Chapter 2: Lie to Me
November 3, 1997 – Monday
Sunnydale High School
In the days that followed Buffy's transformation into a Terminator, a bittersweet mixture of accomplishment and uncertainty filled her heart. As she glanced at her improved grades, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over her. The steel within her, where once emotions flowed, felt cold and unyielding. It was as if the warmth of her humanity had been replaced by an icy efficiency.
She couldn't help but question if it was fair, if she was somehow cheating by utilizing the enhanced cognitive capabilities gifted to her from the future. Her mechanical eyes, devoid of any hint of emotion, scanned her test scores and assignments with ruthless precision. A part of her longed to rely solely on her own inherent intellect, to feel the familiar struggle of human limitations. But she knew that disconnecting from her advanced abilities would mean denying the very essence of her existence.
Despite the internal dilemma, Buffy found solace in the fact that her superior brain provided her with newfound efficiency. It was like a well-oiled machine, whirring with precision and speed. It granted her an edge, allowing her to excel academically and carve out additional time to fulfill her primary and secondary objectives—to ensure the survival of Willow and Dawn.
For this purpose, she ventured out each night, donning her Slayer mantle and patrolling the streets. Her movements were robotic, calculated, and devoid of the passion she once had. Her every action was a mission, executed with mechanical precision, determined to shield her loved ones from the encroaching dangers that lurked in the darkness.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Giles descended the stairs alongside Jenny Calendar, their conversation dancing with a mix of playfulness and secrecy. Her words, veiled in mystery, teased his curiosity, but he yearned to unravel the enigma she held. As they continued their descent, Giles couldn't help but be captivated by the sparkle in her eyes—a testament to the amusement she found in their banter. It was a rare sensation, a glimpse of lightness amidst the darkness of their world, and Giles cherished those moments.
Still, his desire for clarity pressed on, and he sought to understand the nature of their plans for the evening. He longed for a shared understanding, the comfort of knowing what awaited them. "What kind of secret?" Giles voiced his concerns, his voice tinged with a touch of earnestness.
"The kind that's secret. You know, where I don't actually tell you what it is," Jenny replied with a mischievous grin, her words laced with playful mystery. The dynamic between them was undeniable, a connection that defied expectations. Giles knew that Jenny found him amusing, a fact that Xander might deem as a plus, and he couldn't help but revel in the rare joy it brought him.
Yet, Giles remained steadfast in his desire for clarity. "I just think it's customary that when two people are going out for an evening, that they both have an idea of what they're doing," he stated, his voice tinged with a touch of concern.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs and turned right, their paths diverged. Giles made his way toward the library, while Jenny ventured into the realm of the demonic machines, the computers. It was a stark contrast, one seeking knowledge and ancient wisdom, the other navigating the modern labyrinth of technology.
Jenny playfully chided Giles, her tone gentle yet filled with a spark of mischief. "Oh, come on!" she urged, a playful glimmer in her eyes. "Where's your sense of adventure?" Her words danced through the air, encouraging him to embrace the unknown, to revel in the surprises that lay in wait.
Giles, ever the pragmatist, attempted another approach. "But, I... how will I know what to wear?" he questioned, his voice revealing a touch of vulnerability.
Jenny observed Giles' appearance with a wry amusement, her eyes twinkling mischievously. His attire seemed to follow a predictable pattern, one that she found endearing yet predictable. A playful tease escaped her lips, "Do you own anything else?" The affection in her chuckle was palpable, a tender reminder of the connection they shared.
Giles couldn't help but smile, his guard momentarily lowered in her presence. "Not as such," he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. The realization that his wardrobe lacked variety didn't bother him as much as it used to. Jenny's understanding gaze held an unspoken assurance, a reminder that it was his character and not his attire that truly mattered.
Her laughter echoed through the air, a joyous sound that filled Giles's heart with warmth. Jenny's genuine amusement was a balm to his soul, a reminder of the connection they shared. "Rupert, you're going to have to trust me," she playfully suggested, her voice carrying a touch of mischief.
Giles felt a surge of emotions welling within him, a mixture of anticipation, vulnerability, and a willingness to surrender to the unknown. With a hint of a smile gracing his lips, he relinquished control. "All right," he acquiesced, his voice filled with a rare willingness to step outside his comfort zone. "I put myself in your hands."
Jenny walked past him, a teasing smile dancing upon her lips, leaving Giles captivated by her playful energy. The mere thought of surrendering to her guidance sparked a sense of excitement within him, his mind already spinning with possibilities. "That sounds like fun," she quipped, her grin infectiously contagious. "Okay. Seven-thirty, tomorrow night?"
Giles watched her with an adoring gaze, his heart fluttering at the prospect of the adventures that awaited them. The comment about her hands and the promise of fun lingered in his thoughts, a delightful anticipation settling upon his features. "Yes," he confirmed, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm and a pleased expression adorning his face. The prospect of being with Jenny, of immersing himself in her world, filled him with an intoxicating blend of joy and contentment.
As she turned, the teasing smile still present, Jenny made her way to one of the exit doors, leaving Giles yearning for the moments to come. Emotions danced within him—hope, excitement, and an eagerness to experience the unexpected wonders Jenny had in store.
Buffy observed the affectionate exchange between Giles and Ms. Calendar, her mechanical heart processing the sight of their connection. There was a strange sense of warmth, not the emotional kind she used to feel, but a programmed acknowledgment of their bond. As they concluded their private moment, she approached Giles with a simulated smile. "Hey," she greeted him, their steps falling into sync as they made their way toward the library. The weight of their shared responsibilities hung in the air, a constant presence in her newfound existence, but for this brief moment, it was just the two of them, walking side by side.
Giles turned to her, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and curiosity, a hint of emotion in a world where hers had been eradicated. His genuine care for her well-being shone through as he posed his question. "Did we hunt last night?" he inquired, his voice laced with a touch of hope, searching for any sign of supernatural encounters.
Buffy paused for a moment, recalling her recent activities. The vast capacity of her enhanced computer brain allowed her to effortlessly process multiple thoughts simultaneously. "I did a couple of quick sweeps downtown," she answered, her voice holding a tinge of admission. "But, nothing vampiry."
Giles nodded, his focus shifting to the research he had undertaken. The weight of his efforts to find a way to reverse her transformation and uncover the motives of Spike burdened him. "Well, I've been researching both how to turn you back and gathering information on your friend Spike," he informed her, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "So far, no leads on reversing your condition, I'm afraid. As for Spike, the more I learn, the more unsettling it becomes. Yet, I still haven't grasped the underlying reason for his presence here."
As they walked together, Buffy's mind effortlessly absorbed their conversation, her thoughts traversing multiple paths, fueled by her heightened cognitive abilities. She felt a sense of reassurance, knowing that even in the midst of their complex circumstances, Giles was dedicated to finding answers and solutions. With unwavering confidence, she offered him a comforting response. "You'll figure it out," she assured him, her voice filled with trust and a touch of admiration, even though the wellspring of emotions that would have accompanied such feelings was now a distant memory.
The suggestion that followed caught Buffy off guard, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "Given the last few days, I was thinking, why don't you take the night off?" Giles proposed, his voice carrying a genuine concern for her well-being, a touch of compassion in a world where her own compassion had been stripped away.
Buffy's eyes met Giles's with a mix of determination and weariness as they entered the library. Her gaze, void of the flicker of emotion it once held, bore the weight of her new reality. "I don't need to," she asserted softly, her voice carrying a hint of resignation. "I'm awake twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I don't require sleep anymore."
Giles, however, refused to be swayed by her seemingly logical explanation. He regarded her with a gentle yet firm gaze, his voice filled with concern. "Buffy, your body may not require sleep," he countered, his words tinged with a touch of paternal protectiveness. "But your mind is another matter entirely. After everything you've endured last week, it's vital to remember that you are still human underneath it all. You still possess a human soul, buried beneath the machinery."
"Dawn said something similar the other day," Buffy remarked, a faint glimmer of recognition flickering in her eyes as she recalled her sister's words.
"Well, she was right," Giles affirmed, a warm smile gracing his lips as he looked at Buffy with a mixture of fondness and concern. "So, take the night off. Perhaps spend time with Dawn and your mother."
Buffy felt a mixture of gratitude and reluctance welling up within her. She understood the importance of self-care, of preserving her humanity amidst the complexities of her new existence. "Giles, there is something else," she revealed, her voice laced with a touch of heaviness. "Last night, as I delved into the files, I discovered something... When future John and future Dawn reprogrammed Cameron, they not only imprinted her with their Buffy's likeness but also her memories. Memories that led up to her death in 2030, just before they sent the Terminator back."
Giles nodded, his features etched with a blend of understanding and sorrow. He exhaled a weary sigh, fully aware of the weight these memories must carry for Buffy. "You have to remember, Buffy," he implored gently. "Their Buffy is not you. Though the memories may be shared, the path that led to their world's demise is not yours to bear."
Buffy's voice trembled with uncertainty as she grappled with the weight of her newfound memories. "I know," she whispered, her tone filled with a mixture of vulnerability and contemplation. "But I can't help but wonder... what should I do with these memories?"
Giles regarded her with a somber expression, his eyes reflecting the depth of his concern. "I would advise doing nothing," he replied gently, his voice tinged with empathy. "There is no guarantee that our world will follow the same path as theirs. Their circumstances and the reasons for their world's near-destruction may not exist in our reality. It's best not to let those memories burden you unnecessarily."
Buffy absorbed his words, grappling with the weight of the decisions before her. The desire to share her newfound knowledge with her mother tugged at her heart, seeking solace in the bond they shared. "Okay," she acquiesced, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "But there's one last thing... I want to tell Mom."
Giles's expression shifted, a mix of concern and caution clouding his features. "Buffy," he began, his voice filled with a sense of protectiveness. "Now, when you were fully human, it would have been difficult, at best, to disclose the full extent of your responsibilities to her. It would have put her in great jeopardy. But now to reveal that you are no longer entirely human... it could be worse. She might look at you as if you were nothing more than a mere object. No, I believe it's best that she does not know."
Buffy's gaze held a flicker of determination as she pushed back, yearning to share at least part of her truth with her mother. "What about just the Slayer stuff?" she proposed, her voice tinged with hope. "I can protect her far more effectively now. Besides, according to the memories I discovered, the other Buffy eventually found out anyways."
Giles's eyebrows furrowed, his eyes filled with curiosity and concern as he met her gaze. "How?" he questioned, his voice holding a mix of intrigue and uncertainty. His mind raced, seeking an understanding of the circumstances that had led to the other Buffy's revelation.
Buffy hesitated, a knot of apprehension tightening in her chest, as she contemplated divulging the unsettling truth about the Angel of the Buffy's memories descent into darkness. Her voice trembled slightly as she finally spoke up, the weight of her words palpable in the air.
"She was going to confront a vampire. There was a heated altercation between her and mom, and in a moment of vulnerability, the truth slipped out. Mom didn't handle it well. Mom warned her, with a heavy heart, that if she walked out the door, she shouldn't bother returning. And so, after facing the vampire, she ran away, Giles. She disappeared for the entire summer. I can't bear the thought of that happening to me."
Giles gazed at Buffy intently, his eyes brimming with concern, silently absorbing the gravity of her confession. After a prolonged pause, he reluctantly mustered a response, his voice laden with reluctant acceptance.
"Very well," he murmured, his tone laced with an air of resignation. "Arrange for her to meet with me, and we shall address the matter together. However, you must promise not to disclose your own transformation. Discovering that you are a Slayer, and that you have risked your life defending the world, will undoubtedly be difficult enough for her. Learning that you are no longer entirely human would be an even harsher blow."
Buffy acquiesced with a robotic tone, devoid of the emotions that would usually accompany such a significant decision. Her voice was tinged with both relief and trepidation.
"Okay," she replied mechanically, her expressionless face offering no insight into the emotional turmoil she felt inside. With that, she turned and departed from the library, her footsteps carrying her toward her next class.
/ Do not worry. She will accept you.
Buffy suddenly halted, her robotic senses heightened by an eerie feeling that something or someone was watching over her. She scanned her surroundings, her lifeless eyes darting from one corner of the hallway to another. This was the second time since her transformation that mysterious text had appeared in her vision, and it sent shivers down her metallic spine.
Shaking off the disconcerting sensation, Buffy composed herself and entered the classroom, taking a seat beside Willow. The professor's lecture washed over her, but her attention was divided. In truth, she found herself only partially engaged in the class, yet her uncanny nature as a machine allowed her to passively absorb the information effortlessly. The newfound ability to multitask was one of the few silver linings in her otherwise tumultuous existence.
As Buffy's attention flickered between the classroom discussion and the hidden file she had stumbled upon, a mix of curiosity and uncertainty washed over her, although her emotionless exterior revealed no signs of it. The words spoken around her mingled with the weight of her revelations, creating a unique blend of emotions within her mechanical frame, despite her inability to truly experience them. The notion of sexuality and its accompanying subroutines—gender identity, sexual orientation, love, and emotions—seemed incongruous with her purpose as a killing machine, yet there they were, tempting her to explore the depths of her own existence.
While Cordelia passionately defended Marie Antoinette, Buffy's thoughts were consumed by the enigma of the file before her. She couldn't help but question its presence and the implications it held for her own experience as a Terminator. The desire to reconnect with her lost humanity, to once again feel the emotions she had been stripped of, flickered within her synthetic core.
With a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, Buffy made a decision. She activated the file, a wave of uncertainty washing over her, though it didn't manifest in her expressions. Would this be the key to unlocking her suppressed emotions? Would it bring her closer to understanding the complexities of human connection once more? As the file initialized, she braced herself for the unknown, her mechanical exterior pulsating with a hint of longing for the possibility of rediscovering what it meant to truly feel.
The bell chimed melodiously, its echoing tones resonating through the classroom. Instantly, a flurry of movement erupted as students stood up, hastily collecting their books and belongings. Amidst the commotion, Willow turned to Buffy, her eyes filled with concern and curiosity, and gently remarked, "You appeared distant, almost as if lost in another world."
Buffy met her friend's gaze, her emotionless expression unchanged. "You know that's an impossibility," she replied mechanically, her voice tinged with a hint of mischief. "My nice little computer brain is capable of juggling multiple tasks simultaneously."
A soft smile played on Willow's lips, a testament to her acknowledgment of Buffy's capabilities. However, her curiosity remained unabated as she peered deeper into Buffy's eyes. "That may be true," she conceded, her voice laced with a touch of admiration. "Yet, there was an undeniable air of distraction about you. What occupied your thoughts?"
As Dawn joined her sister and their friends, a curious expression crossed her face. "Buffy seemed distracted?" she chimed in, her voice filled with surprise and curiosity.
Willow turned to the younger Summers sister, nodding with certainty. "Indeed, she did," she confirmed, eager to share her observations.
Buffy's statement broke the ensuing silence, her words carrying an unexpected revelation. "Did you know I have a program that delves into matters of sexuality?" she inquired, her tone betraying a mix of curiosity and intrigue.
Caught off guard by Buffy's disclosure, Xander reacted with a mix of surprise and amusement. His lighthearted response was met with playful retribution as the three girls simultaneously playfully slapped his arm. Dawn, the voice of reason, swiftly intervened, asserting, "Calm down, Xander."
Willow, now wearing an expression of surprise, offered Buffy an explanation, tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "No, I... or rather John, was unaware of that. But we must remember that my John is not the same as yours. Mine was merely a sixteen-year-old boy."
"Xander?" The sound of his name escaping Buffy's lips held a mix of apprehension and curiosity, tinged with a hint of vulnerability.
Xander, sensing her unease, shook his head gently, his expression filled with understanding and a touch of sorrow. "Kyle may have hailed from that very time period, but he was a soldier, not someone skilled in reprogramming Terminators. Moreover, he belonged to an era predating the deployment of the Terminators sent to protect John."
A heavy sigh escaped Buffy's lips, accompanied by a slow, solemn nod, her face remaining devoid of emotion. The weight of uncertainty settled upon her, casting a shadow over her features. "I suppose I'll find out," she murmured softly, her voice tinged with a blend of determination and resignation.
Willow, her brows furrowed with concern, interjected cautiously, her voice filled with apprehension. "Was that a good idea? You don't know what consequences it might bring. It could be dangerous."
Dawn, ever the compassionate sister, gently wrapped an arm around Buffy, her gesture conveying love and reassurance. "Will, you have to understand," she interposed, her voice carrying a sense of empathy. "Buffy can no longer experience emotions due to what she is now."
"If this offers even a glimmer of hope to feel something again, then..." Buffy's voice trailed off, her words lingering in the air, brimming with a mix of yearning and longing. She craved any opportunity to reconnect with her own emotions, to bridge the vast void that had formed within her, though her expression remained impassive.
Sensing the need to break the somber atmosphere, Xander interjected, his voice carrying a hint of forced cheerfulness. "Hey, how about a dance party at the Bronze tonight?" he suggested, attempting to divert the conversation onto a more lighthearted path. However, his words fell upon deaf ears as neither Dawn, Buffy, nor Willow responded to his invitation.
A voice emerged from the shadows behind Buffy, infused with a hint of playful nostalgia. "I'd suggest a box of Oreos dipped in apple juice, but perhaps Buffy has moved past that phase," it teased gently, evoking a cascade of emotions.
Dawn and Buffy exchanged a fleeting glance, their eyes widening in recognition. They spun around in unison. "Ford?" they exclaimed simultaneously.
Overwhelmed by the unexpected reunion, Dawn couldn't contain her excitement, her arms instinctively reaching out to embrace the tall, dark-haired boy. "Ford!" she cried out, her voice tinged with a mixture of happiness and relief. The warmth of his reciprocated hug enveloped her, creating a bubble of comfort and familiarity.
In stark contrast to Dawn's emotional outpouring, Buffy remained stoic, her body showing no signs of reaction. She observed the reunion with an impassive gaze.
Returning Dawn's embrace, Ford smiled affectionately, his eyes shining with fondness. "Hey, Little Summers, how have you been?" he inquired, his voice carrying a sense of genuine interest and affection.
Dawn felt a rush of warmth and nostalgia flood over her as she clung to Ford, her heart dancing with emotions that were now absent in her sister. "I've been good," she replied, her voice laced with contentment and a touch of nostalgia, grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with an old friend.
Meanwhile, Buffy posed a question to Ford, her voice betraying a mix of curiosity and concern. "What are you doing here?"
But her inquiry went unanswered, as a file unexpectedly materialized before Buffy's emotionless eyes. It unfolded, revealing a chilling list of targets marked for termination. And among them, her mechanical eyes widened in shock, fixating on the name "Billy Fordham."
Ford's response, simple yet filled with underlying layers of complexity, broke the silence that had momentarily settled. "Matriculating," he stated, his voice carrying a sense of resilience and determination, as if hinting at the struggles he had faced and the path he had chosen to take.
Buffy feigned ignorance. "Huh?" she responded; her voice carefully crafted to conceal the depth of her surprise at finding Ford's name on a list of targets for termination.
Ford, his gaze locked with Buffy's, mustered a timid smile, his shyness adding a touch of vulnerability to his demeanor. "I'm finishing out my senior year at Sunnydale High. Dad got transferred."
Memories of his long bangs cascading over his angular face flooded the sisters' minds. They reminisced about the days when they would jest, comparing him to the valiant heroes of countless Japanese anime cartoons. Now, faced with his presence, their hearts swelled with a mixture of nostalgia and anticipation.
Dawn, barely able to contain her excitement, couldn't help but interject, her voice overflowing with genuine enthusiasm. "This is amazing!" she exclaimed, her words accompanied by a shared glance between herself, Buffy, Willow, and Xander, a glance brimming with joy and connection.
Ford, still seemingly uncertain, his demeanor marked by a lingering shyness, expressed his gratitude. "I'm glad you think so, Dawn. I wasn't sure if either of you would remember me," he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of self-doubt.
The words hung in the air, met with a swift response from Buffy, her voice filled with gentle admonition and remembrance. "Remember you? Come on, Ford," she chided. "We spent seven years together in school. You were my giant fifth-grade crush, after all."
Caught off guard by the revelation of their connection, Xander interjected, his voice tinged with surprise. "So, you three know each other?" he questioned, seeking clarity amidst the newfound camaraderie.
Dawn, quick to respond, beamed with pride as she affirmed their bond. "Yes, we do," she confirmed, her voice radiating a sense of shared history. "But Buffy here has a deeper connection with Ford."
Buffy's gaze shifted between Willow and Xander, a mixture of anticipation and introduction reflected in her eyes. "This is Ford," she announced, her voice infused with a subtle excitement and a hint of vulnerability. "Uh, Billy Fordham." Her attention then turned back to Ford, her expression softened with a touch of warmth and familiarity. "And this is Xander and Willow." With each name, she gestured towards her friends, their significance amplified in that moment.
Xander, ever the affable charmer, greeted Ford with a polite smile, though it bore a tinge of artificiality that sometimes-accompanied Cordelia's lengthy history lessons. "Hi," he said, his voice carrying an undertone of cordiality.
Ford reciprocated the greeting, his reply simple yet genuine. "Hey," he responded, his tone tinged with a mix of ease and curiosity.
Willow, her empathetic nature shining through, offered a sweet, welcoming smile that reached her eyes. "Nice to meet you," she expressed, her words wrapped in sincerity and warmth.
As the introductions unfolded, Buffy seized the opportunity to provide a glimpse into their shared past. Her voice held a trace of nostalgia as she revealed their connection. "Dawn and I went to Hemery with Ford, in L.A.," she explained, her tone imbued with a sense of camaraderie and shared experiences.
Dawn's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with delight as she directed her attention towards Ford. Her words were laced with a mixture of amazement and disbelief. "And now you're here? For real?" she inquired, her voice carrying a hint of wonder.
Ford's response held a touch of resignation, as if surrendering to the whims of circumstance. "Dad got the transfer, and boom," he explained, his voice carrying a sense of abruptness and uncertainty. "He just dragged me out of Hemery and put me down here."
The exhilaration within Buffy surged, her gaze fixed upon Ford, her mind whisked away to a time long before she had embraced her role as the Slayer. Fifth grade had represented an era untouched by the trials and tribulations that awaited her. It was a period preceding her parents' tumultuous relationship and subsequent separation, and certainly before her transformation into a Terminator. The weight of her past and the complexities of her present danced in her eyes as she reflected upon the layers of her journey. "Well," she began, her voice carrying a blend of nostalgia and lightheartedness, "I mean, it's undoubtedly challenging—a sudden move, leaving behind friends, during such a delicate and emotional time. But let's shift the focus back to me: this is great!"
Willow's curiosity bubbled forth like a playful stream, eager to uncover the hidden nuances of her friend's history. "So, Buffy, were you two an item in the fifth grade?" she inquired with a teasing lilt in her voice, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.
Buffy gently corrected her friend's assumption, her tone carrying a hint of amusement tinged with nostalgia. "Not even," she disclosed with a shake of her head, as if dispelling any lingering misconceptions about her past with Ford, indicating that their connection had not extended to romantic entanglements.
Dawn, ever the mischief-maker, couldn't resist adding her own commentary to the conversation. Her gaze flitted between Ford and Buffy, a mischievous spark dancing in her eyes. "Ford wouldn't give Buffy the time of day," she quipped, her words tinged with a hint of playful teasing as she offered a glimpse into their shared history. "Though in later years, he was actually quite friendly with me."
Ford's eyes met Dawn's, his expression softening with a mix of fondness and sincerity as he addressed her directly. "Well, as far as you go, Dawn," he began, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of protectiveness, "when I saw how things were and witnessed your accelerated progression, I thought Buffy could use some help in looking out for you." He then turned his attention to Buffy, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. "And as for Buffy, I was a manly sixth grader back then. I couldn't be bothered with someone that young," he confessed with a playful chuckle, his words infused with a sense of lighthearted reminiscence and underlying affection.
Buffy's confession sliced through the air, her words heavy with vulnerability and a touch of self-deprecating humor. "It was terrible," she admitted with a rueful smile, her voice carrying the weight of past heartache. "I moped over you for months. Sitting in my room, listening to that Divinyls song, 'I Touch Myself.'"
Dawn's eyes widened in astonishment at her sister's revelation, her gaze fixed upon Buffy with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Really?" she exclaimed, her voice betraying a blend of incredulity and fascination.
Buffy met Dawn's probing gaze with a practiced facade, her expression a carefully constructed mask of deflection, a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to surface. "Of course," she replied smoothly, her tone casual yet laced with a subtle undercurrent of hidden meaning. "I had no idea what it was about."
Sensing the need to diffuse the tension that lingered in the air like static electricity, Willow interjected with her trademark blend of light-heartedness and empathy. "It's fun to meet someone who knew Buffy and Dawn from before Buffy was... well, the here-being girl," she mused.
"Yeah, it's fun," Xander muttered, though his lack of enthusiasm was palpable, like a dampened flame struggling to ignite.
Seeking to redirect the focus away from the awkward moment, Buffy turned her attention to Ford, her voice infused with anticipation and warmth. "Hey," she began, her excitement palpable, "are you busy tonight? We're heading to the Bronze, the local club, and you have to come."
Ford's response was a delicate balance of genuine interest and underlying concern. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face as he voiced his eagerness while simultaneously expressing his hesitation. "I'd love to," he responded earnestly, his voice tinged with a mix of eagerness and cautiousness. "But if you guys already had plans... would I be imposing?"
Xander, ever the master of levity, chimed in, his words accompanied by a faint smile. "Only in the literal sense."
"Okay then," Ford responded, his tone brimming with satisfaction, a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips. He then turned his attention towards Dawn, his voice laced with genuine interest as he sought to include her in their plans. "What about you, Dawnie? Are you going?"
Dawn's shoulders slumped slightly, a shadow passing over her features as she admitted her disappointment. "Still too young," she confessed with a sigh, her voice tinged with resignation as she spoke of the age restriction at the Bronze. "Bronze doesn't allow anyone under fifteen and I still have another week to go."
Ford's empathy shone through as he responded to Dawn's plight, his voice filled with understanding and a genuine desire to connect with her. "That's sad to hear," he empathized sincerely, his words dripping with compassion. "Maybe you and I can hang out later, then?" he offered, his tone infused with warmth and reassurance. Dawn nodded eagerly, a glimmer of anticipation brightening her gaze at the prospect of spending time with their old friend.
"Well, I got to find the admissions office, get my papers in order," Ford concluded, his tone shifting slightly as he acknowledged the practicalities that awaited him. With a nod of farewell, he turned and began to walk away, his presence fading into the bustle of the school hallway.
Sensing the urgency of the situation, Buffy seized the moment to gather her friends, a determined expression etched upon her features. With a firm grip on their arms, she guided them towards the library, Dawn trailing closely behind. The weight of their encounter with Ford hung heavy in her mind as she called out to Giles, her Watcher and mentor.
Giles emerged from his office, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil that surrounded them. "Yes, Buffy," he responded promptly, his voice carrying a mix of attentiveness and concern as he assessed the urgency in her demeanor.
Without wasting a moment, Buffy relayed the startling revelation to Giles, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily upon her words. "Dawn and I just saw an old friend from Hemery in L.A.," she explained urgently. "When I looked at him, a list of targets to terminate popped up, and his name was on it."
"This is not good," Dawn's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, her statement capturing the collective unease that settled over the group like a heavy shroud. Willow and Xander exchanged a meaningful glance, their eyes mirroring their shared confusion and growing concern as they grappled with the unsettling revelation.
Perplexed, Willow sought clarification, her voice laden with genuine confusion as she tried to make sense of the situation. "Why would your old friend be on a list of targets to terminate?" she questioned, her words hanging in the air like a puzzle waiting to be solved, her brows furrowed in deep contemplation.
Buffy, her uncertainty evident in the furrow of her brow, shrugged her shoulders with a thoughtful expression, her mind already racing with possibilities. "I'm not sure," she confessed, her voice tinged with a note of uncertainty. "I'll have to dig through the other Buffy's memories and see if there was something I may have overlooked."
Giles interjected, his voice carrying a wise caution born from years of experience and knowledge. "Buffy, you must remember that your counterpart's memories may not align with what transpires in this world," he cautioned, his words holding a touch of pragmatism. "So, you must approach the information you uncover with caution and skepticism."
Buffy nodded; her acknowledgment tinged with a steely determination that belied the gravity of their situation. "I know, Giles," she affirmed.
The Bronze
The pulsating music filled the air, its infectious rhythm intertwining seamlessly with the lively energy of the crowd as the usual suspects danced and laughed the night away. Amidst the spirited atmosphere, the distinct sound of success echoed through the room, punctuated by the satisfying thud of the eight-ball finding its destined pocket on the pool table, eliciting cheers and applause from onlookers.
Buffy made her way through the crowd towards her friends, a smile gracing her lips. "Ford, you made it," she expressed, her voice neutral, devoid of the typical emotion as she greeted him.
Ford, already focused on his next shot with a determined air, exchanged a knowing smile with Buffy. "It wasn't hard to find," he replied casually, his words infused with a sense of ease and contentment as he adjusted his stance, readying himself for the next challenge.
Willow, ever the observant and lighthearted friend, couldn't resist adding her own playful commentary to the conversation. Her voice laced with playful humor, she interjected, "Buffy, Ford was just regaling us with tales of the ninth-grade beauty contest," she shared with a teasing grin, her eyes dancing with amusement. "And, uh, the swimsuit competition."
Buffy feigned mock seriousness. "Oh, God, Ford," she exclaimed with exasperation as she playfully swatted at him. "Stop that. The more people you tell about it, the more people I have to kill."
Ford, ever the provocateur, responded with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his confidence unshakeable as he took his shot with precision. "You can't touch me, Summers," he challenged with a playful grin, his voice dripping with playful defiance. "I know all your darkest secrets."
Xander, his tone dripping with laid-back nonchalance, interjected with a drawl that seemed to dance through the air like a lazy summer breeze. "Care to make a small wager on that?" His words, delivered with a hint of friendly competition, aimed to balance the playful banter that filled the room, injecting a sense of light-hearted challenge into the atmosphere.
Sensing the need to diffuse the tension that simmered beneath the surface, Buffy shot a warning look from Xander to Ford. "I'm going to go grab a drink. Ford, try not to talk," she said. With a casual wave, she made her way towards the bar, her footsteps echoing with a sense of anticipation as she navigated through the crowd.
As she reached the bar, the man in front of her turned to leave, a drink in hand. Time seemed to stand still as her gaze locked with his, the world around them fading into the background. It was Angel.
A wave of warmth washed over Angel's face upon seeing her, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes like a beacon in the darkness. "Hey," he greeted softly, his voice carrying a mix of longing and relief. "I was hoping you'd show."
Buffy couldn't help but notice the familiar coffee cup in his hand. She gestured towards the cup. "You drink," she remarked. "I mean, drinks. Non-blood things."
Angel responded with a flirtatious smile, a rare occurrence that sparked a flicker of excitement within Buffy's heart. It was a smile that conveyed his attempt at playfulness. "There's a lot about me you don't know," he teased cryptically.
She met his gaze with unwavering certainty, her affirmation ringing out with a quiet strength that seemed to resonate in the air between them. "I believe that," she affirmed, her voice steady and sure.
Ford, ever the astute observer, couldn't help but be drawn into the interaction unfolding between Buffy and Angel. Casting a quick glance in their direction, his curiosity was piqued, his interest in the mysterious newcomer growing with each passing moment.
Ever the helpful one, Willow chimed in with a tidbit of information, her voice infused with a sense of assistance as she sought to shed light on the identity of the newcomer. "That's Angel," she offered, her words carrying a subtle note of familiarity and warmth.
Xander, hoping to maintain the upper hand in their friendly banter, added his own commentary with a touch of playful sarcasm, his words tinged with a hint of anticipation. "He's Buffy's beau, her special friend," he remarked with a wry grin, as if hoping to deflate any potential interest Ford held for Buffy with this revelation.
Ford's gaze remained fixed on Angel, studying him with a mix of curiosity and scrutiny as he processed this new information. "He's not in school, right?" he inquired, his voice filled with contemplation as he sought to understand the dynamics between Buffy and Angel. "He looks older than her," he added, his words tinged with a hint of skepticism, hinting at his desire to unravel the mysteries surrounding their relationship.
Meanwhile, Buffy returned to her friends, her drink in hand. In her wake, Angel quietly joined their group. "Hey, Angel," Willow greeted him warmly, her voice carrying a genuine sense of familiarity and warmth as she welcomed him into their midst.
Ford, ever the congenial one, extended a friendly greeting with effortless ease. "Hi," he chimed in, his tone cordial and polite, his demeanor inviting warmth and camaraderie.
Taking the initiative, Buffy seized the moment to introduce her longtime friend to Angel. "This is Ford," she announced, her words carrying a sense of shared history. "We went to school together in L.A."
The two men exchanged a handshake, and Ford's eyes widened in surprise as he felt the unexpected chill of Angel's touch. "Whoa. Cold hands," he remarked, taken aback by the icy sensation that lingered.
Xander, ever quick with a quip, couldn't resist adding his own humorous observation to the exchange. With a drawl of agreement, his voice carrying a note of playful banter, he chimed in, "You're not wrong."
Angel's expression remained stoic, his face a mask as he observed Ford with a careful gaze, his demeanor betraying nothing of the emotions that may have been stirring within him. "So, you're here visiting Buffy?" he inquired, his tone measured and neutral, as if seeking to unravel the true purpose behind Ford's presence.
Ford's response held a hint of resolve, his voice steady as he disclosed his intentions with a sense of quiet determination. "No, I'm actually here to stay," he revealed, his words carrying a weight of permanence. "Just moved down."
Sensing the tension rising like a gathering storm, Buffy cast a quick glance at Angel, her eyes silently pleading with him to let the matter rest.
Willow, ever the peacemaker, gestured towards the pool table with a hopeful expression, her voice carrying a tinge of anticipation. "Angel, do you want to play?" she offered, her words an invitation to engage in a shared moment of camaraderie, a subtle attempt to redirect their focus away from the brewing tension.
Sensing the need for a change of scenery and perhaps a chance for a private conversation, Buffy interjected with a voice tinged with restlessness and a desire for intimacy. "You know, it's getting really crowded in here tonight," she shared as she scanned the bustling room. "I'm feeling a little hot." Her gaze shifted toward Ford, their eyes meeting. "Do you want to go for a walk?" she proposed.
Ford's response was eager yet cautious, his voice mirroring the emotions that flickered within him like dancing flames. "Uh, sure," he replied, his words carrying a blend of uncertainty and genuine anticipation. "That'd be nice."
With a nod of agreement, Buffy bid farewell to their friends, her gaze lingering on Angel as she spoke. "I'll see you all tomorrow," she stated.
"Good night," Angel responded softly, his voice gentle yet carrying a touch of longing, his eyes fixed on Buffy's retreating form as if unwilling to let her go.
"Take care," Ford chimed in, his voice filled with warmth and a sense of camaraderie, a silent promise of shared adventures and newfound connections.
Streets of Sunnydale
As Buffy and Ford ventured away from the vibrant atmosphere of the Bronze, a hint of innocence colored Ford's inquiry, like a soft glow casting a warm aura around his genuine curiosity and naivety. "So, that was your boyfriend?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity and naivety, like a child innocently probing into the mysteries of the adult world.
Buffy's response was quick and firm. "No," she clarified, her words carrying a mix of determination and reservation.
Undeterred by the revelation, Ford simply shrugged, his demeanor reflecting an openness to explore other avenues of conversation, like a traveler undeterred by a detour, eager to discover new paths. "So, what else do you do for fun around here?" he queried, his voice holding a touch of genuine interest, seeking to uncover the essence of Buffy's new life, like an explorer delving into uncharted territory, eager to unravel its secrets.
As the words left Ford's lips, Buffy's sensors caught the distant sounds of a scuffle, a threat lurking just around the corner, like a storm brewing on the horizon, signaling imminent danger. Time was of the essence, and she had to think fast, her mind racing like a sprinter dashing towards the finish line.
Summoning her quick thinking, she concocted a ruse, her voice filled with urgency and a hint of panic, like a master strategist deploying a clever tactic in the heat of battle. "Um, uh, my purse!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with feigned distress, like an actress delivering a convincing performance on stage. "I left my purse at the Bronze. Could you get it for me? Thanks!"
Ford, caught off guard but eager to help, responded with a hint of confusion, like a knight suddenly presented with an unexpected quest. "Uh, okay," he agreed, his voice reflecting his willingness to assist in the midst of the unexpected situation, like a loyal squire ready to serve his knight.
"Good. Run. Thanks," Buffy instructed, her voice carrying a sense of urgency as she propelled Ford into action, relying on his cooperation to buy her the precious moments she needed to confront the impending danger, like a general issuing orders to her troops, trusting in their commitment to the cause.
With a determined stride, Ford obediently trotted off to fulfill Buffy's request, leaving her behind, his steps echoing with a sense of duty and obedience, like a loyal hound following its master's command. Seizing the opportunity, Buffy wasted no time and swiftly darted around the corner.
As Ford's curiosity grew, he halted his progress towards the Bronze and pivoted on his heels, his movements hesitant yet filled with a growing sense of intrigue, like a scholar pausing to ponder a tantalizing mystery. His pace slowed as he cautiously made his way towards the alley, his senses on high alert, each footstep a measured approach towards the unknown, like a detective unraveling the threads of a complex case.
Suddenly, a girl sprinted past him, her tear-stained face wrought with terror, her presence a jolt of raw emotion in the quiet night. Ford's gaze followed her fleeting figure before his attention shifted back towards the alley, his curiosity now fully ignited like a flame flickering to life in the darkness.
With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, Ford rounded the corner, only to be met with a sight that sent shockwaves through him, his eyes widening in disbelief like a skeptic confronted with undeniable proof of the supernatural. Buffy stood before him, facing off against a vampire, her arm transformed into a mechanical contraption that emitted bursts of fiery power, her stance a blend of strength and determination, like a warrior ready to defend against the forces of darkness. The vampire crumbled to dust under the onslaught of Buffy's transformed arm, leaving Ford utterly bewildered, his mind struggling to process the impossible.
"You're not human," he exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief and astonishment, like a bystander witnessing a miracle unfold before his eyes.
Buffy turned to face Ford, her arm morphing back to its normal state, her expression calm yet tinged with a hint of surprise at his return. "Oh! You're back," she greeted him, her voice carrying a tinge of surprise, like a friend unexpectedly reunited after a long absence.
Ford's bewildered expression lingered, his mind racing to comprehend the inexplicable sights he had just witnessed, like a puzzle solver grappling with pieces that refused to fit together. "How? We've known each other for years. How?" he inquired, his voice revealing a sense of confusion and a thirst for understanding, like a seeker grappling with the mysteries of the universe.
Buffy let out a weary sigh, her gaze meeting Ford's, the weight of her secrets hanging heavy in the air like a shroud of secrecy. "It's a long story," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of resignation, like a weary traveler burdened by the weight of her past. "But why don't we share? Why are you really in Sunnydale? And don't tell me it's just to move here."
A wave of somber realization washed over the conversation, as Ford's words echoed with a raw vulnerability, his admission a poignant glimpse into the depths of his inner turmoil. "I look good, don't I?" he began, his voice trembling with a mix of resignation and defiance, like a warrior facing an inevitable battle with a brave front. "Let me tell you something. I've got maybe six months left, and by then, what they bury won't even look like me. It'll be bald and shriveled, and it'll smell bad. I'm not going out that way."
Buffy nodded in understanding as a file opened, playing the memory of the other Buffy she had been desperately seeking since Ford's sudden appearance, her mind piecing together the puzzle of Ford's desperate plea. "You want to become a vampire," she concluded, her voice a gentle affirmation of the truth that had surfaced, like a detective solving a long-standing mystery.
The weight of Ford's admission hung heavy in the air, his voice filled with desperation and fear, like a drowning man clutching at straws. "Yes," he admitted, his words laden with a mix of resignation and survival instinct, like a prisoner facing a grim fate with a glimmer of hope. "It's that, or I'm dead, Buffy. I'd rather lose my soul than die. I'm scared. I'm..."
Buffy's nod was both a gesture of comprehension and a silent acknowledgment of the pain and anguish that had led Ford to this crossroads, her heart aching for his plight. The terminate command now made sense to her. For Ford, termination seemed to be the easiest way out, a chance to escape the inevitable suffering that awaited him. "The problem is, if you're turned, I would have to come after you," she acknowledged, her voice tinged with a hint of sorrow and determination, like a guardian torn between duty and compassion.
Ford's acceptance of the reality they faced reverberated in his response; his tone tinged with resignation yet holding onto a sliver of hope. "I know," he replied, his voice carrying a mix of resignation and a glimmer of hope, like a wanderer resigned to his fate but still yearning for a chance at redemption. "But that would give me the chance to get away. Then, maybe I could go and live somewhere far away, and we'd never cross paths again."
Buffy, her voice tinged with a touch of melancholy, began to unravel the truth that lay at the core of her transformation, her words carrying the weight of her past and the burden of her newfound identity. "You wanted to know what I am," she confessed, her words carrying a mix of vulnerability and acceptance, like a confession whispered in the stillness of the night. "Why I'm no longer human. On Halloween night, there was this guy—a witch or a magician or something. He cast this spell, turning people into their costumes. Some of them stuck, most didn't. Mine stuck." Her voice trailed off momentarily before she continued, a flicker of wistfulness in her tone. "Have you seen that new TV show, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles?"
A heavy silence enveloped them as Ford processed the weight of Buffy's revelation, his thoughts swirling in a maelstrom of awe and trepidation, like a lone sailor navigating treacherous waters under a stormy sky. "Yes," he responded, his voice carrying a mix of awe and trepidation, his mind grappling with the enormity of what Buffy had just disclosed, like a scholar confronted with the secrets of the universe.
With a tremor in her voice, Buffy delved deeper into the truth of her transformation, her words laced with a tinge of sorrow and longing, like a poet reciting verses of a lost love. "My costume was the Terminator from the show," she recounted, her tone tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia, like a traveler reminiscing about a distant homeland. "Or was supposed to be, anyways. I became her for the night. And when it was over, I was no longer human but a machine." Her voice held a sense of longing for a return to normalcy, for the life she had known before the night that forever altered her existence, like a wanderer yearning for the comforts of home. "But something changed," she continued, her words tinged with a mix of uncertainty and revelation, like a prophet deciphering cryptic messages. "I didn't become the character from the show. I became like an alternate reality of her. A hybrid of the show and our own reality. You see, I'm a Terminator that knows the next few years of at least my life and a few others. You got turned by a vampire, and I dusted you when you rose the next night. When you showed up today, I didn't know that. All I knew was that you were on a list of targets for termination."
Ford's eyes widened with each revelation, his mind struggling to comprehend the magnitude of Buffy's transformation and the implications of her existence, like a scholar confronted with forbidden knowledge beyond mortal understanding. The weight of the Terminator movies and the TV series he had seen bore down on him, bringing a stark realization to the fore, like a crushing weight upon his shoulders. He began to grasp the capabilities of a Terminator, the unwavering obedience to a termination command. Fear took hold of him, triggering an instinctual response to flee, to distance himself from the danger that now stood before him, like a prey sensing the approach of a relentless predator.
But as Ford turned to escape, an overwhelming force seized Buffy, her body no longer under her control, like a puppet manipulated by an invisible hand. Panic mingled with sorrow in her eyes as her arm underwent a horrifying transformation, morphing into a deadly plasma cannon, like a weapon forged in the depths of despair.
Buffy's voice, heavy with regret and remorse, rang out, though it felt as if the words were no longer her own, like an echo from a distant realm. "I'm sorry," she heard herself say, her tone laced with genuine anguish, like a mourner lamenting the loss of a loved one. "Truly, I am."
In an instant, the plasma cannon unleashed its devastating power, the super-heated plasma searing through the air, like a bolt of lightning striking its target. It struck Ford with a relentless force, reducing him to ash, a mere memory in the wake of his demise, like a wisp of smoke dissipating in the wind. The weight of guilt settled upon Buffy's shoulders as she witnessed the lifeless body of her once-friend crumple to the ground, like a burden too heavy to bear. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice tinged with a mix of sorrow and acceptance, like a penitent soul seeking redemption. But now, beneath the surface, emotions stirred, and her voice carried the weight of empathy and remorse, like a river flowing with the tears of the fallen.
With her hand reverting back to its normal state, a sense of relief washed over Buffy as she regained control over her body, like a weary traveler finding solace in the familiar warmth of home after a long and arduous journey. Yet, as the rush of emotions flooded her being, tears welled up in her eyes, mingling with the weight of her recent actions, like raindrops falling upon parched earth, stirring the dormant seeds of remorse within her soul. Her face, previously emotionless, now displayed a subtle transformation, revealing the conflict within her, like a canvas painted with the intricate hues of inner turmoil.
In the midst of her overwhelming emotions, a display flashed before her, capturing her attention like a beacon in the darkness.
/ Sexuality Program Now Online
/ Gender Identity Subroutine Now Activated
/ Sexual Orientation Subroutine Now Activated
/ Love Subroutine Now Activated
/ Emotions Subroutine Now Activated
Her heart skipped a beat as the words registered in her mind, like a whisper of revelation echoing through the chambers of her soul. She could once again feel emotions.
November 4, 1997 – Tuesday
Sunnydale High School
The library enveloped Buffy and Dawn with its familiar atmosphere, the scent of aged books mingling with the heaviness in their hearts, like a comforting embrace tainted by the shadows of recent events. Dawn's arm encircled her sister, offering a gesture of comfort and support as they called out for Giles, their bond a lifeline in the midst of turmoil.
"Here," came his response, his voice filled with curiosity as he turned toward the book cage, catching sight of the tear-streaked faces of the sisters. Confusion etched his features as he observed Buffy's tearful countenance, his concern palpable in the furrow of his brow. "Buffy, I thought you could no longer feel emotions?" he questioned, a touch of concern woven into his words, like a guardian perplexed by a sudden crack in the armor of his charge.
Dawn, ever the observer, interjected, her voice tinged with a mix of protectiveness and bewilderment, like a fierce guardian defending her vulnerable kin. "Apparently she can now," she informed Giles, her arm tightening around Buffy's trembling form, a shield against the storm raging within her sister. "She came home crying last night. She wouldn't tell me why."
Buffy's gaze shifted from Dawn to Giles, her tear-filled eyes reflecting a tumultuous storm of emotions, like a tempest swirling beneath a calm facade. "I started crying when I killed Ford," she confessed, her voice quivering with a blend of remorse and sorrow, like a penitent soul burdened by the weight of her actions. Memories of the previous night's events flooded her mind, intensifying the rawness of her emotions, like a floodgate opening to unleash a torrent of guilt and anguish. "He was our friend from L.A., mine and Dawn's. I discovered the true reason for his presence here. He was dying, with only a precious few months left to live. Desperate for a chance at survival, he hoped to manipulate me into Spike's clutches, in the hope that Spike would grant him the gift of immortality."
Buffy's voice trembled with a mix of pain and guilt as she continued to recount the harrowing ordeal, like a confession whispered in the darkness of her soul. "He knew about my role as the Slayer, even before Dawn and I arrived in Sunnydale. And then, I revealed to him what I had become." Her voice cracked, the weight of her actions bearing down on her soul like a burden too heavy to bear. "Fear consumed him, and he started to flee. But something within me snapped, and it felt as though I had lost control over my own body. My arm transformed into the plasma cannon, one of my formidable weapons, and without volition, I fired it." The words spilled out, heavy with the weight of regret, like stones cast into a bottomless abyss. "I could hear myself uttering apologies, even as the searing heat consumed him, leaving nothing but charred remains on the ground."
Giles's weary sigh echoed through the library, filled with a mixture of concern and understanding, like a sage burdened by the weight of his disciple's struggles. He approached Buffy, his footsteps carrying the weight of experience and the weight of a burdened mentor, like a guide leading a traveler through the darkness. As he stood before her, his gaze filled with compassion, he spoke with a gentle yet resolute tone, like a beacon of light cutting through the shadows. "Buffy," he began, his voice laced with a tinge of sadness, "this is not the first time something like this has occurred."
Dawn, wide-eyed with surprise, interjected, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, like a young explorer stumbling upon a hidden treasure trove. "It's not?"
Giles shook his head, a somber expression clouding his features, like a veil of sorrow descending upon his countenance. "No, it is not," he confirmed, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation, like a weary soldier acknowledging the harsh reality of war. "A Slayer is at the forefront of a nightly war—a battle against the forces of darkness. Tragic incidents, unintended consequences, and accidents have regrettably transpired throughout history."
Buffy's gaze fixated on Giles, her eyes brimming with apprehension and a hint of fear, like a child seeking guidance from a trusted mentor. Her voice trembled as she posed the question, she dreaded hearing the answer to, like a condemned prisoner awaiting their fate. "What do you do?" she asked, her words heavy with a mixture of vulnerability and dread, like a plea for reassurance in the face of uncertainty.
Giles met her gaze, his eyes filled with a depth of understanding that only time and experience could bring, like a sage imparting wisdom accrued over a lifetime of trials and tribulations. "The Council investigates such incidents, determining if punishment is necessary," he explained, his voice carrying a weight of gravity, like the tolling of a funeral bell. "However, I have no intention of involving them in this matter. Your situation, Buffy, is unparalleled and complex. The Council would not possess the understanding or the tools to effectively address it. You are a human being trapped within a machine, engaged in an internal conflict where the machine and the human are vying for control."
A flicker of resolve entered Giles's eyes as he continued, his words carrying a mix of guidance and expectation, like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. "It was inevitable that the machine would eventually prevail," he stated, his voice tinged with a touch of sadness, like a father acknowledging the harsh realities of life. "But now, you have firsthand experience of the consequences when it does. You know the risks, and you must ensure it does not happen again."
Buffy nodded, her expression a blend of acceptance and determination, like a warrior steeling herself for battle. She released a heavy sigh, her burden lightened by the guidance provided, like a weight lifted off her shoulders. "Yes," she whispered, her voice carrying a resolute resolve, like a vow sworn in the presence of destiny itself.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Giles took the initiative to involve Joyce, knowing that her maternal instincts and unwavering support would be crucial in navigating the turbulent waters ahead. With a heavy heart, he called Joyce and urged her to come to the school, his voice carrying the weight of the burden he was about to share.
As Joyce arrived at the school, her brow furrowed with concern, Giles embarked on an arduous task of unveiling the supernatural realm that lurked beneath the surface, like a historian revealing ancient secrets hidden in the depths of time. He disclosed the existence of the Slayer, the battles fought against the forces of darkness, and the perils that haunted their lives, each word spoken with careful consideration, mindful of the impact it would have on Joyce's fragile understanding of reality. Yet, one truth remained unspoken—the transformation of Buffy into a Terminator. Giles had made a calculated decision, convinced that the weight of the Slayer's burden was already overwhelming for Joyce to comprehend.
With a measured tone, Giles recounted the events of the previous night, weaving a story of tragedy and loss that tugged at the strings of Joyce's heart, like a master storyteller crafting a tale of heroism and sacrifice. He artfully crafted a lie, painting a picture of Buffy helplessly witnessing the demise of a dear friend from her time in L.A., an innocent life claimed by the fangs of a vampire before she could intervene, like a scene from a tragic play unfolding before their eyes. As Giles spun his tale, Joyce listened intently, her mind wrestling with disbelief and the burgeoning need for answers, like a detective piecing together clues in a perplexing mystery.
Amidst the conversation, Giles presented some evidence, a glimmer of proof to bolster his account, like a beacon of truth amidst the murky waters of uncertainty. Joyce, though not fully convinced, found herself swayed by the plausible explanations and the weight of her daughters' experiences, like a skeptic gradually yielding to the overwhelming evidence before them. Reasonable doubt took hold, and in that space, she resolved to seek further understanding, to delve deeper into the shadows that threatened their lives, like a seeker embarking on a quest for enlightenment.
Together, Joyce walked her daughters out of the school, their steps guided by a mixture of uncertainty and resilience, like a family navigating a labyrinth fraught with unseen dangers. She offered whatever solace and comfort she could muster, her motherly instincts driving her to shield them from the ever-looming darkness, like a beacon of light in the darkest of nights. In her heart, she carried a renewed determination to uncover the truth, to navigate the treacherous terrain of the supernatural alongside her beloved daughters, ready to face whatever truths awaited them on the path ahead, like a warrior prepared for battle.
November 7, 1997 – Friday
Restfield Cemetery
Dawn and Giles stood alongside Buffy, their presence offering silent support as she tenderly placed roses on the freshly-dug grave of Billy Fordham. The weight of loss hung heavy in the air, intertwining with the emotions swirling within Buffy's heart like tendrils of mist enveloping a mournful landscape.
As she gazed up at her sister and Giles, Buffy's voice trembled with vulnerability, like a fragile thread holding back a flood of emotions. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say," she confessed, her words carrying the weight of her inner turmoil like burdens too heavy to bear alone.
Giles responded with gentle understanding; his voice filled with compassion, like a soothing balm applied to a wounded soul. "You needn't say anything," he assured her, his tone offering solace amidst the depths of her uncertainty, like a steady beacon in the stormy seas of grief.
Buffy's admission spilled forth, baring the complexities of her emotions, like layers of an intricate tapestry unraveling before her companions. "It would be simpler if I could just hate him," she acknowledged, her voice laced with a mix of longing and frustration, like a prisoner yearning for freedom from the shackles of conflicting emotions. "I think he wanted me to hate him. It made it easier for him to cast himself as the villain of the piece. But really, he was just scared."
Dawn's expression mirrored the sadness that permeated the somber scene, her voice a soft echo of agreement, like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves of a weeping willow. "I think you're right," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of empathy for Ford's inner struggles, like a compassionate soul reaching out to soothe the pain of another.
Buffy's voice wavered as she continued, the weight of her responsibilities and the complexities of her reality evident in her words, like a ship navigating treacherous waters. "Nothing's ever simple anymore," she confessed, her voice heavy with the burden of understanding, like a weary traveler burdened by the weight of the world on her shoulders. "I'm constantly trying to work it out, to navigate the intricate webs of love, hate, and trust," she added, her voice a weary sigh in the midst of an ever-shifting landscape of emotions.
Dawn's voice intertwined with Buffy's, carrying the weight of shared confusion and yearning for clarity, like two lost souls searching for a guiding light in the darkness. "So am I. Who to love, or hate... who to trust?" she mused, her words tinged with the ache of uncertainty, like a melody of questions echoing through the corridors of their minds. "It's as if the more we learn, the more tangled and confused we become."
Giles's smile, though fleeting, held a touch of sadness and wisdom, like a fleeting glimpse of sunlight through storm clouds. "I believe that's called growing up," he offered, his voice carrying the bittersweet truth of life's journey, like a sage imparting hard-earned wisdom to eager ears.
In the wake of their vulnerable admissions, Dawn's voice trembled softly as she expressed her yearning for respite, like a weary traveler longing for the shelter of home. "I'd like to stop then, okay?" she uttered, her words laced with a poignant mix of weariness and longing for simplicity, like a plea for relief from the burdens of existence.
Giles's smile held a bittersweet quality, carrying the weight of untold memories and unspoken tales, like a silent testament to the trials of his own past. It spoke of battles fought and scars carried, silently acknowledging the depth of his own journey. "I know the feeling," he replied, his voice a gentle echo of understanding, like a companion sharing in the shared struggles of life.
Seeking solace and answers, Buffy's voice quivered as she posed her heartfelt question, like a seeker yearning for enlightenment in the midst of confusion. "Well, does it ever get easy?" she asked, her voice echoing with the longing for a sense of relief amidst the tumultuous nature of life, like a beacon of hope in a sea of uncertainty.
Giles's expression displayed a mixture of puzzlement and contemplation, like a scholar pondering the mysteries of the universe. "You mean life?" he sought clarification; his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of curiosity, like a sage contemplating the complexities of existence.
"Yes," Buffy affirmed, her tone imbued with a blend of hope and trepidation, like a flower tentatively unfurling its petals to the morning sun. "Does it get easy?"
Giles's brows furrowed as he grappled with the weight of her question, the responsibility of providing an answer that might offer comfort and guidance, like a scholar pondering the weight of ancient texts. "What do you want me to say?" he inquired, his voice tinged with both empathy and a touch of confusion, like a parent navigating the delicate balance between honesty and protection.
Buffy's thoughts drifted for a moment, her mind seeking clarity amidst the cacophony of emotions, like a ship seeking refuge in a storm-tossed sea. And then before her eyes scrolled words urging her toward a particular path, like a message from an unseen guide leading her toward a hidden truth.
/ Tell him that you and Dawn want him to lie to you both.
"Lie to us," Buffy responded, her voice carrying a blend of vulnerability and determination, like a warrior seeking respite from the battlefield. In that moment, she acknowledged the need for reassurance, for a respite from the stark realities that weighed upon their shoulders, like a weary traveler yearning for a moment of peace amidst the chaos of the journey.
As they began to walk out of the graveyard, Giles's words lingered in the space around them, like echoes of a forgotten melody. "The good guys are stalwart and true," he continued, his voice striving to paint a picture of an idyllic world, like a storyteller weaving a tale of knights and dragons. "The bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after," he concluded, his voice carrying a wistful longing for a simpler reality, like a dreamer yearning for a glimpse of paradise beyond the veil of uncertainty.
Dawn and Buffy exchanged glances, their gazes holding a shared understanding, like two souls tethered by an unbreakable bond. With a simple word, they shattered the illusion presented before them, like a fragile glass sculpture crumbling under the weight of truth. "Liar," they uttered in unison, their voices carrying a mix of disappointment and acceptance of the harsh realities they faced, like echoes reverberating through the empty corridors of deceit.
But then, as if summoned by their unspoken need for understanding, words began scrolling across Buffy's vision, like messages from a distant messenger bearing tidings of remorse and revelation. The words carried a sense of remorse and a glimpse of newfound empathy, like a beacon of light breaking through the darkness of uncertainty.
/ I am sorry. I promise never to take control from you again, unless you say that it is okay. I am learning what it means to be human and I see how difficult it can be. For that I am sorry.
Buffy's brows furrowed as she sought to comprehend the voice's origins, like a detective unraveling the threads of a perplexing mystery. "Who are you?" she inquired, her tone filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, like a traveler approaching an unknown path with caution.
Dawn, sensing her sister's internal struggle, cast a concerned gaze her way, silently urging her to open up and share her thoughts, like a silent guardian watching over a troubled soul. But Buffy remained silent, her attention solely focused on the mysterious words, like a moth drawn to the flame of curiosity.
With a gentle persistence, words scrolled across her vision once more, offering a name that seemed incongruous with the situation at hand, like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit the picture.
/ My name is Cameron.