Students still stared when the two of them sat together in the cafeteria, but far less than they once had … or maybe they'd just stopped caring. Although they were both too old to be in high school, they looked young enough to pass as upper classmen. Neither of them had, in fact, graduated, thanks to either the Master capturing them or being turned into a vampire.
Of course, their ages weren't the reason that they were the object of curiosity. No, the teenagers stared because she and Tara had decided that they had been through far too much to care about the opinion of a gaggle of teenagers. They held hands, they giggled, pecks on the cheek happened on occasion, and the vibe of their companionship gave off the sapphic signals that teen boys loved and teen girls loved to gossip about.
"Chicken nuggets … not my fave," Tara said as she grimaced and dipped soggy fries into a mound of ketchup that she'd squeezed onto the plastic plate set in front of her. "What happened to spaghetti Fridays? I actually like the spaghetti."
"That's every other week now," Willow reminded her as she did her best to carve an apple into slices using a plastic knife. "Same deal-i-o with the actual fried chicken … every other week we get these rehydrogenated chunks of chicken guts, beaks, and ground bones."
Tara stuck out her tongue, blanched, and made a gagging sound as she pushed her plate of food towards the center of the round, fiberglass table. "There goes my appetite."
Considering that she and Tara lived off their share of whatever money was scavenged from vamp nests, unpalatable or not, they needed the free school food. Principal Snyder and all the teachers and administrators knew that they, along with the rest of the White Hats, were free-loading breakfasts and lunches while living in the basement, but they also knew … even if they didn't talk about it … that Buffy and her team was the reason why students had stopped disappearing every week and restaurants and businesses were reopening in downtown Sunnydale. The v-word was never mentioned but vampires were on everyone's mind, even if they didn't want to discuss it openly.
Willow held up a slice of apple and Tara grinned, opened her mouth, and Willow tucked the piece between her lips. Tara chewed, swallowed, and eyed the apple slices still remaining on Willow's plate.
"Have the rest," Willow encouraged her. "I'll get another one."
Tara was just about to respond when a pointed burst of sniggering laughter erupted from a nearby table. Tara's delicate, gentle features tightened into a scowl as she stared in the direction of the giggling and Willow did not have to look in order to confirm that she and Tara were the object of mirth.
Maybe I should go ask those girls why they think my feeding an apple slice to my girlfriend is so hysterical.
She put her hands on the round surface of the lunch table and started to stand.
"Will," Tara said in a calm, soothing voice as she laid a hand on her forearm, "let it go."
They'd been down this road before and Willow wasn't in the mood for an argument, so she simply nodded and sat down.
"Thank you," Tara said with a smile.
Willow returned the smile and decided, since they were both smiling and enjoying the sun streaming through the lunchroom windows and the crisp, acidic flavor of the apple she had labored to dice into neat little wedges, now would be a good time to remind Tara that she had promised yet again that the two of them would soon start venturing beyond the walls of Sunnydale High School.
She was getting close to being able to admit to herself that she was in love with Tara, and living together had been far easier than she'd expected … once they'd worked out the division of the very limited cabinet space … but she needed the two of them to get outside the school every once in a while or she was going to lose her mind. She'd lost track of how long it had been since Buffy and Spike had restored her to humanity, but it was probably closer to nine months than eight and in that entire time the closest she and Tara had come to venturing beyond the high school hallways was the time they spent in the atrium. Even coaxing Tara outside so they could sit together on the bleachers and watch a football game or walk through the small garden behind the home economics classroom had proven impossible.
We can't keep living like this.
"Tara, I …"
She had just begun her sentence when the double doors leading into the lunchroom swung open and a solitary figure wearing a red crop top, denim jacket, and low-slung blue jeans walked into view. The chestnut colored, wavy, hair of the rather stunning young woman hung loose to her shoulders, and her high heeled boots clicked on the linoleum tile as she blew a bubble and surveyed the room. A black leather backpack was slung over one shoulder and a cross hung from a steel necklace wrapped around her neck.
Willow glanced at Tara and confirmed that her girlfriend seemed as approving of the new arrival's appearance as she was.
"Put your eyes back in your head and your drooling tongue back in your mouth," Willow said as she nudged Tara's foot with her own. "I'm sitting right here."
"Right, sorry," Tara said as she shot her an apologetic look. "Do you know who that is?"
Willow's eyes rotated back to the slim, yet curvy, new arrival. She shook her head and replied, "I don't know … haven't seen her here before."
Every eye in the lunchroom had turned towards the young woman, the boys with icky amounts of lust and the girls with narrowed, judgmental eyes. Whispers and pointed stares were in abundance as the brunette continued to survey the room. Eventually she frowned, turned on her heel as if to go, and then her eyes settled on Willow … and it was as if a lightning bolt had struck her. She quivered for a moment, her eyes opened wide as saucers, and her mouth fell agape in shock.
"You may not know her," Tara whispered, "but I think she knows you."
The woman strode past the leering, hungry expressions of a table occupied by the boys basketball team and when she reached the table Willow and Tara were occupied, she planted her feet wide on the ground and slowly shook her head.
"I can't believe it," she said in a stunned, shocked tone. "You're real."
Willow glanced at Tara for a moment, then arched an eyebrow at the strange young woman and replied, "Last time I checked … yeah?"
"Do you know me?" the young woman asked as she gestured at herself with a thumb. "Have you seen me before?"
Willow shook her head. "I don't think so … but the last few years are kind of a blood-soaked haze, so maybe?"
"Will!" Tara scolded her as she kicked her foot again.
Yeah, next time maybe leave out the blood-soaked part.
"Well, I know you, sort of," the strange young woman continued. "My name is Faith. Faith Lehane. I'm looking for someone."
"Me?" Willow asked.
Faith shook her head. "No, but I remember you, too … my memories are all messed up."
"Your memories are all messed up?" Tara asked with a quizzical expression on her face. "What do you mean?"
"It's hard to explain," Faith said with a frown. "Look, I'm just here to find out if I've gone crazy."
Willow laughed while Tara smiled a sad smile. "Sunnydale is a bad place to try to figure out if you've lost your mind."
"I'm guessing you're not from around here," Willow added.
Faith shook her head again. "Nope. From Boston."
"Yeah, I was wondering about the accent," Tara said. "Did you drive all the way to Southern California?"
"Hitch-hiked," Faith said in a matter-of-fact tone.
Willow blinked in surprise. "You hitchhiked? Into Sunnydale? And survived? You're the luckiest person on the planet."
"I don't feel lucky," Faith said as she set her backpack on the table and folded her arms. The eyeliner was a bit overdone and the color of her lipstick was a brighter shade of red than Willow favored, but she had to admit … this Faith girl looked good.
"Hey," Tara interjected, "don't take this the wrong way, but why would anyone want to come to Sunnydale, let alone hitchhike across the country to get here?"
"Like I said, I'm looking for someone," Faith replied. "I kinda remember this town, and this school, and you …" she pointed at Willow, "I know you, sort of … but what I really remember is this girl. She's blonde, about my age. She has a funny name."
"Buffy?" Tara and Willow asked together.
Faith's eyes widened and her voice raised in pitch as she stared at them excitedly. "That's it!" she exclaimed. "Do you know where she is? I have to talk to her."
Willow and Tara stared at each other for a moment, then they both stood from the table.
"Come with us," Willow said.
. . . . . . . . .
Every Tuesday and Thursday the gym was theirs from the end of the lunch hour until the final bell of the afternoon, and Buffy insisted that they use that time to spar and train … and her steadfast adherence to the schedule had paid dividends. Larry, who had a football player's physique to start with, looked like an NFL linebacker. Xander had demonstrated a rather surprising aptitude for stakes and knives, and Oz had learned to work around his size. More fundamentally, it brought all the White Hats together and trained them in working as a team.
Spike and Angel tended to bicker for the entire time, of course.
Angel was barking instructions to the various partners engaged in mock stake-play or wrestling, Spike was barking instructions at Angel, Giles and Jenny were standing uncomfortably close to one another for her taste and Giles kept putting his arm around her waist which was gross because of how old they were, and why was Willow frantically waving through the glass window pane set high in the gymnasium door?
She headed towards the door, swung it open, and stepped outside to find Willow and Tara standing with a familiar, but rather unexpected, face.
"Faith," Spike said as he slithered through the door just before it swung shut. "Didn't fancy we'd see you here. Again."
"It's not her," Buffy said with a shake of her head. "That Faith is gone, this is the other Faith … the one we sent back."
Spike shrugged. "Didn't bloody expect her, either."
Faith's eyes bugged open and her mouth fell agape. "It really, really worries me that I understand exactly what you guys are saying." As she spoke, a thick Boston accent tumbled out with the energy of her words. "Why do I know what you two are talking about, and what is wrong with me?"
"You want some advice?" Spike asked as he leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
"Spike …" Buffy said in a warning tone.
Spike rubbed his nails against his new, knee length black leather coat and continued, "Go back to Boston. Or wherever you want, really, so long as it isn't here."
"C'mon, Spike," Buffy said as she rubbed her eyes.
"He has a point, Buff," Willow interjected.
Tara nodded in agreement.
"I'm not fucking going anywhere until I get some answers!" Faith yelled. "I have these visions of another world, of another me, but nothing concrete, ya know? It's like someone cooked my brain in a stew, then my mind got all mashed up with another mind, then they pulled my brain back out and stuck it in my body."
Buffy decided to try a different tactic. "Hi, Faith," she said with a smile as she extended her hand. "I'm Buffy. This is the first time you and I have actually met."
Faith looked down with an incredulous stare at Buffy's outstretched hand. "What are you doing?"
Buffy's smile vanished as she lowered her hand. "I thought we could try acting normal," she muttered.
Xander swung open the gym door and he and Oz walked into the increasingly crowded gymnasium lobby. "Buff, you're supposed to be on weapons training. None of us can lift half that crap you want us to drill against."
"You!" Faith said as her eyes opened wide. She extended her hand, pointed at Xander, and said "I also know you!"
Xander glanced at Buffy with a curious expression, then he gave Faith a thorough looking-over from head to toe. His tone was approving and a sly smirk curled the corner of one side of his mouth as he replied, "I'm pretty sure I'd remember you."
"Jesus, Xander," Buffy grumbled as she rubbed her eyes
A hint of blush crept up Faith's neck as she glanced away from Xander.
"Look, Faith, I'm actually in the middle of something, so let's cut to the chase," Buffy interrupted. "I know everything you want to tell me."
Faith shook her head. "No, you don't understand, you're going to think that most of what I say is nuts."
"Faith, I know," Buffy reassured her. "That crazy church made of sticks of wood, the dragon, the snake monster demon, the castle, the fact that you were two people inhabiting one body for a while but then you walked through a big glowing doorway and left most of yourself behind … I was there and I remember it all happening."
"You know, her knowing more about us than we know about ourselves is still as creepy now as it has ever been," Oz observed.
Willow, Tara, and Xander all nodded in agreement.
"Holy fuck," Faith exclaimed. "All that really happened? That was real? That other me, the one who kind of took over for a while, what happened to her? She went, and her memories went with her, and now all I have are nightmares and echoes of what she knew, and I have no idea if any of that makes any sense." She pointed at Buffy. "You didn't have a scar, but you were there." She next gestured at Xander and Spike. "You two were there, also, but you …" she moved her hand towards Xander, "were a lot older." She swiveled back to Buffy. "I called you Cleveland."
Spike cackled with laughter while Buffy held up her hands in an imploring gesture. "Please don't use that nickname."
"We're getting off track," Spike announced. "Faith, why are you in Sunnydale, and why shouldn't we put you on the first bus out of here?"
Faith didn't take her eyes off Buffy as she responsed to Spike's question. "Like I said, I keep getting these echoes, these fragments of someone else's memories, and a lot of them are all about Sunnydale."
"Shouldn't she have, like, a Watcher?" Tara asked.
"I can go grab Wesley," Oz suggested as he gestured with his thumb towards the gym.
"No!" Buffy and Spike replied at the same time.
Buffy turned towards Tara. "Potentials are assigned Watchers, but they don't meet them unless they're called to become the slayer."
Faith's head bobbed as she frantically nodded. "Yes, the slayer! I remember that, I think I was one of those, and … like … I had superpowers, or something."
Spike uncurled from the wall, reached out, and with a deliberate, forceful motion, planted his hand on Faith's shoulder and pushed. She flew back a few feet and would have fallen if she hadn't stumbled into the far wall of the gymnasium lobby.
"No powers," Spike announced as he re-folded hid arms and leaned back against the wall. "She's just a potential."
"Hey!" Faith howled as she regained her balance. "What the fuck?"
Buffy walked over to Spike and leaned in so that only he could hear her whisper. "That wasn't cool."
He winced and nodded. "Sorry about that, love," he called out to Faith. "But maybe consider that encouragement to get out while you still can?"
"You're a lot stronger than you look," Faith said as she gathered herself and with cautious steps walked back towards them.
"Later, I'm going to talk to Spike about pushing you," Buffy promised, "but for now … I hate to say it, but he's right. You're not a slayer, Faith. Maybe you won't ever be, I don't know if that will happen here. You have a choice and you probably shouldn't stay. I mean, you came here for answers, you got them, and now you know you're not crazy … which is good, but you also don't have any reason to hang around. Maybe you should leave before you start thinking of new questions?"
"What are my other options?" Faith asked as she stood up straighter and folded her arms over her chest.
Spike winked at Faith. "We make you leave."
"Spike!" Buffy snapped as she fixed him with an irritated look.
"She should get to stay if she wants," Xander interjected. "I mean, you don't have to be a slayer to help." While his voice was neutral and his reasoning sound, Buffy also noticed that he never took his eyes off Faith while he spoke.
"She's going to get herself hurt," Spike warned them. "You know that I'm right." He turned towards Willow. "You always got on with Faith … kind of thought she had a thing for you, actually, though it wasn't nearly as obvious as it was with Buffy. Maybe you should try talking some sense into her?"
Buffy's jaw fell open in shock. "I'm sorry, what?"
Faith gave Buffy an appraising look, shrugged, and smiled at her with half-lidded eyes.
Buffy pulled her white gi tighter around her body and there was a nervous cast to her features as she stared at Faith.
"I mean, it's her call, Spike," Willow said. "I don't really feel like I'm in a good position to be giving life advice, what with the whole I-struggled-for-months-to-regain-my-sanity deal."
Tara reached out, grabbed Willow's hand, and added, "If Faith stays in the school for a while, until she's trained and learns what she has to learn, she should be fine … and by fine, I mean she'll survive."
"You two are together, huh?" Faith said as she nodded at Willow and Tara. "Cool."
"We don't have any hang-ups on that shite," Spike added, "and you're a bloody moron if you choose to live atop a Hellmouth."
"A Hell-what-now?" Faith asked. "I don't remember anything like that."
"You're better off," Spike growled. He uncrossed his arms, pushed himself off the wall, and stood upright. "Faith, it's been fun catching up, but I can see where this conversation is heading. I'll duck out now before it gets annoying." He gave her a jaunty wave and then vanished through the gymnasium door.
"Buffy, we need you on axe duty," Angel said as he brushed past Spike. "What's going on out here?" He noticed Faith, flinched in surprise, then glanced around. "And who's our new guest?"
"Her name is Faith," Giles said as he followed Angel through the door, "and I am actually quite surprised to see her in Sunnydale." He shot Buffy a questioning glance. "Were we expecting this?"
"We were not," Buffy confirmed.
"Buffy," Faith said as she pointed at the gi-clad Angel and the sweater and slacks-clad Giles, "I know both of them … I think."
"Yeah, you know Angel and Giles," Buffy replied. "Actually, the other you knew them. This is already starting to make my head hurt."
"Think about how I feel," Faith replied with a snort. "I am definitely staying until things make sense."
Giles chuckled and stared at Faith with a wistful expression. "That may take a while, I'm afraid. Perhaps an indefinite amount of time."
"And Faith and I knew each other … how?" Angel asked as he shifted his gaze between Buffy and Faith.
"She was on your team for a while, enemy for a while … but let's forget about that whole enemy thing and I can't believe I just brought it up. You kind of had a mentor vibe going on with Faith, and you were the last person she spoke to before she walked through that portal."
"I remember that …" Faith said in a soft murmur. "At least, I think I do." Her eyes narrowed and the features of her face tightened. "Why the fuck does everyone know so goddamned much about me?"
Buffy sighed and gestured towards the gym. "You got dragged into this unwillingly and the least we can do is answer your questions … but we'll sort that out later. Right now, we're in the middle of training."
"She should train, Buff," Xander said.
Giles glanced at Xander in surprise. "I'm not so sure that a teenage potential is going to be ready to patrol anytime soon."
"She hangs around us, she's a target," Xander pointed out. "She stays, she trains … at least, that's my opinion."
Buffy shrugged. "It's up to her. Now let's back to it."
"You guys look like you're training for war in here," Faith said as she followed them into the gym.
"We are," Buffy replied.
. . . . . . . . .
The Master's red eyes and pallid, eel-like skin could unsettle vampires as easily as they could humans, and the feral miens and sulfurous, yellow gazes staring at him from the shadows of the warehouse reflected the unease and fear of all assembled. The warehouse was lit only by dim, flickering lights set in the walls, the windows had been boarded up, and the smell of old blood and stale, moldy death lingered in the air.
"Soon," he repeated as he steepled his hands at his waist. He didn't like to repeat himself, and he especially didn't like to repeat himself to the rabble that scurred around him like rats. "We have bided our time, we have learned what we needed to learn, and in a few weeks Sunnydale will be ours once more."
. . . . . . . .
"C'mon, Spike, you know you're supposed to be wearing a gi," Angel reminded him.
Spike pointed at Buffy. "I'm still on the mend and the little missus hasn't cleared me for any exertion outside of the bedroom."
Buffy fought back a wave of nausea, put her hands on her hips, and stared at Spike with bulging eyes. "You did not just call me your little missus."
"Could we please try to set an example?" Giles pleaded as he removed his glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. "You are supposed to be leaders."
Angel glanced over Spike. "You look healthy enough to spar, William," he said as he stretched out his right hand, inhaled a steadying breath, and made a flicking motion with the thumb and middle finger. Spike flinched, reached up and brushed at his ear, then stared at Angel with his mouth agape.
"You've been doing that for months!" he roared. "Oh, that does it." He pulled off his leather coat, tossed it on the bleachers that lined the edges of the basketball court, and stepped onto one of the mats. "Get your ass over here, tattoo-boy."
Faith tugged on the sleeve of Buffy's gi. "Buffy," she whispered, "my head is spinning right now, and I don't know what memories I'm supposed to believe, so let me ask … what is all this for?" She gestured at the few dozen people sparring, grappling, and swinging wooden training weapons at each other throughout the gymnasium. "Who are they getting ready to fight?"
Buffy turned to stare at Faith, then paused and considered how much truth the young woman could handle. Faith had borrowed one of her training outfits … it fit rather well, actually, but she looked uncertain and anxious in the thick, white cotton. The Faith standing in front of her had the attitude that she remembered, but the skills, the knowledge, the certainty, those were all lacking. And, if she was lucky, Faith would never become a slayer and have need of them.
She decided that lying was pointless, so she decided to just tell Faith the truth. "Vampires," she said. "Demons, too, along with other creepy crawlies from dimensions that aren't ours. I think you already knew that … you just didn't want to believe it."
"Hey!" Angel roared as he stepped back from Spike and rubbed at his nose. When he pulled his hand away, his fingers were crimson with blood. "No face strikes!"
"I slipped," Spike replied with a shrug.
Buffy noticed that most of the White Hats had stopped training so that they could watch Angel and Spike brawl, which was an irritating development she had to put a stop to.
"Guys!" she yelled. "Get back to what you were doing!"
As the White Hats reluctantly moved back to the various training spots, Angel and Spike managed to twist themselves into an ungainly grappling pose. Neither of them was able to force the other to the ground, and while they cursed and swore at each other, Buffy shook her head and turned back to Faith.
Faith was staring at her with wide eyes and an expression of horror. "You're right," Faith said. "I think I knew about the vampires, and the rest … I just was lying to myself that it wasn't real, or at least it wasn't real in this world." She took a deep breath. "It's true, then? The fangs, and the blood, and the stakes, and all of it?"
Buffy nodded. "Just remember, Faith, this doesn't have to be your life. You're not a slayer … maybe you won't ever be … and you can leave and go be normal."
"How can I do that when I've got someone else's thoughts rattling around in my head?" Faith asked.
Buffy considered the question for a moment, then decided she had absolutely no answer.
"You know what would help?" Xander said as he stepped between them and put a hand on Faith's shoulder. "Some training." Xander smiled at Faith and raised his hand. "I volunteer to take our newest volunteer in hand … so to speak."
Could Xander's enthusiasm be any more obvious?
"Go easy on her," Buffy instructed him, "or you can take me on next."
Xander's smile vanished to be replaced by a nervous, anxious look. "You got it, boss."
"Hey, lay off the junk!" Spike screamed from his prone position on the mat as he shoved Angel hard enough to send him flying.
Angel tumbled a few times, rose to one knee, and shrugged. "I guess I slipped, too," he explained.
"Oh, for god's sake," Buffy muttered as she walked over to Spike, grabbed his arm, and helped him stand up. "Since you're apparently all healed, you're on patrol with me tonight."
"But Buffy," Spike whined, "you were supposed to have the night off … I had something that I …"
She shook her head and cut him off. "Faith's coming with us, and that means we roll out in force. I want to find a nest, show her what kind of shitshow her life will be like if she stays in Sunnydale, and nip her enthusiasm in the bud once and for all."
Xander and Faith turned towards Buffy from where they stood on a neighboring mat. "Hey!" Faith protested. "I just got here, like, a few hours ago. Maybe dial down the intensity, B?"
She called me B.
"Where did you hear that nickname?" Buffy asked. "Nobody calls me that here."
Faith pursed her lips in thought, then shook her head. "I'm not sure … it just occurred to me."
"Xander," Buffy said, "run Faith through the basics, then put a stake in her hand and have her stab the dummy a while. Make sure she wraps her wrist … I don't want her spraining it on her first day."
"Will do," Xander promised.
She turned around to find Angel and Spike facing off with wary expressions on their faces.
"Guys, enough," she barked. Both Angel and Spike looked as though they intended to argue the point, then Angel finally nodded and trodded off to lecture a few of the apocalytes on the necessity of using short, controlled bursts from the waterguns to avoid wasting holy water.
Spike settled in next to her, leaned in close enough that his warm breath on the side of her face caused her to quiver, and asked, "Are you sure keeping Faith around is a good idea."
"Actually, I think it's a terrible idea," she replied. "Which is why I want to scare the hell out of her tonight and convince her to leave."
"Not the worst idea you've had," he said.
She narrowed her eyes and looked Spike over. He didn't seem to be showing any ill effects from his tussle with Angel and he'd seemed spry enough on the mat. "Spike, you're feeling healthy enough to head back out there, right?" She rubbed at his arm. "All those things we've talked about …"
"That you've been yelling at me about?"
"… I need to know that you listened, and that you're being honest with me right now." She stopped rubbing his arm and grabbed his bicep in a tight, firm grip. "If you're not feeling one-hundred percent, you need to tell me."
I can't ever go through something like that again.
"Buffy, I'll be fine," Spike assured her. He leaned in close, gave her a peck on the cheek, and winked at her. His blue eyes twinkled with life and she wanted to hold him tight and not let him go for hours.
"Then show me," she said as she backed up onto a mat, shifted her feet into a ready position, and raised her hands.
"You sure?" Spike asked. "You're still telegraphing your lefts."
She nodded and beckoned him closer.
"Fair enough," Spike replied as he twisted his head from side to side, which resulted in a spectacular series of cracking noises emanating from his vertebrae, and strode forward.
. . . . . . . . .
"They've come a long way, haven't they?" Wesley asked Giles as he stepped next to the older man. He crossed his arms in a mirror of Giles's own posture, and stared over the group spread throughout the gym.
"Why is Kendra not here?" Giles asked.
Wesley sighed and rubbed at his brow. "Must we do this every week? She believes in tradition, she believes in slaying being the exclusive province of slayers, and she believes …"
"What do you believe, Wesley?" He turned towards the grey-suited younger man and put a hand on his shoulder. "The amount of trust Buffy placed in you, that we all placed in you, is nearly unfathomable, and in return you have done … what, exactly? Kendra slays alone, you dodge my questions on the Council's intentions regarding Sunnydale, and you issue pointed barbs about young woman who are doing their best to master and harness their magical talents."
"The two of them are in danger," Wesley protested. "Ms. Maclay, especially, is in no condition to be drawing upon occult powers. She needs a licensed psychiatrist, not you and Ms. Calendar encouraging her in witchcraft. You are not doing her a kindness by allowing her to tempt her inner darkness."
"Tara has no more darkness in her than any of us," Giles said as he gestured around the gymnasium.
Wesley tilted his head, frowned, and replied, "That's not the ringing endorsement that you think it is."
"I thought I might find you here," Jenny called out as she strode across the gym towards where Giles and Wesley stood. In her hands were several white paper bags upon which dragons, multi-eaved pagodas, tigers … all the time-honored symbols of Chinese takeout … had been printed in red ink.
Giles's expression softened and his face erupted into a beaming smile when he saw her. Jenny had let her shoulder-length, dark brown locks hang loose and she wore a grey sweater over a long, maroon skirt.
"That certainly looks like it might be appetizing," Wesley interjected as he eyed the bags in Jenny's hands.
Giles rotated his gaze to Wesley and frowned. "I have not forgotten what we were discussing a moment ago. I intend to talk to Buffy about the situation, and to put it bluntly …"
"Rupert, stop arguing with Wesley," Jenny said as she laid a hand on his forearm. "We're all on the same team."
"Jenny," Giles said in a strained manner, "you should be aware that Wesley wants you to stop training Tara and Willow in witchcraft. He fears such efforts are dangerous and that they are not ready."
Jenny's hand tightened, almost imperceptibly, on Giles's arm. "They're both already stronger than I am, which admittedly isn't saying much. They need to learn to control their power … they have to."
"If they hadn't been started down this path, they wouldn't need to learn to control their abilities," Wesley retorted.
"Now wait just a moment," Giles interjected, and his voice had grown heated and angry, "Jenny was helping two young women who desperately needed guidance and I do not appreciate you suggesting otherwise."
He hadn't realized how loud his voice had grown until he glanced about and noticed that everyone standing within a few dozen feet of them had stopped what they were doing to listen.
Buffy stepped away from Spike, who was gasping for air and bent over with his hands on his knees, and strode over to them.
"Any chance you guys could bicker elsewhere?" Buffy whispered. "Also, good to see you, Jenny. It's been a while … Giles has been keeping you busy at home, I imagine?"
When Jenny and Giles both blushed and looked rather flustered at her comment, Buffy winced at the turn of phrase she had used.
"I just meant, like, moving into his apartment probably took a lot of work, and then there's the research, and … I'll just stop talking now."
Jenny walked over and gave Buffy a hug. "I'm sorry about what happened with Spike," she whispered into her ear. "I can't imagine what that was like."
Buffy returned the hug and squinted her eyes to keep tears from forming. "Thank you."
Jenny stepped back, glanced over at Giles, and nodded towards the bleachers. "Chow time?"
Giles nodded in reply. "I'm starved."
Both Buffy and Wesley watched Giles and Jenny settle in for a makeshift picnic lunch beneath the high ceiling of the gymnasium, and as the smells of fresh Chinese food filled the air, Buffy reminded herself for the thousandth time that she was beyond sick of high school cafeteria food.
"Ms. Summers," Wesley said with a nod. He moved to go and she reached out and grabbed the back of his coat.
"Not so fast," she replied. "I've got something to tell you."
Wesley stumbled as she yanked him backwards, then regained his balance. "No need to slayerhandle me about. I'm ready to listen."
"Good," she replied as she stepped close and stared up at him from only a few feet away. "First of all, it's Buffy. I have told you this so many times, and I want this to be the last time. If my mom was still alive, you could call her Ms. Summers, but I'm Buffy. Got it?"
Wesley nodded. "My apologies, Buffy."
"Glad we got that sorted out … again," she said. "Now for a more important matter: you have until the end of the month."
Wesley blinked in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me," she informed him. "End of the month. I'm setting a deadline, I'm sticking to it, and that's that. You're either on board, totally, or you're gone. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about either, because we've been been over this before. Dozens of times, in fact. I'm like an abandoned hospital, I've so run out of patience."
Wesley blinked a few times as he tried to parse through her pun, then finally replied, "Ms. Su … Buffy … surely we can find a middle ground, a way for Kendra and the Council to cooperate with you here in Sunnydale without resorting to threats or ultimatums?"
"I'm not threatening you, Wesley," she said, and she tried to make her voice gentle and reassuring as she spoke. "But you're right, this is an ultimatum. Angel trusted you in that other world … and so did a lot of people, but you've had time to become that person he relied upon and it hasn't happened. You know how we feel about the Council, but you either don't trust what we're telling you or you don't care. No more half-measures, it's time to make up your mind. Either resign as a Watcher and join us, or take Kendra and set up your own shop somewhere else and do things the way that the two of you want."
Wesley bit his lower lip and stared down at the gym floor. After a while, he raised his eyes and nodded. He was more sure of himself and less diffident and effete than he had been months prior, but he was still nothing like the man described in Buffy's journals.
He probably never will be the man he's supposed to be. Sometimes it takes a defining moment, and in this world, maybe that moment never comes for Wesley.
"You'll have my answer before then," Wesley replied.
"I hope it's the one I want to hear," Buffy said as she turned away.
. . . . . . . . .
"Better," Xander said after Faith managed to shift her legs and twist free of the arm he was using to pin her to the mat.
"Bullshit," Faith replied as she flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder and climbed to her feet. "You went easy on me."
"It's your first day," Xander reminded her as he assumed a ready position and began to circle towards her weak side. "No need to overdue it."
"Well, it sounds like B wants me out there on the front lines when the sun goes down, so I'd better learn in a hurry." She hesitated a second, and Xander could tell that she wanted to say more.
"What?" he asked. "Do you need a break?"
Faith shook her head. "It's just … this is so weird for me. You, B, that guy with the overdone blond hair, the other tall, dark, and brooding dude, that professor-looking geezer … I know you all. Hell, I know other people here, too." She gestured towards Oz. "But I've never met any of you, and I don't know you, not really."
"You've met us now," Xander said with a smile.
He darted forward, faked a tackle, and then sunk to his knees so that he could wrap one arm behind her thighs. When he drove his shoulder into her mid-section, Faith toppled to the mat and tried to squirm away. He pinned one of her arms to the foam padding, slid a leg over her torso, and then grasped the wrist of her other arm and trapped that arm as well. Faith struggled and kicked for a few seconds, then settled against the mat when she realized it was hopeless. She stared up at Xander, who was sitting astride her waist while he pinned her arms to the floor on either side of her head.
"This is going to sound crazy," Faith said, "but … I'm having the weirdest sense of déjà vu right now."
Xander cleared his throat, stared at her with a puzzled expression, then asked, "What?"
"Never mind." She patted his forearm with the fingers of her hand and in response to the tap-out, Xander released his grip, stood up, and held out a hand. Faith grabbed the proffered arm and with Xander's assistance climbed back to her feet.
"Vampires … what are they like?" she asked.
"They're monsters," Xander immediately replied. "They look human, they sound human, but they aren't. They'll kill everyone you love and smile while they do it."
"Sounds like you know them pretty well."
"I used to be one," Xander replied. His expression was grim and there was no humor to his voice, but Faith concluded that he had to be kidding. "And I'm not the only one … Angel, Spike, and Willow, too."
She stared at him with a skeptical expression. "You're not serious?"
Xander returned the stare and said nothing.
"Wow," she exclaimed. "But you're, like, all better, right?"
Xander shrugged. "Some days are better than others." He resumed his stance. "Go again?"
After a moment, Faith nodded.
. . . . . . . . .
"I'm sorry, why are we rushing away like we aren't welcome?" Tara asked as she and Willow headed back towards the cafeteria. "I was kind of hoping to talk to Jenny … and I'm not really in a hurry to return to the lunchroom.
"Because Oz is in there," Willow replied.
Tara reached out, grabbed her shoulder, and pulled Willow to face her. "Staying away from him doesn't mean we can't be where the White Hats are. I hope you get that, Will."
"I know," Willow said with a nod. "It's just … not today, alright?"
Tara stared at her for a long time, then nodded and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. A few whoops and hollers could be heard from irritating teenagers clustered around nearby lockers, but they both ignored the catcalls.
"I get it," Tara said.
They clasped hands and continued down the corridor.
. . . . . . . . .
"Shouldn't we have real guns, maybe?" Faith asked. She looked small and fragile within the black padding of her chest armor and the knuckles of her hands were white where they grasped the barrel and grip of a large water gun.
Oz shook his head. "Bullets might slow some of them down, but it won't stop vamps." He tapped the underslung container of the water gun he was brandishing. "Holy water, on the other hand, will keep an entire nest off your back."
A scream emerged from the courtyard of the abandoned motel they were gathered around. The neon vacancy sign flickered against the night sky, the windows of the motel office were boarded up, and despite the extremely late hour, she could see lights peeking from the rooms of the motel. There was one, U-shaped level to the motel, with the parking lot set in the middle, and judging by the howls and screams every room was filled with monsters of the night.
"Should we be worried?" Faith asked after a particularly loud howl was abruptly cut short.
Giles tapped at the earpiece lodged in his left ear. "If they needed back-up, we'd hear it."
"They probably won't need it," Oz said, "but we're here just in case."
"And to make sure none of the bad guys get away, right?" Faith asked. "Are we sure there isn't a backdoor to this place?"
Giles pointed towards the roof of the motel. "Only if they climbed up there."
Faith fixed Giles with a skeptical frown. "Right, but how high can they …"
As if on cue, a vampire leapt towards the driveway that they were guarding. The things's face was a leering, yellow-eyed rictus from her nightmares, and its nails reached for her flesh as it sailed through the air. It had been a man once, Faith realized, and a fairly large man, at that.
Someone knifed through the air, crashed into the side of the vamp, and knocked it to the ground. The vampire growled in anger and snapped its teeth as it rolled to its hands and knees. Faith could sense the group she was with cluster behind her, but nobody seemed in a hurry to do something about the monster
Buffy rose into a crouch and positioned herself between the vampire and Faith. "Guys," she called out, "grab its arms."
Spike and Angel came out of the shadows to flank the vampire.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Buffy?" Angel asked he grabbed one of the vampire's arms. The thing tried to simultaneously yank itself away and bite Angel, but mid-snap Spike grabbed the vampire's other arm with one fist while he closed his other hand around the long, brown locks of the vampire's hair. He yanked the creature's head up and it proceeded to convulse and thrash in an effort to escape.
Faith watched in morbid fascination as Buffy approached the vampire and smashed the palm of her hand twice into its face. The crunch of its nose breaking caused Faith to grimace, and when she saw blood begin dripping she felt a bit woozy. The blows seemed to have done their job, however, as the vampire hung in a limp daze between Spike and Angel.
"Bring it," Buffy ordered.
The screams and sounds of fighting from within the motel had died down, and Faith realized that the armed, grim-faced young White Hats were gathering in the parking lot. There were bloody faces, a few bandages wrapped around legs and arms, but everybody seemed to be standing upright.
Spike and Angel maneuvered the vampire through the open parking lot gate and pinned it against the cincerblock wall of the motel's office. The vampire's eyes rolled in its head and it made feeble, palsied motions as it tried to struggle free. Blood dripped onto Angel and Spike's coats, the night air seemed to have grown colder, and as Faith stared at the undead monster in front of her, it horrified her that deep inside, all of this somehow felt familiar.
Angel and Spike stared at Buffy, and Buffy stared at her with an expectant expression.
What does she want from me?
"What?" Faith asked. "What gives? We did like you asked and guarded this spot."
Buffy pulled a stake from inside her nylon windbreaker and used it to point at the vampire. "That's what we deal with, Faith. Except sometimes there are a lot more of them and every now and then they surprise us."
"Do you really want to be part of this?" Angel asked, and his dark eyes were serious. "Look at what your life would be like." He gestured with his free hand at the vampire.
Spike spat on the ground and shook his head. "You guys are wasting your time … you know Faith, and when's the last time she ever listened to anyone?"
"I don't know her," Angel muttered.
"Oh, right," Spike said in a mocking, faux apologetic tone. "Sometimes I get you mixed up with the other mincing poof that looks just like you."
"B, I can't just leave," Faith replied. "I mean, I get it, your lives are a horror movie, and I'm trying really hard not to freak out right about now, but I just can't leave. There are thoughts buzzing in my skull that aren't friggin' mine and if I don't do something to make them stop they'll drive me crazy."
Buffy's hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a trail of ash … or maybe it was dust … partially covered the thick scar that slashed across her lips. She looked grim and frightening in a way she definitely hadn't back in the high school, and Faith waited to see what she would do next.
Buffy nodded, flipped the stake in the air, caught it by the point, and held out the hilt to Faith.
"Then show me," she said.
"Buffy, are you sure …" Giles started to say.
Buffy's eyes snapped over to him, and Giles's words sputtered to a stop.
"I've got this," Buffy informed hm.
Giles mumbled some sort of agreement, but Faith couldn't make out the words as her eyes swiveled first to the stake, then to the vampire, then back to the stake.
"Me?" Faith asked. "Don't you have to be, like, strong to do that?"
Buffy gestured towards the group gathered in the parking lot. "Look at them. They're all regular ol' people, and Susie and Becca aren't much bigger than you are."
The two angry-appearing women amongst the dozen or so men stared at her. Neither moved nor spoke.
Faith unslung her water gun, handed it to Giles, then reached out with hesitant fingers and grabbed the stake. "What do I do?"
Buffy tapped the still-dazed vampire in the middle of its chest. "In my experience, six inches of wood gets the job done in a satisfactory fashion."
Spike began to laugh at Buffy's phrasing, Angel did his best to conceal his grin, and Buffy covered her eyes as the White Hats coughed in an attempt to hide their collective mirth.
"Oh, for god's sake," Buffy mumbled as she uncovered her eyes and stared at Faith. "Just stab the vamp in the heart."
Faith glanced at the professor-looking guy, Giles, the short redhead, Oz, everyone, really, and nobody said a word in disagreement or protested that it was her first night in Sunnydale.
She swallowed, straightened, and tried not to tremble as she walked towards the vampire. "Like this?" she asked as she raised the stake, put the point in the middle of the vamp's white t-shirt, and then wrapped the other hand on the knot of wood that served as a pommel.
"Now, just push," Buffy encouraged her.
She pressed harder with both her hands and watched as the fabric of the shirt tore beneath the roughhewn point of wood. She continued pressing and dark blood seeped out … it didn't pump or squirt, it just formed a growing shadow that stained the vampire's shirt. The blood made what she was doing feel real, too real, and Faith realized that she was breathing heavily and that her brow was covered with sweat.
"Been a long night and Buffy and I have got an errand we need to run," Spike snapped. "Kill this bloody thing and let's be done with it."
"It's not too late, Faith," Buffy whispered in her ear as she leaned over and gave her a comforting pat on the arm. "I'm doing this to show you what our world is like … but this doesn't have to be your world. Go home."
Faith shook her head, but neither could she force her arm forward.
The vampire, undoubtedly due to the pain of the wood lancing into its chest, began to stir. Its yellow-eyes focused after it blinked a few times and Spike and Angel had to tighten their grips as the vamp tried to stand upright.
"B, I don't think I can do this."
Before she could pull the stake free, Buffy swung her left hand in a short, powerful arc and smashed the palm against the back of the stake, where her own hand gripped the wood. The stake moved forward, Faith felt a sickening crunch shoot up her arms, and the vampire's eyes widened as it disintegrated into a cloud of dust.
The stake clattered to the ground as Faith stepped back and waved at the debris filling the air. Her heart was still racing, and the world felt lighter than it should, almost as if she was in danger of floating away.
I may be going crazy.
Buffy put her arm on her shoulder, turned her away from the motel, and guided her towards the nearest of the three vans they'd used to drive across Sunnydale. "Sleep on it," she urged her. "Nobody will think any less of you, Faith, and it's probably for the best if you leave Sunnydale in your rearview mirror."
Faith opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn't think of what to say.
. . . . . . . . .
"I'm sorry, how old are you again?" Wesley asked as Faith burped, tossed another empty beer into the trash, and used the edge of the library table to remove the cap from a fresh bottle. She smashed her hand down and the cap spun off towards the rows of books lining the walls of the library. Giles frowned at her.
"She's old enough to know that she's leaving indentations in the table," Giles said as he gestured towards the dark wood surface that Faith was leaning against. "Faith, you could just ask to borrow an opener."
Faith nodded, drank half the beer, then stared around the room. Giles was there, so was Angel … normally she'd be all over him, but for some reason he seemed more like a big brother than a body she'd like to be bouncing herself on top of. That dorky guy, Wesley something-or-other, stared at her with a look that varied between confusion and consternation.
She ignored Wesley's comment and Giles's complaint and pointed a finger at Angel. "So these two," she gestured first at Giles and then at Wesley, "they belong to some organization that keeps tracks of slayers and all the maybe-someday-slayers, and they what … tell them what to do? Keep tabs on them? Make sure they don't step out of line?"
"I am no longer a Watcher," Giles said as he sat down at the table across from her and plucked a beer from the six pack set in front of her.
"Help yourself," Faith said.
Giles searched his pocket for something he could use to open the bottle, shot a questioning glance at Angel and Wesley, both of whom shook their heads, then with a muttered epithet he set the bottle against the library table and slammed off the cap.
"You've done that before," Faith said after she took another long sip. "I'm guessing you're not as prim and proper as you pretend to be."
Giles's throat moved as he took a long swallow, and when he set the beer down, he did not respond to her comment.
"So you actually killed a vampire? On your first night? Impressive for a potential," Wesley muttered as he too, sat down.
"She did good," Angel said. He removed his coat, slung it on one of the empty chairs, then sat down across from Faith. "It's not always that easy."
"I got that feeling," Faith said. She eyed the remaining two bottles of beer. "You know, I wanted to chill these, but the refrigerator is filled with green goop. What is that stuff?"
Giles's eyes widened, his body stiffened, and Faith had the sensation that he was on the verge of panic. "Did you touch any of it?"
Faith shook her head. "I wasn't messing with any of that stuff, looked evil."
Giles slumped back in his chair and took another sip of his beer. "I need to get the lock replaced … I keep putting it off."
"The substance you saw," Wesley interjected, "was not, in point of fact, evil. Far from it, actually. It can be used to cure vampires."
"Really?" Faith asked. "Then why aren't you using it?"
Angel, Wesley, and Giles exchanged glances, and she had a feeling that her question had been the subject of numerous conversations.
"We only have what you saw in that refrigerator, and I have been researching ways to either produce more of it, replicate its effects, or increase its potency," Giles replied.
"How's it work?" Faith asked.
Wesley set his glasses on the table and his tone took on a lecturing manner. "By injection or ingestion."
"Huh," Faith said as she tilted her head back and drained the beer. When she set the bottle down, she was fairly certain that Giles and Wesley were staring at her with disapproval. Angel, on the other hand, looked concerned for her. She was more comfortable with the disapproval than the concern, at least she was used to people disapproving of her. Concern, kindness, caring … those were emotions she came across far more rarely.
She hadn't told B, but after she'd caught her boyfriend cheating, he'd thrown her out of their apartment. That left her with no home, no job, no money, no high school diploma, and she had a head full of bad wiring thanks to some other version of her fucking around with her memories. There was nothing for her to go back to in Boston. There was nothing for her to go back to anywhere.
"Too bad you can't just put that green crap on a blimp and spray it over the city," Faith mused as she grabbed one of the two remaining bottles. She was already growing tipsy, which was good, but she could still remember the day's events clearly, which wasn't good. "Or maybe cropdust them like that one Hitchcock movie, North by something."
"North by Northwest," Angel interjected. "It's a classic."
"How old are you again?" Faith asked.
Angel frowned at her and replied, "Old."
Giles stood up from the table so abruptly that the bottle he'd been drinking from wobbled and then toppled over. A stream of yellow liquid crowned with white, frothy foam poured forth and Wesley scrambled to stand the bottle upright.
"An aerosol," Giles breathed. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and his hand was shaking as he removed his glasses. "Faith, you're a genius."
Faith tipped her bottle at him then proceeded to use the edge of the library table to smash off yet another cap.
"Mr. Giles, I'm afraid I'm not following," Wesley said.
Angel held out an imploring hand towards her. "Faith, you're slamming those back pretty fast. Are you sure …"
"Been drinking a long time, chief," she informed Angel. "I'm good." She locked eyes with him while she took another long sip.
"Wesley," Giles said in an excited, hurried fashion, "I've been looking at magic, demonic essences, every possible way to utilize the Mohra blood more efficiently except the most obvious route … mechanism of delivery."
Wesley stared at Giles in confusion for a few seconds, then he grinned and nodded. "The potency might increase in vapor form."
Giles slapped the table and everybody flinched. "Not might, it will. Substances invariably work faster and at a lower dose when the mechanism of delivery is the respiratory organs as opposed to the circulatory system or digestive tract. It's literally the easiest solution … I've been overthinking this from the beginning."
"Good news?" Faith asked.
"Excellent news," Giles replied.
Angel rapped the table with his knuckles and his brow furrowed into a thoughtful expression. "You know, the vamps we change back aren't going to become productive members of society just because they're restored to humanity. They'll be like Tara and Willow, or like I was when it happened to me. They'll be ruins."
"Maybe," Giles conceded. "But restoring them to life is the necessary first step."
"These people deserve that chance," Wesley added.
"Glad I could help," Faith said. She belched again, this time louder and much longer, and Giles folded his arms and fixed her with a reproachful glare.
. . . . . . . . .
"We're here," Spike announced as he stood on the sidewalk, wrapped his arm around her waist, and gestured towards the two story home he'd led her to.
The pillars on either side of the wooden front door were white, the pillars had brick foundations, and the roof of the house was tiled in grey. Overgrown shruberies, some low-hanging tree branches, and grass that looked like it hadn't been mowed in a year obscured the view, but she could see the home well enough to know that it was entirely unfamiliar to her. She squinted and tried to make out any lights in the windows or the narrow windows set in the front door, but the interior looked dark.
"Okay, Spike, I'll bite … where are we?"
Spike's expression, which had been a beaming smile, transformed in an instant to one of crestfallen disappointment. "Are you serious?" he asked as he getured at the home. "Nothing? Not a glimmer of recognition?"
She stared at the house again for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Should there be?"
"Let's go inside," he said in an encouraging fashion as he laid a hand on her back and urged her forward. "Maybe that'll jog your memory."
"Sure," she said. "We'll just break down the door and look around."
"Not needed," Spike replied as he reached into his coat, retrieved a key ring, and jangled the keys in front of her.
"Spike …" she said in a low, warning tone. "What have you done? Did you steal a house?"
"Nope!" Spike said in a near-girlish squeal as he scampered up the steps leading to the front door, worked one of the keys in the lock, and swung the door open. "I did nothing of the sort, love."
He flicked on the lights and Buffy, with a growing sense of trepidation, followed him inside.
"Take a look around," he encouraged her.
In silence, with one hand curled towards the stake tucked into the rear of her jeans, she moved first towards the left, into the living room. It looked normal enough … curtained bay window that pointed towards the street, a brick, arched fireplace, hardwood floors.
"Am I supposed to see something here, Spike?" she asked.
He leaned against the dark wood of the stair's bannister and said, "Just keep looking around."
She walked into the kitchen to find a large, oval island topped by white stone and wooden cabinets. The tiling of the floor was white, the same color as the paint in most of the house, and her sense of unease was growing by the moment.
"Spike, what the hell are we doing here?" she asked as she maneuvered towards the stairs.
He leapt up the stairs two at a time, then turned and beckoned for her to follow.
She kept her hand on the stake as she climbed the wooden steps. When she reached the top, Spike had already vanished down the hallway and ducked into one of the bedrooms. Light spilled onto the carpet as he flipped the switch.
"Spike!" she called out as she followed him into the modestly sized bedroom. "It's late, I'm not in the mood for games, and what is this?"
The room she found herself had white, striped wallpaper, the roof slanted downwards and cut off the far corner, and unlike the rest of the house, it had furniture in it. An enormous, four-poster, king-sized bed made of some sort of glossy dark wood had been placed against the wall on the far side of the space. The pillows, blanket, and sheets looked brand new, and the scene would look charmingly domestic if only the bed was not far too large for the room.
"Not even a spark, huh?" Spike asked as he leaned against the wall. "That's disappointing."
"Are the cops going to come bursting in here at any moment?" she asked as she walked to the window, separated the blinds, and peered out at the street.
"They bloody well not," Spike replied. "Considering that I bought the place."
The blinds clattered as she released her grip and spun towards him. "You bought a house? This house? What? Why? With what money?" That last question she knew the answer to already. "All those stupid money-making trips, including the one that nearly got you killed, it was so you could buy this house?"
"It was indeed, love," Spike confirmed. He could not possibly have looked more proud of himself and Buffy could not help but feel a sense of excitement as he grinned at her. "I don't exactly have any identification in this world yet … Willow won't be good enough with computers for a while to help me out on that front, so I put the title in your name. I hope you don't mind." He fished a second set of keys out of a different pocket and tossed them over to her.
She snagged them out of the air and stared at them in shock. "You bought me a house?"
"Not just any house," Spike said as he walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. "This is your house, Buffy. It's the house you were supposed to have. Got a great deal, too ... the Sunnydale housing market has seen better days."
Her mouth fell open when she realized what Spike meant, and she turned in a full circle and stared in wide-eyed wonder at her surroundings. "This was supposed to be my room, wasn't it?"
Spike nodded.
"I can't believe you did this," she whispered. She walked over to where he sat, bent down, and gave him a long, lingering kiss on the lips. The moment was sweet and kind and filled with love, and she felt overwhelmed with what he had done for her. "I can't remember the last time that I had a real home." She held his face in her hands, pressed her forehead against his, and murmured, "Thank you so much."
He held her for a moment, then he stood, walked towards the door, and stepped into the hallway. "There's a master bedroom at the other end … there's a bed in that one, too, but I definitely wanted a bed in here. You see, it's always been kind of been a fantasy of mine that we'd …"
"I know where you're going with that," Buffy said as she held up a hand. "You don't need to walk me through the machinations of your perverted mind."
"Kitchen has new appliances," Spike continued, "and you deserve someplace vampire-proof that isn't a school basement."
She bent over and hugged him.
"You'll need the space when Dawn shows up in a few years," he added as he patted her back.
She gripped him tighter and laid her head on his shoulder. The carpet felt so soft beneath her shoes … she couldn't remember the last time she'd stood on soft carpet, and she desperately wanted to kick off her boots and curl her toes against the fibers. "Assuming Dawn being my sister still happens in this universe," she reminded him.
"I'm sure it will," Spike said with a confidence she didn't feel. "And this time we'll know right off that Glory is Ben. I'll take care of him myself, before he becomes a problem. You won't have to go through any of the shite you dealt with before."
Spike was speaking, and she knew she should understand the words, but for some reason the meaning slid through her thoughts. "What did you just say?"
Spike blinked at her with a surprised, and concerned, look on his face. "I was talking about Dawn, and about how this time we'll see Glory coming, because we know she is hiding in Ben."
Once again, Spike's lips were moving and sounds were coming from his mouth, but the meaning eluded her. She gave a slow shake of her head. "Spike, you're not making any sense."
"Ben is Glory, Glory is Ben," Spike gibbered incomprehensibly in a near-shout. "Buffy, are you hearing me?"
She found herself inordinately frustrated by the conversation and decided to move on. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
"Oh, bloody hell," Spike muttered as he stared at the ceiling. "Not this bloody, bollocks-filled nonsense again." He waved his hand. "Never mind, we'll worry about it later."
She put her hands on the railing along the second floor and stared down towards the living room. "I don't know how to thank you. I really don't."
"You can start by saying you'll move in here with me," Spike replied.
I bet that's something Spike always wanted.
"Absolutely," she said with no hesitation. "Honestly … I was beginning to go insane in the school basement. I love you, Spike, but that's a small apartment for two people."
"It won't be vampire-proof until we're here, permanent like," Spike continued, "and I was thinking of a way we could help that along."
She glanced towards the doorway that led to the room that should have been hers, had Cordelia's wish not intervened. "I think I know what you have in mind," she said as a smirk curled the corners of her lips.
"You know me too well," Spike replied as he pulled her near and kissed her again. He felt so warm, the comfort of the space felt so wonderful, and it didn't take more than a few seconds before they were pulling each other's clothes off.