"Hundreds of years you were alive, and what did you accomplish?" she asked in a mocking, jeering tone as the shadowy strands continued to retract and coil into Angelus's form. "The Master was the one who raised a vampire army, Spike was the one who managed to kill a slayer, and you kept getting beaten by me … repeatedly."
As she hoped, Angelus's face twisted into an expression that radiated a fury so intense that it likely could have shattered planets.
That's right, get angry … get good and angry and focus on me so that you pull all of yourself into this dimension. You're stuck with Angelus's personality, and he's going to want one-hundred percent of your attention devoted to kicking my ass.
"You know …" Angelus said as he strode towards her. Reality bent and stretched from the weight of him, and his every movement gouged dark rents within the fabric of time and space. "I can still remember our first conversation the day after your first time. Man, you were so needy. It was pathetic. I don't suppose you remember?"
I should have known he'd bring that up … yeah, asshole, it still hurts even after all these years.
"Oh, you definitely remember," Angelus said with a wide, supremely irritating grin on his face. "I can tell by your face. You're just as confused and lost now as you were then." He shook his head and held his hands wide. "You have no weapons with which to win this battle, Buff."
He stopped a dozen or feet away.
"You're wrong," she replied. "I have two."
Angelus tilted his head and pursed his lips in thought. "And what might those be?"
She clenched her hands into fists, moved her feet into ready position, and raised her arms into a fighting stance. "These two," she replied as she glanced at her fists.
Angelus laughed a long time, and all the while the slithering strands of abyssal coils continued to wind their way back into his flesh.
"I am the shadow that lies across everything," he said in a maddening, pedantic manner. "And you, you insolent little bitch of a minx, will be mine forever."
"What you are," she retorted, "is that disgusting ring of gunk left on the rim of a tub after a long bath."
There's always one sure way to piss a guy off.
"You remember my first time pretty well," she continued, "but just out of curiosity, when's the last time you've gotten laid? I mean by someone who actually wanted to sleep with you. What's it been, a hundred years? Longer? You've definitely entered incel territory, loser."
When he came at her, he moved fast enough that the world warped around him. She did not bother trying to redirect his blows or injure him, it would be pointless. Instead, she snapped at Angelus's face and chest with strands of power that she hoped would frustrate and further enrage him. He attacked, she dodged, and from time to time she'd gather herself after being flung through solid stone and hastily throw up barriers of pure energy that did little more than slow him down for a few fractions of a second.
It's not possible to hurt him, but I can avoid him. He is made of flesh, and there's only so fast that beings of flesh can move … I have enough borrowed power to be just as fast, for a while, at least.
The next few minutes … hour … years … seconds … she wasn't at all sure of how much time passed, was not a fight, not really. She mocked him, she maneuvered from his blows as best she could, and every once in a while a glancing blow tore enormous holes in her body … holes she immediately repaired by pulling molecules from the air around her. She would patch herself together, fling herself away from the next pursuit faster than the limits of human perception, and she tried to keep the First from killing her … or worse.
He won't kill me. Even now he's not trying to kill me. Angelus hates me so much that he wants me alive with soul intact so he can torment me.
It seemed years, but perhaps had not even been a few seconds, when the last of the First's tendrils reeled themselves into Angelus's form and vanished. The enormous, shadowy spiderweb that reached from the Undermall into other worlds was gone, any aspects of the First in other dimensions were cut off from the source, and it was time.
I won't let you die, sis. I promise.
She reached out with the power that suffused her body and communicated a simple message directly into Dawn's mind.
"It's time."
. . . . . . . . .
"Don't!" the Buffy-First screamed as Angel closed his eyes and pressed the gun barrel harder against his temple.
He felt at peace, oddly enough. He'd lived far longer than he had expected, far longer than he'd deserved, and he and Buffy had enjoyed more time together than either of them had ever thought would be possible.
I'm ready.
He fixed Buffy's face in his mind's eye, tightened his finger on the trigger, and …
Why am I hesitating?
The image of Buffy he had conjured to ease the moment of his death was screaming at him, tears were streaming down her face, and he wanted her to be smiling and happy, but she wasn't. She was devastated, and it was his fault. He wasn't sticking to the plan, he wasn't keeping faith with her, he was about to ruin her life while she was busy trying to save everyone's else's life. He could hear her pleading and begging that he just needed to wait a little longer, that he had to trust her, but he shook his head with the barrel still pressed against his skin and forced … willed … her to be calm and at peace. The screaming he heard in his head stopped, which of course it did, as she was just his imagination, but still he hesitated.
I don't know any other way to maybe stop that the First … I'm out of ideas.
The image locked in his head of Buffy's face stared at him with sad eyes, as clear as if she really was there with him, and then she looked down at the wrist that was cuffed to the head of a bed. "Angel, anyone can have a moment where they lose it, I get that, and it's not too late. I need you to stop and think about what you're doing. I just need more time … give me more time, Angel."
His finger loosened on the trigger and he opened his eyes to the nauseating sight of the First masquerading as the love of his life. The thing approached him with outstretched hands from which shadowy talons extended, he tightened the muscles of his body to leap away, and then something heavy and fast struck him in the back. His legs crumpled beneath him, he toppled forward, and his finger tightened on the trigger. The krak of the gun was deafening and the bullet traced a line of fire across the back of his neck as merciless fingers bore down on his hand in a crushing grip.
"What the hell?" he snarled as the revolver was ripped from his grasp.
A heavy figure wearing a black coat knelt on the ground next to him, glanced at the revolver, and then flung it away.
Angel rolled to the side, leapt to his feet, and stared in horror at the creature in front of him. It was Joshua, he could tell from the reddish-gold hair, the green eyes, and the height, but the skin of his face was charred black and melted to such an extent that the dull white edges of the bone beneath were revealed.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Angel howled.
The First's attention was fixed on them, but that wouldn't last. He had to keep it from going after Willow and Giles. If nothing else, putting the gun to his own head had seemed to distract it, so he scanned the grass in a frantic, desperate attempt to find where it had fallen. After a few seconds, he spotted the firearm lying on the grass behind Joshua. He started to circle towards the revolver and away from the slowly melting vampire.
Joshua shook his head and shifted his feet to block him. "I heard what you said, and I think that somehow I always knew that this thing …" he gestured towards the First, "was attached to me in some way." He reached into his coat and pulled out a stake made of a dark, glossy wood. "It's me that it really needs."
The First emitted a sound that no human throat could have produced.
. . . . . . . . .
"It's time."
Even though she'd been expecting some sort of signal, Dawn flinched at the unexpected sensation of hearing Buffy's voice echo within her skull.
If she thought about what she was doing for even a second, she might lose her nerve, so she kept her mind blank while she drew the envelope from her coat with trembling, unsteady hands. For such a small thing, the weight of it felt unbearable. She tore off the edge of the envelope, reached inside, and extracted a small, bright metal cylinder. The torn envelope fluttered away as she grasped the shining tube with both hands and rotated it so that the end with the screw top was pointing upwards.
Down the hatch.
She unscrewed the top, held the tube to her mouth, tilted it, and felt the water, which somehow felt bracingly cold despite having been in her pocket all day, trickle down her throat.
She had been there when the mini-flask had been filled. Buffy had taken the clothes she'd been wearing when she dove into Mimisbrunnr out of the large ziploc bag she'd sealed them in, placed all the garments in a plastic bin, and warned Dawn not to touch the fabric with her bare hands. For some reason, the clothes hadn't properly dried by the time Buffy thought to seal them in an airtight container, and a few ounces of water coated the interior of the bag and remained soaked into the fabric. After putting on surgical gloves, Buffy proceeded to carefully, with precise, delicate movements, lift the garments one by one and squeeze the dirt and blood-tinged water first from the clothing, and then from the bag, into the funnel Dawn held with one hand while with the other hand she directed the funnel's spout into a mini-flask.
The mini-flask that she had just drank from.
She hadn't even had a chance to lower her hand before the water's magic took effect.
. . . . . . . . .
Angel watched with a stunned expression as Joshua moved closer and held out the stake.
"What are you doing?" he asked as he stared down at the weapon.
"The First Evil, or whatever you call it," he gestured at the First-in-the-guise-of-Buffy, "needs me the most. I can feel it, pressing against me, feeding off me somehow." Joshua's eyes sat in charred pits that had once been the skin of his face, and they had a resigned, weary look to them.
He must be in agony.
Angel opened his mouth to protest, then realized that he didn't really want to. The kid was probably right, and besides, he'd prefer to kill the creature that had murdered his friends than continue arguing with an imaginary Buffy as to whether he should blow his own head off. He reached out and grabbed the stake.
Joshua's burnt, sloughed features shifted a gruesome smile. He reached down, unzipped his hooded sweater, and pulled open both coat and sweater to reveal the thin cloth of a t-shirt. The fabric was not thick enough to protect him from the sun's rays, and the t-shirt began to darken as burnt flesh and scorched blood seeped into the garment.
For some reason Angel could not understand, his conscience twanged at him. "I'm not asking you to do this, you understand that, right?" he asked as he reversed the stake in his grip, and held the point to Joshua's chest. The First was screaming something off to the side, but he ignored it and focused on the slaypire in front of him.
"You know what I've done, and you've tried to kill me before," Joshua said in reply, and his voice had grown hoarse both from pain and from the damage that the sun had done to his throat. "Do it."
Buffy couldn't do this.
He knew that she couldn't have. Even now, with literally everything on the line, she wouldn't have been able to drive a stake into his heart. Despite what Joshua had done, despite the monster he had become, she'd have stayed her hand and given it her best to talk him out of it. Buffy, he knew, could never take an innocent life in pursuit of the greater good.
But I've never been the hero Buffy is, and Joshua is no innocent.
The bones of Joshua's rib cage were so tough he had to use two hands to ram the stake home, and for a second the youth's eyes flashed yellow as the point sunk into the flesh. The dark wood shattered his ribs, the point of the weapon slid between them, and Joshua emitted a wheezing sigh as the tip pierced his heart.
The First's outraged scream was one of the most satisfying sounds Angel had ever heard.
Joshua did not instantly dissolve into dust as did other vampires. No, first his skin dissolved, leaving visible the muscles, ligaments, and tendons beneath He opened his mouth to voice a soundless scream as those soft tissues vanished as well, leaving behind a skeleton that toppled over to clatter upon the ground. The bones disintegrated last of all, and eventually nothing remained but a pile of clothing and small mounds of dust.
He turned back to the First to find its form bulging and shifting, as though the strain of holding its shape together had grown too much for it. It swelled larger and larger, Buffy's face distorting into misshapen, contorted features as it stretched into immensity, and then the air around it folded in on itself. The First stretched a rippling, shadowy line and vanished.
Angel dropped the stake, ran over to Willow and Giles, fell to his knees, and realized he had absolutely no idea how to help them. Willow seemed to have passed out already, as she lay insensate next to Giles with her head resting upon his knee, and Giles's face had gone chalky white. The words pouring from his lips were a stammered, incoherent jumble, and Angel could see the pulse of his heart irregularly throb in the vein of his neck. He laid a hand to Giles's forehead and had to snatch it away, the skin was so hot to the touch. It was a wonder that he hadn't burst into flames, he was channeling so much energy.
Buffy … hurry.
. . . . . . . . .
She stood on a familiar grass field and the Moonridge University Stadium's bleachers rose around her, but Dawn knew that she was somewhere else entirely. The rows of seats were empty, there was no sun in the sky yet everything was brightly lit, and she was just about to cry out for help when Cordelia stepped into view from … somewhere, though Dawn wasn't sure where.
"Hi, Dawn," Cordelia said as she smiled at her. The expression of happiness looked forced, and Dawn found herself irritated that she Cordy couldn't at least convincingly feign hopefulness for her sake.
"Cordelia, it's nice to see your face," Dawn said. "Even though the memories we have of each other are made up, I guess … it's still nice."
I hope that didn't sound as awkward to her as it did to me.
Cordelia made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Oh, I don't think of them as made up, are you kidding me? We all love you, Dawn … though not in the same way that Xander does, that goes without saying."
"Cordy," Dawn interrupted. "Buffy needs my help, and she kind of told me that you'd probably be here to help me, so maybe you could point me in the right direction?"
Cordy closed her mouth, her eyes grew sad, and she walked over to Dawn and grabbed her arm so that she could rotate her in the opposite direction. Dawn blinked as she spotted, floating a few feet above the ground, a misty, green globule of what could only be described as swirling green energy.
I figured I'd see the Key, but where are the doors?
"Buffy said there would be a lot of doors," Dawn asked as she looked around. "But I don't see any."
"The creepy cave with all the doors was a construct for Buffy," Cordelia explained. "That was to help her navigate through all of her pasts in countless dimensions. Dawn, you don't need that."
"Why?" Dawn asked as she stared at Cordelia with a perplexed expression.
Cordelia glanced away for a moment, clearly at a loss for words, and then Dawn guessed the truth.
"I don't have any pasts, do I?" she asked as she gestured towards the Key. "I was just that thing, for like, billions of years, and then I became me … Dawn. There's no versions of past-mes to choose from because all the roads of my life lead in one direction." She stared at the cloudy, pulsing, emerald-green lump of pure dimensional energy hanging in empty space and decided that she hated it. She hated it, and she wanted to be free of it forever, and none of that was going to happen because the Key was the part of her that Buffy needed.
"Something like that," Cordelia replied.
Dawn stepped forward until the Key … her true self, she supposed … was within arm's reach.
"Cordelia, I have to ask you something," Dawn said as she steeled herself for what was to come. "Am I even real, at all?"
"Transformation is part of life, and your existence was never written in stone," Cordelia replied, and she sounded far older and wiser than the vain, narcissistic teenager Dawn recalled from the fabricated memories the monks had given her. "I was a human being, and now I'm not, but I'm still me. You are real, Dawn. As real as any of us."
"I'm not going to be real for much longer," Dawn replied as she raised her hand until her fingers were only a few inches away from the Key. "Is Buffy right? Will she be able to turn me back?"
"I don't know," Cordelia replied, and she sounded as worried as Dawn felt.
"You don't know, or you won't tell me?"
The pitch of Cordelia's voice raised in protest at Dawn's unspoken accusation that she might be holding back information. "I don't know, and that's the truth." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm not allowed to see as much as I used to. I think I may have bent a few too many rules."
"Goodbye, Cordy," Dawn whispered as she closed her eyes. "Thank you for everything."
"I should be thanking you, Dawn," Cordelia protested.
"Here goes nothing," Dawn whispered as she reached out her hand. She felt a spark when her skin made contact with the mindless, unthinking entity she had once been, and then she felt nothing at all.
. . . . . . . .
Buffy felt her sister transform, and the agony of Dawn's nonexistence was a wrenching pain that threatened to overwhelm her. She barely managed to stave off her grief so that she could launch herself skyward and avoid a huge, club-like appendage of pure darkness that Angelus had swung in her direction. He laughed as she spun through empty space, smashed through the ceiling of the ziggurat, and hung in the sky. The purple clouds streaked with lighting were, themselves, coated in the foul black effluence that the First emanated from its form, and she took advantage of the momentary respite to tear another hole in the fabric of reality, reach through space and time, and seize hold of the Key.
She had just withdrawn back into the Undermall when Angelus erupted through the stone and soared through the air until he hung suspended in front of her.
The Key pulsed in her hands, its power twined its way up her arms and sunk hooks deep into her mind, and even with the life force of hundreds of souls poured into her she was shocked by its power. It had only one purpose, to bridge the gaps between worlds and create portals through space and time so that the disparate realities of Creation could reach other. It was a thing of awesome strength and singular beauty, and it was also her sister. It was Dawn and she was about to risk destroying her entirely.
Angelus gestured at the Key and laughed. "You brought me your dead sister?" he said once he had stopped guffawing. "How thoughtful. It's just what I've always wanted."
"You really are the worst, do you know that?" she asked as she gripped the Key harder and tried to mentally prepare herself for what she had to do.
Angelus shrugged. "That's literally true." He pointed at the Key again. "I've had to rely upon the gateways in this dimension, but with that I can be everywhere, instantly. The one thing in all of existence that I might actually desire, and you bring it to me? You've done nothing except unlock your own destruction."
"You're forgetting one thing, motherfucker," she said as she fought back tears and held the Key aloft.
"And what's that?" Angelus asked as darkness solidified around him.
"Keys can unlock doors, sure," she replied as she thrust her power down into the green ball of interdimensional energy. "But they can also be used to lock them."
The First roared, the world around her erupted into shards of black energy, and she used every scrap of power that she had begged and tricked out of the beings gathered in the stadium to invert the Key's power and turn it back on itself. Energy always had an opposite polarity, and she had both the borrowed strength and the borrowed knowledge to reverse the Key's ability to bridge worlds and instead use it to condemn a solitary world to isolation, cut off from Creation to hang, lost and alone, in an empty void of nothingness. The one thing that the First could not do was create. It could not make anything, it could not generate portals, it could only corrupt and pervert reality. If a path between dimensions existed it could use it, but it couldn't make one … that was the entire reason that it was exiled from Creation in the first place.
If I can trap Angelus here, he'll be stuck forever.
It was an evil thing that she was doing, but she nevertheless with ruthless efficiency burnt every fibrous dimensional connection, every strand of the Undermall that reached into other worlds, and severed it from all other realities. Existence cried out in protest at the foulness of her act, and Cordy's assertion that the Powers could not help her with this task now made sense, as the Powers could never destroy parts of Creation … even for a good cause … any more than she would be willing to murder an innocent for the greater good.
Cordelia said that I was planning on fighting fire with fire, and she was right. I am using the methods of the Enemy against it.
Creation burned around her, she flung herself around the Undermall as she fled the pursuing form of Angelus, and with every fraction of a second that passed the reality she occupied became more and more of an orphan outcast from all other realities. One small, tiny window that led back to her world she left open behind her, and when the task was nearly done she stood in front of it and stared at the First as it stretched out with Angelus's hand.
"Do you have any idea what you have done?" the First croaked in a voice that dripped with an unending, bottomless contempt for all things of light and heat and life. It's voice echoed through the dimension it was about to be trapped in, cut-off from everything and everyone, for eternity. Buffy reached back with her mind and grasped the tiny gateway that remained.
I most definitely do not want to be stuck in here forever with that thing … that's what happened to the last people who managed to defeat the First-made-flesh.
The Key, the energy of which had been perverted and distorted beyond all recognition in defiance of the laws of nature on every plane of existence, had become a withered, distorted lump. It fluttered and dimmed with weak pulses of light, and shortly, she knew, it would vanish entirely.
Time to go.
"Remember what I promised you, Buffy?" Angelus howled. "Your soul will scream forever while you suffer as my plaything!"
She shouldn't waste the time to twist the knife, but she just couldn't help herself.
"Go play with yourself!" she screamed in retort as she flung herself backwards and used the last of the Key's strength to destroy the final connection the Undermall retained with any other slice of Creation.
She could feel Angelus reaching towards the rapidly closing portals, his fingers came close enough that she worried for an instant, but then it snapped shut.
Adios, fucker.
The instant the gateway closed, the First, the hole that Wilkins had created, all of it, vanished from even her perception. Forever.
"That's for ruining my first time!" she screamed in the direction of where the pocket dimension that contained the Undermall had once existed.
Of course, there was no reply.
It is done.
From far away, just for an instant, she thought she heard the sound of three loud, echoing booms resonating through all of time and space.
. . . . . . . . .
Buffy reappeared in the same spot from which she'd disappeared, still glowing so brightly that Angel had to squint his eyes to keep from being blinded. He screamed her name while Giles's body slumped sideways into his arms. Smoke cascaded from beneath the older man's clothes, not from flames, but from the power that his human body was too frail to contain.
. . . . . . . . .
She could sense that the energy flooding into her was wavering. With feverish effort, Buffy tried to trace the enjoining spell back to its source, to where Willow and Giles sat, but something stymied her efforts. It wasn't the result of anything intentionally blocking her, she sensed that immediately, rather something intrinsic to the enjoining spell prevented the recipient of the magic from interfering with its casting.
It didn't matter. Although the power granted her by the incantation wouldn't last for more than a few more seconds, a few seconds to her might as well have been a millennia to a mortal.
I can fix the world.
It would be so easy. All of the lives in the stadium, she could fix them and take away their fears, their nightmares, their destructive impulses. They were tempted by dark powers, they did evil things … many of them were evil … and she could put an end to all of that and instead make each and every one of them an agent of the purest intentions, of the noblest spirit. With the merest thought she could cloak their minds and souls with righteous purpose, heal whatever was wrong with their nature that made them wish to hurt or control others, and she could … she could …
I can turn them into my puppets.
She knew that it would be wrong, but still … she was tempted.
The Key was almost gone. It throbbed and bled its power into the fabric of space-time, and with every beat, like a heart that was pumping its own blood supply away, it diminished. With the last of the enjoining spell's power, she traced along the skeins of reality, wrapped her will around the threads of the Key that had once contained the essence of her sister, and set to the task of re-weaving them back into human form. It was far harder than she had thought it would be. In the years to come, the best analogy she could think of was this: imagine trying to weave a tapestry while navigating a raft down non-stop rapids.
When energy, including the life force and souls of living beings, was transformed, it didn't just vanish. That was one of Newton's laws, she was pretty sure. Or it should be, anyway. Echoes of Dawn lingered, though they steadily grew fainter and more distant, and one by one, with utmost care, she traced and plucked each fading strand and gathered them all together. That wasn't the end of the task however, for once she'd located all the scattered remnants of Dawn, she had to twine the fragments back together in exactly the way they had originally been arranged.
For a flitting instant, she had the urge to perhaps leave out some of the recollections that Dawn would be happier not remembering, but in the end, what were any of them besides their memories?
As powerful as she was, piecing Dawn's body, mind, and soul back together required an effort that was almost beyond her. Her body, or whatever it had become, strained to the breaking point, her focus threatened to snap from the immensity of the task she had set herself to, but particle by particle, wisp by wisp, she collected the waning pieces and transformed them back into her sister. With a final wrenching surge, the gathered energy quivered in place, twisted upon itself, and then the weaving she had created transformed into Dawn. She stood upright in the field, looking just as the same as she had minutes ago, glanced around wildly, touched her own face as if to reassure herself that her body was real, and then turned to stare in wonder at Buffy.
When the enjoining spell broke, there was no lead-time before the power left her. The strength reversed itself from her body in a rush, all of the assembled beings clawed back what had been lent, and she collapsed to the ground. Her heart raced, she breathed in air for the first time in she didn't know how long, and the world dimmed as she stared at it through eyes that were merely human.
She realized that someone was screaming her name.
. . . . . . . . .
Why is Angel yelling for me?
"Buffy!" Angel yelled as he lowered Giles's unmoving form to the ground. Around the stadium, humans and demons collapsed, those that didn't collapse began to scream angrily … Buffy guessed that weren't too happy about having been tricked … and Willow, Colleen, Connor, and Xander opened their eyes and began to stand.
Where is Fred?
She'd worry about Angel's unsettling former co-worker later. Giles's eyes were rolled back into his head, his pale, white skin looked like an empty shell, and heat radiated off him so intensely that she feel it ten feet away.
"Buffy!" Dawn cried out. "Giles!"
Buffy scrambled across the grass while Willow knelt on her knees so that she could lay her hand on Giles's forehead.
He'll wake up … the spell is over, and he'll wake up.
But he didn't wake up, and when she saw Angel feel at Giles's neck for a pulse, she could tell by the shake of his head that he couldn't find one.
"We were supposed to split the strain of the spell," Willow whispered with a hoarse voice while she wiped at her eyes. "I don't understand why he did this."
Buffy reached them, fell to her hands and knees, and gathered Giles into her arms. "What happened?" she asked in numb shock as she stared at Giles's sightless blue eyes. He was still, so still, and that wasn't right. When Angel reached out to close his eyelids, she shook her head and denied the reality of what was happening.
I can fix this.
She reached for the power that been hers just a few seconds ago, but of course it was gone. Her ability to perceive, to manipulate, to heal, it had vanished and left her empty and helpless.
"Willow, do something!" she screamed as she put her forehead against Giles's and tried to keep from weeping. Crying wouldn't help, but maybe magic could. "Will!" she screamed again as she turned an accusing gaze in her direction.
"Buff, there's nothing I can do," Willow said as she wiped away tears with the sleeve of her coat. "He's … he's gone. Giles is gone."
No … no, no, no, no …
"He took the brunt of the entire spell," Willow continued between snuffling sobs. "I think he wanted to protect me." She shook her head. "He knew it would kill him, heck, we practiced splitting the casting of the enjoining spell for weeks specifically because no one person could handle that amount of power. I don't understand."
People, demons, and things were beginning to pour onto the field and approach them with angry, accusatory stares. Buffy couldn't find it in herself to care.
Dawn and Xander held hands and knelt down next to Giles, and Buffy took some solace in the fact that her sister was back amongst the living. They exchanged stares, Dawn mouthed thank you, and Buffy decided that the two of them could wait a long time before they filled Xander in on the details.
"I'm so sorry, Buffy," Colleen said as she and Connor crouched alongside Giles's body.
The mob descending on them grew ever closer, and still Buffy couldn't bring herself to care.
"Buffy," Angel said as he put a hand on her shoulder and stared with concern at the angry faces that were drawing nearer. "We have a problem."
"Yeah, I know that," she said with a hoarse, wrenching gasp as the pain building inside her threatened to transform into out-of-control weeping. "Giles is dead." Then a thought occurred to her, the obvious one, and she screamed as loudly as she could, "Cordy, you get your ass down here!"
. . . . . . . . .
If she could have made a difference, with Giles or with anything else, she would have stayed … at least, that's what Fred told herself. The conscience-soothing words she repeated endlessly as she walked might be true, they probably were true, in fact, but true or not she wasn't going to be changing her mind about leaving.
I'm leaving, and I'm leaving now before anyone tries to stop me.
It was a long walk to Willow and Oz's home, but she suspected that everyone would be occupied at the stadium for a while. Still, there was no sense in dawdling, and Fred decided to quicken the pace of her footsteps.
She let Illyria's fluttering, trapped thoughts surface enough so that they could chat, for lack of a better term, about what Buffy had just accomplished. After she reassured the demon that Creation had been saved and that Angel and his companions … with one exception … still lived, she jammed the Old One back into the secure, but comfortable, oubliette she'd constructed deep within her soul. Though she hadn't expected any resistance, she was gratified nonetheless when Illyria meekly submitted to her confinement. Several sharply delivered lessons had taught the demon the futility of trying to resist her imprisonment, and so long as the captive Old One's behavior remained cooperative and compliant, Fred intended to take Angel and Buffy's advice and resist any and all urges to torment her.
As she walked, a single, all-encompassing thought rose to the forefront of her mind.
I will be seeing Wesley in a few hours.
She increased the speed of her strides and resisted the urge to break into a run.
. . . . . . . . .
"Cordy!" Buffy screamed again. "I know you can hear me!"
The enraged group surrounding them inched ever closer, and now they were near enough that she could hear the arguments breaking out amongst them. Many, including the Groosalugg and quite a few slayers, surprisingly, pointed out that they had won. Others, probably the more evil-inclined, did not care and and sought only revenge for having been manipulated. She spotted uniformed soldiers who had to be Initiative trying to hold back the crowd, thought she saw Riley's tall form, and definitely recognized Robin Wood's shaved head, but none of it seemed important at the moment.
"Goddammit, Cordy!" Buffy hollered. "I mean it!"
A portal appeared maybe a dozen feet in front of her, different than any she'd seen before. This portal had defined edges, glowed with a white light far brighter than the sun, but which she could gaze at without pain or discomfort, and everywhere the light fell became suffused with a sense of calm and peace. From the white portal stepped a pale, clean-shaven man wearing a white button-down shirt, a navy blue suit, and a black leather belt with matching shoes. An instant later Cordelia stepped through the portal, as well, and for some reason Cordy had paired her white, gossamer gown with absolutely hideous gold-buckled boots of deep, olive green.
The man's light brown eyes were kind, his haircut was neat and tidy but nondescript, he was maybe a few inches above average height, and for some reason Buffy couldn't articulate, she suspected that she alone saw him in that way. If she asked Willow, or Xander, or anyone else in the stadium what he looked like, she would have bet just about anything that they would describe him quite a bit differently … for many of them, he probably didn't even appear to be a man.
The furious crowd fell silent, a hush descended over the stadium, and everyone who had been approaching retreated a few steps. A familiar feeling of benevolent, calming, timeless peace washed over her, and as she held Giles's head in her lap, she tried her best to fight through that sensation and hold on to her grief and anger.
"I've never seen someone so beautiful," Xander whispered as he stared at the man and squinted shut his right eye. "He shines with every color of the rainbow, and a few colors I don't have a name for?"
"He?" Willow asked with a tone of reverent awe as she stared at the figure. "Don't you mean she?"
It took her a few seconds, but then Buffy recognized where she had previously felt that feeling of comfort and safety. She had felt it after she died, before Willow and her friends had ripped her from whatever heaven she'd ended up in. The feeling of eternal peace had wrapped her in an endless cocoon, taken away all of he worries and fears, and it would have soothed her until the end of time if fate had not intervened.
"I know you," she whispered at the man, and when he smiled at her words, she had to look away lest she lose herself in the sense of contentment that rippled from his gaze. It was extremely important that she not forget how very, very angry she was.
He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could voice a response, three vertical lines of lightning-rimmed shadow appeared above the pentagram, rotated upon themselves, and became tall, scowling men with neatly parted dark hair, black suits, and identical red ties. Their eyes were a horror of black, crackling energy and she knew that the flesh they wore was nothing but a disguise for their true form.
She had never seen them before, yet somehow she knew what they were … or at least what they represented.
"The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
The three men ignored her and pointed as one at the blue-suited man standing in front of her. "This violates the pact," the man on the left said.
The one in the middle added, "From time immemorial, we swore an oath not to physically manifest on this, or any other mortal plane."
"This is not what was agreed," the third man added.
The man ignored their overt hostility, gestured towards Buffy and her friends, and replied, "Ms. Summers has rendered to you, to all of us, a great service, and she has questions. Under the circumstances, I believe we can make an exception just this once. After all, you and all who serve you enjoy your continued existence because of the sacrifices she and her associates have made."
The eyes of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart, narrowed, their fists clenched, and their forms shuddered as something seemed to pass between them.
"Very well," the man in the middle said. "We will admit that this situation is unprecedented, but moving forward we will expect the accord to be honored in all particulars."
"Of course," the blue-suited man said with an amiable expression and a nod of the head.
The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart turned away from the man and towards Colleen and Connor. The one on the right gestured, and Colleen and Connor screamed as glowing red bands of iron appeared from nowhere to lock around their bodies and limbs. Both fell silent when the fetters squeezed their throats, and their eyes bulged in their sockets as they tried in vain to speak.
"Let them go!" Angel screamed as he rose from his knees. "I will …"
Whatever words he was going to utter died in his throat as the man wearing the blue suit appeared at his side, though Buffy hadn't seen him take a single step, and laid a hand on his arm.
Angel's mouth closed and his angry expression dissolved into placid acceptance.
"I'm sure we can reach an arrangement," the man said to the Wolf, Ram, and Hart while he gestured at Colleen and Connor's struggling forms.
"Their lives and souls are forfeit," the black-suited man on the left said. "You know as well as we that they willfully violated the terms of a binding, lawful contract."
The man removed his hand from Angel's arm, patted him on the back, and stepped closer to the black-suited things that represented Wolfram & Hart. "This is what I propose," the man said. " As a reward for what they've achieved today, a clean slate for Ms. Summers and all who assisted her in defeating the Enemy. Let bygones be bygones."
The Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart, laughed, and Buffy wanted to cover her ears to dull the monstrous, instinctive terror that the sound provoked.
"We see no reason to agree to such a concession," the black-suited man in the middle replied. "You would have been better served to initiate such negotiations before services were rendered."
The thing on the right that wore the form of a man smiled a hideous smile and added, "What do you propose to trade for their souls? What inducement could you possibly offer?"
Colleen and Connor's struggling had by this point grown feeble, and they hung limp in the restraints binding them. Willow and Xander were staring at her as if for guidance, and Angel continued to stand silently with a blank expression on his face.
"Grant them all a clean slate," the Power in the blue suit proposed, "and in exchange, I'll owe you one."
Cordelia inhaled air through her teeth in a sharp, biting whistle, her eyes widened in shock, and Buffy had the very distinct impression that whatever had just been offered was far more profound than the banality of the phrase used would suggest.
"Wow," Cordelia muttered.
What price is being paid for this reward of a clean slate? Somehow, I suspect I don't want to know …
Three booming knocks echoed through the stadium, Connor and Colleen collapsed in gasping heaps upon the ground as the restraints vanished, and the Wolf, Ram, and Hart smiled and replied with once voice, "Agreed."
Then they vanished.
The Power wearing the blue suit turned back to her, and Buffy glanced down expectantly at Giles. Everything was going to be okay, was what she had gleaned from that conversation, and she held her breath in anticipation of the eyes of her mentor, the only real father figure she'd ever known, to flutter open.
Giles's eyes stayed close.
"Why isn't he waking up?" she asked the Power standing next to her, and it was a struggle to keep the panic from her voice. "Aren't you going to heal him, or resurrect him, or whatever?"
The man in the blue suit's smile had a tinge of sadness to it, and she gave in to the desperation that was washing over her.
"Fix him!" she screamed as she held Giles close. "You're the guy in charge, right? The boss, the head man? You've got that vibe about you, and I know you can fix him."
"I am not anyone's boss, Ms. Summers," the Power replied as he stepped nearer still. The grass seemed greener where he stepped, the sunlight warmer, and goddammit, she was not going to turn into a dopey, blank-eyed mess like Angel.
The man continued, "I guide, I help, I do what I can, same as you have. Those who work with me do so willingly, I do not compel them."
She narrowed her eyes at the being and retorted, "Those are the kinds of thing that guys in charge like to say."
"I suppose it is," he said with a maddeningly agreeable and calm nod of the head.
She looked down at Giles, shook her head, and asked the blue-suited man, "Are you … you know … Him?"
"There are no gods, Ms. Summers," the man replied, and his voice had grown serious in that listen-to-me-young-woman-while-I-impart-life-lessons sort of way that she had hated as a teenager. "Not really. What you call gods are just beings who are different."
She looked at him and said, "We could have used your help before now. Thanks for showing up when the fight is over." Cordelia covered her eyes and shook her head at the audacity of her comment, but she continued, "Giles fought and died for you, but you're just going to leave him like this?" She gestured at his prone form.
Cordelia opened her mouth to speak, but the man made the slightest gesture of his hand, the barest flicker, and Cordy's mouth snapped closed.
I didn't think anyone or anything could shut up Cordelia Chase like that.
"Ms. Summers," the man said in an infinitely gentle tone, "you have been pulled from your place of rest and shoved back into the world of the living. Did you enjoy the experience?"
"I was needed!" she protested. "And Giles is needed!"
"Would you take him from his love?" the man asked.
What?
"I … I don't understand," she asked as she glanced around. Angel, who seemed to have finally shaken free of his stupor, shrugged his shoulders, as did everyone else.
Did something happen to Olivia?
"Olivia?" Willow asked. "Is she … is she dead?" The Power nodded in reply, and Willow put her hand to her mouth. "Oh no, Buff." Willow looked down at Giles and wiped at her eyes again. "He must have known that Olivia had died, and that's why he sacrificed himself."
"So bring Olivia back, too," Buffy announced, and she didn't care that her request sounded very much like a demand. "The way I see it, we should have an open bar to order anything we want after what we did. You owe me."
The man gestured towards Giles's body. "Would you have me rip your mentor from where he resides so that he could comfort you in this reality? Resurrections always comes with a price, Ms. Summers, and no one knows that better than you. Ms. Williams does not wish to pay that price, and Mr. Giles wishes to remain with her."
"If they could talk to me, they'd change their minds," she replied as she brushed a wisp of gray hair from Giles's forehead. "I know they would. Bring them back."
"I must ask you … is this for their benefit, or for yours? Would it make any difference if I told you that the choice was offered them and that they have chosen another path?"
"Buff …" Willow said in a cautioning tone as she laid a hand on her leg.
Xander laid his hand on the other leg, and Angel, Connor, and Colleen moved closer.
"I don't care!" Buffy screamed. "This isn't right, I didn't even get to say goodbye!"
The eyes of the man in the blue suit flickered, just for a moment, and then he nodded at her. "That request is reasonable.
Buffy held her breath and yet again stared down at the body in her arms, but Giles remained dead and Olivia was nowhere in sight.
"I did not mean at this moment, Ms. Summers," the man explained. "But soon, when the time is right."
"We've meddled with life and death before, Buff," Xander whispered to her. "It wasn't the best idea."
"Giles wants to stay dead?" Buffy asked the Power, or whatever he was. "Is that what you're telling me?"
The man nodded, his eyes flickered again, and the body she was holding vanished. She stared down in horror at the empty space where Giles had been.
"He has chosen another path," the man repeated, and Buffy found his calm repetition of words he'd already spoken a few seconds before to be supremely annoying.
She stood, fought off the sense of peace that wafted from him, folded her arms, and fixed him with an angry glare.
"Buffy …" Cordelia said in a warning tone through gritted teeth as she scampered close and laid a hand on her arm. "Don't say anything you might regret."
She waved off Cordelia. "This is bullshit," she announced in a loud, clear, firm voice. Cordelia groaned and rolled her eyes, and Buffy decided she could not possibly care less about who she might be offending with her words. "Why? Why must we suffer? Why must it be like this?" She held her arms wide and gestured around her. "There is so much more you could do, but you don't. You don't, and it's bullshit." She needed to cry, but she was so angry she couldn't. Her rage boiled through her, and it was all she could not to unleash a torrent of invective.
"Humans," the Power replied, "amongst the multitudes throughout the entire spectrum of Creation, must ask the question why more than any other. Your nature to doubt, to challenge what is, to reach for what might be, is your greatest strength. That being said, Ms. Summers, you already know the answers to the questions you ask."
"Humor me and answer anyway," she demanded as she spread her arms wide and shook her head. "Why, why must everything be so terrible?"
"What would the taste of salt be to a person whose tongue I have never allowed the opportunity to sample sugar?" the man asked. "A mountain's height would be meaningless if I were to ensure that no valleys could ever form beneath. If I provided everyone with a feeling of perfect, eternal love, the experience would have no meaning because it would be impossible for them to experience or even contemplate its absence. And Ms. Summers, my giving a living being the freedom to hold up a light is pointless if I do not also allow them the choice to instead cast a shadow."
"Yeah," she snarled in retort, "it must be easy to be so philosophical and wise when you aren't a mere mortal suffering in the valleys, with the cold and the death."
"Buffy … please …" Cordelia whispered to her with a pleading look in her eyes.
"We suffer, Ms. Summers," the blue-suited man informed her, and for a moment she saw sorrow flitter over his features. "I have suffered with you every step of the way, as I do with all who wear mortal flesh."
"I swear that if you start to give me some speech about how I sometimes only see a single set of footprints on a beach I am going to fucking lose it!" Buffy howled in reply. "You could do more," she said in a calmer tone, though she tried to let all the venom she could muster drip into the accusation. "I know you could. Sure, maybe life has to be hard or we wouldn't care about vacations, but this hard? This awful? You could lend a hand directly, now and then, you could bail out the good guys once in a while, you could not let people be murderous assholes to each other, like, all the time, and I know you could do more."
"Free will, by definition, has no meaning if choices do not have consequences." The faintest of sad smiles traced the man's lips. "Answering a question with a question is something that I suspect you will find unsatisfying, Ms. Summers, but nonetheless let me ask you this: The conscious minds of many beings were within your power today, and it would have required the barest of efforts for you to cleanse them of evil, set them on a path of righteousness, and compel them to do good deeds for the all the remaining days of their existence. You could have erased their hurts and fears, made them as you wished them to be, and yet you did not. The ability to rewrite this world and make it a paradise was at your fingertips, and you stayed your hand. Why?"
Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head. "You know why."
"Humor me, Ms. Summers," the man said, and the peaceful warmth of his presence buffeted against her senses and coaxed an answer from her.
"If I made them do what I wanted," she reluctantly replied, "they wouldn't have been doing good. They would have just been my slaves." She opened her eyes and blinked away tears as she stared at the figure standing in front of her.
"You understand more than you are prepared to admit," he said as he stepped near enough that she could have reached out and touched him. If she did that, she knew, her anger would evaporate in an instant, and she didn't want that. She had to hold onto that anger, because if she didn't, she'd begin to weep … and once that started, it would be a long time before she could stop.
"You could still help," she whispered.
"We do help," he assured her, "but help is all we can offer if life is to have any meaning.
Some words of wisdom were once offered in your world that I found quite profound: If there is no great and glorious end to all of this, if nothing you do matters … then all that matters is what you do for and to each other."
She was about to say that she didn't find the words comforting in the slightest, but before she could speak Angel interrupted.
"Hey, I said that!"
Everyone turned to look at him, and he hunched down in his black coat and seemed to try very hard to make himself invisible.
"Why me?" she asked after she had taken a moment to bite her lower lip. "Surely, I'm not the best you can do."
"Do not sell yourself short," the man said with a comforting smile. "To use a colloquialism from this world, you are quite a gal."
Buffy glanced about and realized that most of the assembled crowd was staring at them with calm, peaceful expressions. As she stared at the suddenly-not-angry mob, the more familiar, blue-white, rippling portals rimmed with electricity began appearing, and as if by an unspoken accord everyone gathered in the stadium began to stride into them.
A few shouted well wishes in her direction before they departed, but none approached to speak with her, and she was glad for the privacy because at any moment, she knew, the floodgates would open and her grief and bitterness would come pouring out in a torrent of tears.
"It is time for me to go," the man in the blue suit said. "Farewell, Buffy. Years ago, as you measure time, I greatly enjoyed our conversations. I look forward to speaking with you again." A flicker of a grin curled the corners of his lips. "Though not for a very long while, I hope."
He laid a hand on her arm, and that was all it took for her to begin to cry. The tears poured down silently at first, and then her chest began to gasp and heave with sobs, and in a few seconds her face was in her hands as she wept with uncontrollable shudders. Arms wrapped around her, not the arms of Powers or gods, but the arms of her friends and family. They all wept with her.
. . . . . . . . .
It was well past noon before they finally began to walk, arm and arm and with slow, hesitant steps, towards the stadium exit. Willow had gathered up a few of the magical items … the ones that were dangerous … but the podium, the pentagram, the gourds, all of that they left behind.
The University can worry about demon worshipers, for all I care. I can't stand to be here another moment. Buffy Summers is officially on vacation, starting now.
"Has anyone seen Fred?" Angel asked. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, her arm was coiled about his waist, and the side of his black coat was wet where she'd repeatedly wiped her tears away.
Willow cleared her throat, rubbed at her own red eyes, and replied, "She's gone."
"Gone?" Angel asked as he blinked in confusion. "What do you mean, gone?"
"She left," Willow explained. "And we won't be finding her. In fact, she asked me to tell you not to look."
"What?" Angel asked in a flustered, angry tone. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Angel," Buffy said as she looked up at him and shook her head. "Not now, okay? Fred's a big girl, and we can talk about this later."
"I made promises to Illyria," Angel blustered on, and his eyes were narrowing in anger. "We have to find Fred."
Willow's voice grew a bit more firm as she said, "I'm telling you, we won't be finding her. I know you want to, Angel, I get that, but magic is my department, and she has gone where the champions from this world can't follow … not unless we want to risk having to fight the First all over again."
"I can't accept that," Angel said heatedly. "Where is she?"
He began to pull away from her, a development which she did not care for, and she grabbed onto his coat and pulled him closer. "Willow," Buffy asked, "Fred went to the Anyaverse, didn't she?"
Willow nodded. "That's right, Buff … how'd you know?"
"Wesley," she replied. "It makes sense."
Spike did the same goddamned thing, and if Angel had died today, I'd probably fling myself from dimension to dimension trying to find him again.
"This isn't okay," Angel protested. "I'm not okay with this. Illyria is stuck inside Fred's head, and I promised to help!"
Willow's voice was kind, but also adamant, as she replied, "It's too late for you to help."
"Some things, Angel," Buffy said as she wiped her nose against the side of his coat and left behind a glistening, smeared streak, "we can't fix."
I'm going to start crying again … shit.
She did everything she could to not think of Giles and barely managed to stave off another weeping fit.
Angel, who clearly had not been mollified in the slightest by her or Willow's words, clenched his jaw into a firm, angry knot and stared off into the distance.
He'll get over it … he has no choice.
She was just about to step around a pile of dark clothing lying in a heap on the field, when a gust of wind swirled in an unnatural fashion around her legs. It whirled about, gaining speed, and crackling electricity began to crackle within its core.
Now what?
"Willow!" she screamed as she unwrapped her arm from Angel and searched for a weapon.
"I don't know what it is, Buff," Willow replied as she raised her hands. "I don't sense any spells being cast … I don't think that's magic."
"I thought we could maybe have a break," Colleen protested as she pulled a stake from her belt.
Connor shrugged and reached for a gun tucked into a shoulder holster, "Guess not."
"Sweetheart, get behind me," Xander insisted as he grabbed Dawn and yanked her to the back of the group.
The cyclonic gust of wind settled upon the pile of dark clothing, the crackling bolts of electricity intensified, and Buffy blinked in astonishment as a set of bones rose from the ground and assembled themselves into a familiar, human form. Muscles, ligaments, and tendons sprang into existence and stretched between the bones, skin and hair appeared, and when the wind vanished as if it had never been, a tall, broad-shouldered figure with red-blonde hair, green eyes, and a shocked expression stood in front of them. The black sleeves of his coat flexed as he held out his arms and stared in wonder at his hands.
It's Joshua, and he isn't a vampire anymore. How is this fair?!
"Him you resurrect!" she screamed at the sky. "You save him? The monster who murdered a bunch of my friends gets brought back to life, but everyone else stays dead! You couldn't have helped Faith, or Tara, or Anya, or literally anyone else?"
When three booming knocks echoed across the stadium, she wanted to tear her hair out, fall to her knees, and curse each and every Power that had ever existed.
"Clean slate, Buffy," Angel said, and from the tone of his voice he was about as displeased with this development as she was. "That Power … the Power, I guess, said everyone who helped you would be rewarded with a clean slate."
"Shonshu …" Connor muttered, and the word hung in the air like a dangling sword.
Buffy shook her head. "Angel, you and Spike argued for how many years over which of you would Szechuan?"
"Shonshu, Buffy," Angel said, "… and yeah, I didn't see this coming."
"This is that prophecy?" Colleen asked as she stared about with a perplexed look on her face. "That kinda blows. I thought it might, you know, not be about bringing the guy who slaughtered my friends back to life." She folded her arms across her chest and continued, "Kind of anti-climactic. I've never seen a prophecy fulfilled, but shouldn't there be like, the singing of a chorus erupting out of nowhere, or a glow around him, or something?"
"It's a prophecy, Colleen," Connor explained, "not a Vegas stage show."
"Prophecies suck," Xander stated as he turned around and pulled Dawn back towards him. From the look on Dawn's face, she was getting tired of being yanked to and fro. "Frankly, I'm too tired and depressed to care. Whatever Buffy did sapped every ounce of energy from my body, and … and …" He hung his head and blinked away tears.
"I know," Buffy whispered as a lump caught in her throat. "I miss Giles, too."
Joshua was staring at the sun with wide-eyed wonder, looking for all the world like the innocent soul that he most assuredly was not.
"I guess we should take him with us," Buffy announced.
Every eye turned towards her in shock.
"What else are we supposed to do?" she asked with a resigned expression and a weary shrug of her shoulders. "We can't just let him wander about. Besides, he's got a lot to atone for, and who knows better than us how to work off vampire-guilt?" She raised an eyebrow at Angel, and in turn he glanced away and rubbed at the back of his neck … and then he winced when his fingers brushed across a red, slashing wound.
How'd he get that? Do I even want to know?
She was just about to ask Angel how he'd been injured when she noticed a familiar sight lying on the ground by her feet. "Hey!" she said. "That's my stake, the one Xander made for me out of recycled teak, or something, for my birthday." She reached down, picked up the glossy, dark wood weapon, and stared at in surprise. "I lost this in that cave, the one that Ethan Rayne was trying to reopen the Hellmouth in. How'd it get here?"
After everyone had shrugged and expressed ignorance as to the manner in which her birthday gift had made its way to Moonridge University Stadium, she tucked the weapon into the back of her belt. "I guess it doesn't matter."
She sighed, stared at Joshua, and prepared to call out to him.
. . . . . . . . .
A slayer dream came for her that night, as she suspected it would.
They had spent the afternoon and evening searching for, and finding, no trace of, Olivia's body. They'd kept a wary eye on Joshua, directed him to the couch in Moonridge Investigations, and told him to stay put until morning. They'd sent out thank you texts, emails, and magical messages, and then … then none of them had felt like going their separate ways. They settled into Xander and Dawn's house, Xander somehow put Oz's teleconferenced face on the television, they all had way too much drink, and she eventually spent the larger part of an hour or two crying before Angel finally helped her to bed.
When the slayer dream came for her, she knew that she was asleep in Angel's arms in the guest bedroom of Xander and Dawn's house, but nevertheless she opened her eyes to find herself standing in front of a rather charming cottage. The cottage had thatched roof, walls made of gray stone interspersed with dark wooden beams, and was was surrounded by a bright green field. Beyond the field stood a long, low grey wall, there were no other houses in sight, and she suspected that she could walk forever in every direction and find not a single other living soul. The ground was cold under her feet, and she frowned when she realized that, once again, she had appeared in a slayer dream sans footwear.
If I see that guy with cheese on his face, the Powers and I are going to have another chat.
"Nice job," a voice rang out from behind her.
She whirled around and then held a hand to her face in wonder at the sight of Faith, arms folded across her chest, leaning against the wall of the cottage.
"Faith," Buffy whispered. In a louder voice she called out, "Is it really you?"
Faith sauntered over with the feline, compact grace that Buffy remembered well. The gray in her hair was gone, as were the crow's feet and lines that had etched themselves on her face, and she seemed at peace in a way she never had in life … though Buffy suspected that might just be her imagination. The white t-shirt and black jeans with the metal studded belt and leather boots were not quite what she expected Faith to be wearing, but then again, she hadn't expected to once again be wearing the same white dress upon which cherries had been embroidered.
This outfit? Again?
"It's really me," Faith replied as she wrapped Buffy up in a warm embrace. "Hey, nice job saving … everything."
She leaned back and looked Buffy over. "You look good." There was a note of surprise in her voice that Buffy hadn't expected.
"You do, too, Faith … and I have to ask, did you not expect me to look good?"
Faith shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. "No, no, it's not that, it's just … it's been so long. I thought you'd be older. Older again, I guess, would be a better way to put it?"
"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked. "How long do you think it's been?"
Faith opened her mouth to reply, then she glanced off to the side, appeared to listen to something that Buffy could not hear, and turned back. "Let's switch to a new topic!" Faith announced with an insincerely cheery smile and clasped hands.
"Sure," Buffy replied as she scrambled for what to say. There were so many things she wanted to ask Faith, so many questions that leapt to her mind, that it was difficult to pick just one. "What have you been up to? What do the Powers have you doing?"
Faith winced and shook her head. "Sorry, B. I'm not supposed to talk about that. Like, really, they're very serious about that here."
"That's fine," she hurried to add, "can I ask if you're, you know … alive?"
Faith's responsive smile was wan, thin, and sad. "No, B. No, Cordy, Giles, Olivia, me … we're not alive. That's done with, but I wasn't ready to rest, you know what I mean? Guess Giles and Olivia weren't, either."
"Are you happy?"
Faith pondered the question a lot longer than Buffy had expected. "I feel fulfilled," she finally said, "or getting close to being fulfilled? It's hard to put into words. I mean, when the job is done, and I've done it right, yeah, I'm happy, and there's time-off now and then to celebrate." She shrugged. "When I'm ready for that permanent dirt nap, I think I'll know."
Pain squeezed Buffy's heart and tears welled in her eyes. "Please don't talk like that," she asked, though it was more like begging.
"C'mon, B," Faith scoffed. "You're not going to go soft and cry on me, are you?"
"I might," she warned her.
Faith laughed, and that eased her pain just a bit. "I've missed you. Seeing you again, like this? It means a lot."
She thinks it's been a long time … I don't think I'm supposed to tell her any different.
A bright white light shone for a moment in mid-air, and then vanished.
Faith sighed, embraced her again, then stepped back and looked her over. "I'd like to stay, but they sent me here to give you closure, not to compare notes."
"You have to go?" she asked. "So soon? It's only been a few minutes."
"Not my call," Faith said as she began to back away. "It really is great seeing you, and I hope everyone mourned me for a suitable length of time."
She couldn't help but laugh at the callousness of Faith's comment. "Dark, Faith. Really dark."
Faith shrugged. "What can I say? I'm no angel. Lova ya, B, but I gotta run. I'll see you around, but maybe not too soon."
Curiosity surged in Buffy in response to Faith's words. "Faith," she called out at the retreating form, "you said you'll see me around … does that mean the Powers might want me for whatever they've got you doing? I don't know why they didn't ask me the first two times I died, but I'd …" Her words trailed off when she realized Faith was gone. She hadn't walked out of sight, there hadn't been a portal, she simply was gone.
She had a few seconds to process what had happened, and then the doorway to the cottage opened. When Giles and Olivia stepped out and proceeded down the steps of the cottage towards her, she could not help but begin to cry … again. They approached her with outstretched arms, she hugged them, and it took a while before she had composed herself enough to speak.
Giles and Olivia looked even younger than when she had first met them. Their hair was full and vibrant, their skin was youthful, and considering that they were dead, they looked quite at peace. "You look so young," were the first words out of her mouth, and then she immediately regretted that her initial comment had been so inspid.
"Come inside, Buffy," Giles encouraged her as he and Olivia put supportive arms around her. "There's no reason for us to linger out here."
She nodded and let them guide her up the steps and towards the door. "Is this where you live?"
Giles and Olivia exchanged a glance, they both puzzled over the question, and then Olivia replied, "I guess you could say that … in a manner of speaking."
"They …" Giles directed his eyes heavenward, "thought this might be easier for you."
When they reached the threshold of the door, Olivia moved away from them and settled into a comfortable looking padded chair off to the side of the patio. "I'll let you two talk," she replied.
"Oh, you don't have to stay out here," Buffy hastened to reply as she glanced at Giles and then at Olivia. "I'm the guest."
"I'll be fine," Olivia said with a sweet smile as she sipped at a cup of tea that had appeared out of nowhere. "Besides, you're here to talk to Rupert, Buffy."
Not knowing what to say, she nodded and let Giles usher her inside. The door closed behind them, they found a comfortable couch to sit on, and as she sat and stared at him, she realized that she had so many questions to ask that she did not know where to begin.
I'll start off by asking if I can ask questions.
"Giles, I don't want to get you into trouble, but I've got some questions that I'm hoping you can answer."
He chuckled for a moment, reached up to remove his glasses, and then realized that he wasn't wearing any. He put his hand down and replied, "I rather thought you might. I can't promise that I can answer them, Buffy, but you shouldn't be afraid to ask."
"What are you doing for the Powers?" she asked.
"That, I can answer," Giles said with a smile. He raised a steaming cup to his lips, blew on it … although she suspected that he could not possibly be burned wherever they were … and took a sip.
A moment later, she realized that she held a cup of tea, as well. She tasted it, and as she expected the flavor was exquisite. The flavor reminded her of all the good things in her life, the fragrance brought to the forefront of her mind fond memories she'd nearly forgotten, and also it was seasoned with just the right amount of honey.
"Well," Giles began, "apparently I have earned a bit of a reputation for guiding people, individuals who maybe are in danger of losing their way and need help."
"And so now you're going to help people like that?" she prompted him as she took another sip.
This really does taste incredible.
"Yes," Giles said with a nod. "Some of them are even Buffy Summers … kind of." His lips pursed in thought.
She chuckled for a moment at the notion of Giles popping up in universe after universe shepherding Buffy Summerses. "So, you're like, a personal guardian angel of folks like me?"
"More like a consultant," Giles corrected her as he set his cup down on the coffee table.
She set her own cup down, looked away, and tried not to let her lower lip tremble as she said, "But I'm a person like me, Giles. And I need you. When I asked for you to be brought back, they said … they said …"
She snuffled, resolutely decided that she would not begin sobbing again, and Giles pulled her close. It was a while before they resumed speaking.
"You shouldn't be dead," she finally whispered to him. "This is all my fault."
He put his hands on her shoulders, pushed her far enough away that he could peer down at her, and said, "This is absolutely not your fault. None of it is. If it's guilt you're looking for, Buffy, I'm not your man. All you will get from me is my support... and my respect." "
"Hey," she protested. "That sounded familiar! Are you recycling pep talks?"
"Maybe," he admitted. "I'll have to come up with some fresh material."
They both laughed, and she felt her sorrow ease … not a lot, but some. When the moment of mirth had passed, she continued, "Really though. If you could have come back, why didn't you?"
Giles tapped his hands on his knees and considered the question. "You've died and gone through the process of resurrection, and you know the toll it takes. I cannot say I was eager to experience it for myself. Also …" he gestured with his head towards the door.
"Olivia?" Buffy prompted him.
He nodded. "The circumstances of her death were singularly unpleasant. Her soul brushed against the First, which is a horror that nobody should have to experience … it almost had her, in fact." He looked down at the tea and his voice grew quiet. "She decided that this was her time, and of course I am not going to leave her. Besides …" he opened his hands wide, "I do like to keep busy, and a job offer came along at just the right moment."
"I don't know if I can bear this," she said as she shook her head. "Will I ever see you again?"
"Of course," he reassured her. "We'll meet again someday, along with everyone else you've ever loved, but I hope not for a very, very long time." He fixed her with a reassuring look and she wanted to capture the moment in her soul and keep it close for the rest of her life. "It is wonderful to see you again, Buffy. I have worried about you."
How long has it been for him?
Just like with Faith, she suspected that she was not supposed to ask that question.
"Time is drawing short for us to be together like this," Giles prompted her as he picked up his refilled cup of tea. "You should not be afraid to talk to me about anything while you have the chance."
There is absolutely no way to say this without sounding like I'm whining about a blow to my ego, so I'll just say it.
"Giles, there was something I was wondering," she said. "About how you, and Faith, and Olivia, and Cordelia are working for the Powers."
A knowing expression tinged with sympathy crossed his features. "You want to ask why we were asked to join their ranks after we'd shuffled off the mortal coil, while you do not recall being invited?"
"Well, yeah," she admitted, and though it felt a bit silly to be concerned about her wounded pride, it was wounded, and she was hurt. "I died twice, and the Powers never asked me. Did I not measure up, or something?"
Giles smiled at her, yet somehow the expression was sadder than any tear-soaked face she had ever seen in her life. "Buffy," he said in a quiet, small voice, "did you ever consider that maybe the Powers did extend you an invitation, and that you refused? That maybe you decided that you'd had enough?"
"That doesn't sound like me," she said with narrowed eyes and a suspicious tone.
Giles grinned and said, "If you find that too difficult to believe, you can salve your self-esteem by concluding that the Powers maybe felt that you deserved a break."
She laughed, Giles laughed, then they were hugging each other, and then … somehow … they were both crying. When the sobs had stopped, and they'd dried their metaphysical tears as best they could, she knew that soon it would be time for her to go.
"Maybe when it's my turn again," she finally said, "if the Powers consider asking, I'd be interested this time." For a moment, just the barest moment, the weight of her life, all the losses, and the pain, and the endless struggling, pressed down upon her. "Or maybe not," she admitted.
They spoke for a while after that, about matters that leaned towards the personal and the mundane. She confessed her desire to travel with Angel, Giles encouraged her to do so, and she excitedly revealed the plans they had to keep Moonridge safe while she was gone. Giles had folded his arms, stared at her with pride, and told her that they were all fine ideas. She could not help but smile and glow internally at receiving praise from him.
When it was time for her to go, they both sensed it. She rose to her feet, Giles hugged her, and then he guided her through the door of the cottage. Her bare foot crossed over the threshold and with a gasp she opened her eyes and found herself in Xander's guest bedroom.
