves someone more magnificent than you? Who do you want her to be with, Quinn? Someone who will never let her down, who will never tell a lie, who will always put her first? That's a fairytale, Quinn, that's not love. If it were, Buffy wouldn't have slept with Santana like you said. She would be in the arms of her faithful, blond boyfriend right now. Love isn't supposed to be painless."

Quinn sniffed. "And since when did you believe in love?"

Jesse shrugged. "I just want you to be happy, Lucy Q. You're the closest thing I have to a sister. You know, besides my actual sister."

xxx

"Blaine, what are we doing here?!" Rachel hissed, her whispered voice echoing through a dark hallway.

They'd driven to her house in Ben Chang's Volkswagen van so she could get changed into a butter yellow dress she used to wear on dates with Finn, still not understanding why Blaine needed her to look 'cute'. They then drove another fifteen minutes until they were inside the campus of OSU Lima, squeezing through an unlocked window to a lecture hall and clumsily navigating through the hallways in the dark.

"You'll see," had been Blaine's only reply throughout the night.

"Blaine!" Rachel hissed again, following the boy who'd thrown a sharp sweater-vest over his button-up shirt.

He confidently found his way to the end of a hallway near the dorms and inspected a generic framed floral print hanging on the wall, putting his fingers on the edges and feeling for a space. He lifted the picture like a cabinet lid and under it on the wall was a keypad with rubber number buttons glowing green. He put in a five digit code and the whole pad beeped and glowed red for less than a second.

"Blaine, what is this?" Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"Just, act natural," Blaine wrinkled his brow, typing in another wrong code.

"Blaine-"

"Don't worry about it, Rachel," he said calmly, turning around to see a light had been turned on in the hallway behind them and a tall woman with curly brown hair was walking forward in a long, white lab coat and black, pointy-toed heels.

"Blaine Anderson?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, a slight smirk on her face.

Blaine gulped, starting to look nervous. "Professor Wright..."

"Call me Isabelle, Blaine," she said with a tired smile, folding her arms and briefly glancing at Rachel, "What are you doing here?"

"N-Nothing," he stammered, "We were just leaving. Sorry. Please don't tell my dad."

"Blaine, you know the campus is off limits after hours unless you're a student," she said, coyly, "What were you doing here?"

"Nothing," he said, side-eyeing Rachel, "Nothing, it's just... Well, I thought I'd show Rachel the base..."

Professor Wright raised an eyebrow. "Did you?"

Blaine leaned in to Professor Wright and said in a stage whisper, "Cooper always brought girls down here. I just thought maybe I could impress Rachel like he impressed all his girlfriend's in high school... It's stupid, I know."

Professor Wright frowned sympathetically, glancing between Blaine and Rachel. "You know the underground facilities are expressly forbidden to civilians," she said, staring sternly at Blaine, "You have five minutes."

Blaine sighed with relief. "Really?! Thank you so much, Prof- Isabelle-"

"Just make it quick, Blaine. Stay away from the hostile cells."

"Of course," Blaine nodded eagerly.

Professor Wright stepped past him and stabbed the code into the keypad with her index finger. A panel of the wall slid away, revealing a closet-sized space almost entirely made of white tiles. Professor Wright stepped in and gingerly clasped her hands.

"Well, come on," she said.

Blaine led Rachel into the white elevator and Professor Wright spoke her name into a small, square speaker before they began to descend.

"Blaine," Rachel whispered, "Who is she?"

"Professor Wright," he whispered back.

"Yeah, but who is she?!"

"A professor."

"Blaine."

"What?"

"What is this?!"

The elevator doors opened and Rachel sharply inhaled. Professor Wright stepped out and Rachel followed her onto a metal balcony that overlooked an industrial space bigger than Rachel had ever seen, where men dressed in military attire briskly walked past each other and people in white lab coats conversed over clipboards and metal operation tables.

Professor Wright went back to the elevator and called to Blaine, "I'm heading home for the night. Five minutes, Anderson."

Blaine clasped his hands behind his back and looked over at Rachel. "This is the Initiative."

xxx

Buffy knocked loudly on the chipping green wood of Kurt's front door. She'd received a quick and frantic text message from Rachel, asking her to meet them there, saying that they had something for her. The door swung open and Burt Hummel was on the other side, frowning sternly under a navy baseball cap.

"Uh, hi, Mr. Hummel. Is Kurt here?"

"Yeah," Burt frowned, "He and the others are upstairs with... well, something they won't let me see."

"Oh, well-"

"I don't like that my son is keeping secrets from me, Buffy," said Burt, folding his arms over his chest, "And I know this has something to do with your... your..."

Buffy looked down at the wood of the front porch as Mr. Hummel searched for words.

"I know, it's because I'm... different. Look, Mr. Hummel, I don't like that you're son is keeping secrets from you, either. I don't like that he and his classmates are putting their lives on the line to help me. And I could tell you that I would end my friendship with Kurt, or that I would move away from Lima after graduation, but that wouldn't change anything. One thing I've learned in my life is that danger is everywhere, whether you're the Chosen One or not, and once you get a taste for it..." Buffy trailed off, "Kurt's never going to be happy with a normal, suburban, apple-pie life. He's meant for greater things."

Burt pursed his lips. "Those greater things could get him killed."

"Nothing lasts forever."

Burt laughed humorlessly. "You're a smart kid, Buffy. For the record, I never wanted you to end your friendship with Kurt or to leave Lima. But things are changing for Kurt. Big things. He has a boyfriend now and his mother's damn death trap of a car. And don't think I haven't noticed the headaches, the way he just knows things that he can't possibly know... He's becoming a different person. I just want to know that there's someone out there protecting him."

"That's why Kurt is so lucky, Mr. Hummel. He has a lot of people willing to protect him."

Burt nodded and stepped back from the door to let Buffy step inside. "You should head upstairs. They're waiting for you."

"Thanks, Mr. Hummel," Buffy nodded and walked briskly up the steps and to Kurt's closed bedroom door at the end of the hall.

She knocked on the door and heard Kurt call, "Who is it?"

"Buffy," she answered, wrinkling her brow.

Blaine opened the door a crack and peeked out at her.

"What are you guys doing?" asked Buffy, tiresome.

"Okay, come in," Blaine backed up and held the door open.

The whole gang was gathered in Kurt's small bedroom - Tina and Mike at the desk, Kurt standing by the window and Rachel and Blaine standing over the bed next to a huge wooden crate that was laid out on top of Kurt's bed-sheets.

"What's going on?" asked Buffy, closing the door behind her.

"We have a plan," Blaine said, folding his arms.

"A dangerous plan," said Rachel.

"They're the best kind. What's the plan for?"

"To kill the Judge," said Tina.

"Kill? Not maim, dismember and scatter? I thought it wasn't possible."

"It wasn't," Tina continued, "But then we realized... no weapon forged. Maybe they meant it literally. The Judge can't be killed by weapons forged by blacksmiths, but maybe he can be killed by a weapon made mechanically."

"What, like a gun?"

Blaine scoffed. "More than a gun." Blaine took a crowbar that had been resting at the end of Kurt's bed and held it out for Buffy to take. "Open it. It's for you."

Buffy took the crowbar and looked at Rachel, who was frowning with her arms folded. "Rach, what is it? You don't look like you're liking this plan."

Rachel sighed. "It's just... we're taking a huge risk for a plan that depends on wordplay! It's crazy. Doesn't anyone else think this is crazy?"

The others glanced at each other. Buffy smirked. "I think we've done crazier."

She approached the long wooden crate and stuck the crowbar into the side, pulling the lid off with a thud. Her breathing seemed to stop as she looked at what was inside.

"Whoa," she sighed, "Where did you get this?"

"My dad has a pretty high profile job," explained Blaine, "If I'm clever enough I can get access to a pretty impressive arsenal."

"And we all thought you were so innocent," Buffy's eyes twinkled at the object in the box, "Call Mr. Schuester. He'll take us to Spike's warehouse."

"Buffy," Kurt sighed, looking nervous, "What happened at Fort Wayne?"

The others looked to Buffy, remembering where she'd been with Mr. Schuester and Angel last night.

"We found the clansman," she said solemnly, tossing the lid back onto the crate.

"Well, what did he say?" asked Tina.

"We found him dead," Buffy frowned, "And... writing on the walls... in his blood."

"What did it say?" asked Rachel, barely audible.

"It doesn't matter," Buffy quickly shook his head, "But... I know what I have to do now."

"What do you have to do?"

Kurt frowned, realization setting in. "She has to kill Santana."

xxx

"I knew they would have cleared out," said Buffy, leaving through the entrance of the cleared-out warehouse, followed by Angel and the rest of the scoobies.

"And we have no idea where they would go?" asked Will.

"I don't know," Buffy shook her head and nervously eyed the orange sunset rippling through the sky.

"Somewhere crowded," said Angel, "The Judge is going to need plenty of bodies."

"The Bronze?" suggested Mike.

"Closed tonight," said Kurt, "Breadstix?"

"Breadstix closes at seven," Rachel huffed, "There aren't a lot of places to go in Lima. It's not like people are going to line up to die."

Tina raised an eyebrow. "Uh, guys? If I was going to line up, I know where I'd be."

xxx

Snix snaked through the entrance, with other people passing around her through the fake gold double-doors, Drusilla following closely behind her. The women smiled at each other as they let their surroundings envelope them. The putrid smell of artificial butter, hot-dog grease and sickly sweet diet sodas floated through the air, present, but not quite overpowering the thick scent of blood.

Drusilla closed her eyes and breathed in deep through her nose with a blissful smile, and Snix followed suit. The smell was intoxicating - a smell, a taste, she hadn't allowed herself to indulge in in a long time. Not just blood. Life.

"Nice and crowded," Snix smirked.

She had to snicker at the idiot humans walking around with cardboard boxes stuffed with popcorn and movie tickets tucked into their sweaty hands, too busy chatting or rushing off to their next screening to pay attention to the six foot demon following her and Dru. Other vampires - Spike's minions - followed them, blending into the crowd with their plain faces.

"Lock the exits, boys," ordered Snix, before turning to the Judge with a mischievous smile, "It's all yours."

The Judge strode forward, his eyes trailing over people who were crowded around a semicircular concession stand in the middle of the movie theatre. He raised his arms and grabbed the collars of two passing people at random. The people began to shake and tendrils of smoke burned off of their skin. The Judge frowned in concentration until a gasp was caught in his throat as an arrow shot through his shoulder and stuck into his blueish flesh.

His victims fell to the ground, weak, as the Judge gritted his teeth and slowly pulled the arrow out of his shoulder, quietly seething.

"Who dares...?" he began to say, before he spotted the slayer perched on the popcorn machine in the concession stand, a crossbow comfortable in her arms.

"I think that got his attention," she mumbled to herself.

"You are a fool," the Judge laughed, flicking the arrow away, "No weapon forged can harm me."

Buffy dropped the crossbow to the floor and leaned down. "That was then," she said, grunted as she hoisted a long, heavy red and white rocket launcher off of the floor and balanced it over her shoulder, "This is now."

Civilians started to scream and run out of the way, trampling over each other as they fled through the double doors. Snix grabbed Drusilla's pale hand and tried to pull her away as she realized what was about to happen, but Drusilla's feet were planted firmly on the maroon carpeted floors.

Her eyes widened and she screamed, "No!" as the Judge stared into the face of Buffy's rocket launcher, more confused than troubled.

"What does that do?" he asked with some semblance of innocence before Buffy fired.

The red rocket broke apart from its launcher and spiralled through the theatre, hitting the Judge and sending sparks of fire and debris through the air. Drusilla and Snix fell to the floor, hand in hand, after the shuddering impact. Drusilla sat up to see the Judge gone, and fire and rubble in his place.

She whimpered, on the verge of tears, balling her fists like a toddler. She stood and stormed off, followed by most of Spike's henchmen. Buffy climbed over the concession stand and tossed the rocket launcher to Blaine as the scoobies came out from behind the stand, all with weapons in their hands.

"Best present ever," she said to him.

"I knew you'd like it."

"Is he dead?" Tina asked nervously, a battleaxe in both hands.

Buffy looked around the theatre, her shoulders rigid. "Pick up the pieces," she ordered, "Keep them separate."

"Pieces?" Rachel frowned, "We're picking up pieces? Our job sucks."

Buffy kept her eyes peeled, and just as the rising smoke set off the sprinklers she saw a blur of black and red slipping past a few remaining, panicked civilians. Buffy sprinted after Snix, getting drenched with water. She turned into Theatre 7, running into the darkness as a fist collided with her face, sending her spinning to the ground.

Snix smirked and straddled Buffy on the ground, smiling viciously. "You know what was the worst part? Pretending I loved you. If I'd known how easily you'd give it up, I wouldn't have bothered."

Buffy jerked forward and head-butted Snix, who fell back and clattered to the floor. Buffy rose from the ground, frowning, her fury bottled in.

"That won't work. I know you're not Santana."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? Doesn't matter. The point is, you made me the woman I am today," smiled Snix, standing and shaking dust off of her red mini-dress.

Buffy ran forward, about to throw a punch, but Snix caught her fist and pushed her behind a row of seats, only illuminated by a romantic comedy abandoned by its audience.

Snix laughed. "Don't give up so easily, killer. Come on, you know you want it."

Buffy gritted her teeth and ran forward, punching Snix in the jaw, kicking her in the abdomen and pushing her down to the ground with rage boiling in her blood. She lunged on top of her and started hitting her with everything she had. Snix fell back, powerless, her face cut and bloody. Buffy pulled a stake from the lining of her coat and raised it, ready to plunge. She hesitated as Snix half-opened her eyes, that were more brown than maroon these days.

Snix smirked, aggravatingly charming. "You can't do it. You can't kill me."

Buffy sighed and punched Snix one more time, eliciting a pained groan. "Give me time," she said solemnly, and leapt off of Snix, sprinting out of the theatre.

xxx

Will pulled his old Honda up in front of Buffy's house. Buffy sat in the passenger seat, staring at her house, wondering what she was supposed to do now. Go inside, watch a movie with her mom and pretend that everything was normal? This weekend, her life had changed. How was she supposed to act like it hadn't?

"It's not over. I guess you know that," said Will, avoiding her eyes. "She'll come after you, particularly. It's her profile. Angel knows it, too. She'll strike out at the things that made her most human."

"You must be so disappointed in me," she said, barely audible.

"No, I'm not."

"But this is all my fault."

"No, it's not..."

Buffy looked at him, close to tears, and he met her gaze.

"What? You want me to wag my finger and tell you that you were irresponsible. You were and I can, but... I believe you when you say that you fell in love with her. And I'm willing to bet she was in love with you, too. These coming months are going to be hard for everyone, but if you're looking for guilt, you're not going to get it from me. You'll have my support... and my respect."

Buffy said nothing, tears spilling down her cheeks. She curled up on the couch that night, watching an old musical she remembered from her childhood, a mug of cocoa steaming on the coffee table.

"Did I miss anything?" asked Joyce, taking a seat next to her daughter.

"Some singing and running around."

Joyce sighed with a smile and put her arm around Buffy. "I feel like I haven't seen you all weekend."

"I've been busy."

"Well, did you have fun at Santana's surprise party? What did she do?"

Buffy frowned."She got older."

Joyce stroked Buffy's hair, mild concern on her face. Buffy brought her legs up to the couch and hugged her knees, her eyelids fluttering shut as her mother ran her hands over her hair.

Up next: House parties and werewolves...