Disclaimers
– Buffy the Vampire Slayer is owned and copyrighted by Joss Whedon, Mutant
Enemy, Warner Bros., and 20th Century Fox Television. I do not claim ownership; I just want to rent the characters and
their lives for a few hundred paragraphs.
There is an original character, but someone else thought up the basis
for this guy a few thousand years ago.
Rating
– This fic series is rated NC-17 for descriptions of violence, explicit
language, sexual situations between consenting adults of the same gender, and
the most dangerous and explosive thing humanity has to deal with (not telling;
figure it out). If you do not care for
this type of writing, go read something a little more vanilla.
Feedback
– Is always welcome. I can be reached at Dusk@Early.com
.
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They say nighttime in Paris is the most beautiful sight in the world. Apparently, these people have never seen the French Quarter of New Orleans just after sunset. The classic architecture. The playing shadows, as the last rays of light seem to try and hold out until morning. Then, the dancing, twinkling array of stars overhead, reminding people of the minor role we play in the Universe, but the major role we need to play in each other’s lives.
Seated at an outdoor cafe, a gentleman who understood this concept was enjoying the close of his first day of vacation in quite a number of years. He appeared to be in his late twenties, with long, straight black hair kept in a thick braid extending down to his waist. His skin was an olive-tan, suggesting a Mediterranean heritage, while his eyes remained hidden behind a pair of impossibly black sunglasses. Black jeans, a black t-shirt with a Sandman Death print, and sandals kept him from having to walk around naked, while a black leather duster was slung over the back of the chair opposite him.
He was reading a local paper and drinking fresh cappuccino when he heard a pager start to beep. Seeing no one else around, he looked down to notice he was the one wearing it. On the digital display, two words were alternating in appearance.
Alleyway. Now.
Sighing in resignation, he stood up, stretching his six and a half foot frame. Reaching to the other chair, he grabbed the duster, slowly putting it on, then proceeded to pick up a black leather backpack which had been lying underneath the coat. The pack had seen him through rigorous trials over the years, and he slung it over his right shoulder as he prepared to leave the cafe. He dropped a fifty for the waitress as he stepped onto the sidewalk. The coffees had only cost him ten, but she had a kid and college classes to pay for, and he really didn’t have that much use for money, anyway. Cautiously entering the alley, he took sight of a woman who could have been a photographic negative of himself: black skin, white hair, white clothing, and silver mirror shades, though she was roughly nine inches shorter. A smile appeared below those shades, and the gentleman from the cafe began walking further into the alley, addressing the other person present.
“Malaika.”
“Uriel, old man, how are you?”
“Fine, you promiscuous little nymph.”
“Oh, that hurt. This from a guy who, in his day, talked more women out of their pants than Hugh Hefner.”
“I keep telling you, there were no pants back then!”
They settled into a laugh, a handshake, and a hug. Malaika was a good friend, and though it was pleasant to see her, she never stopped to see Uriel unless there was a problem.
“So, how are you, Uriel? Seriously.”
“I was starting to relax for a change. You know, kick back, unwind, maybe convince a horde of women to do more than just flash me during Mardi Gras this year.”
“Perv. Still on the lookout, eh?”
“I look at it as a long dry spell.” Uriel let a wry smirk emerge as he continued. “The world continues onward, careless of my loneliness.”
“Glad to see you keep things in perspective. I have your new assignment.”
“No problem. What does She want me to do?”
“Don’t know. All I know is I’m supposed hand you the files and get you to a place called Sunnydale in California.”
“How soon?”
“Ah... yesterday.”
“And you waited because...?”
“You deserved a day off.”
Uriel had to laugh at that one. The job he had undertaken had given Malaika his old position, and the last time Malaika had a day off was... well, let’s just say she needed one about as badly as Uriel had.
“Thanks. How is The Lady, anyway?”
“Don’t know. No one has seen her in the last few years. She told us she was going on a trip, to keep an eye on the store while she was gone, and to make sure you-know-who didn’t take the blame for everything that goes wrong.”
“Has she forgiven me yet?”
“You’re still getting field assignments, aren’t you?”
“Good point. Anyway, I guess I should get started. Whom should I be looking for?”
“Let me dig out the paperwork out so you can see for yourself.”
Malaika reached inside her coat, drawing out a rather padded black manila folder, bound shut by a black cord. Uriel’s face went slightly pale, already knowing that this was going to be his worst assignment ever. Mission profile folders were color-coded by increasing difficulty, starting with silver, then white, followed by orange, green, red, blue, purple, navy, black, and gold. The navy blue folders were almost impossible to fulfill without any loss of life; black folders were usually fatal to yourself and several others; gold could cost you your soul. Prior to today, the worst he had dealt with was an inter-connected series of navy and purple assignments, which had kept him occupied the last six years. Uriel had only heard vague rumors of the eleven black folders and three gold ones currently in existence, and now he was face to face with one of them.
As Malaika handed it to Uriel, he read the name on the tab: Summers, Elizabeth Anne. A picture of a young blonde woman was paper-clipped to the front, her face reflecting youth, but showing years of anguish and weariness within her eyes.
“Her story?”
“She’s the Slayer.”
“Interesting. Explains the eyes, not to mention the black profile classification. Since when do we lend them any sort of assistance?”
“She’s unique.”
“They all were.”
“This one has the chance to start a lineage.”
Uriel whistled appreciatively at that one. Most Slayers had managed to be killed, either by vampires or frightened villagers who saw her as much of a threat as the undead were, by the time they were seventeen. Most who underwent the test at eighteen died during it, and those who survived lasted another three years at most, whether they decided to stay the Slayer or not. The possibility of reaching childbearing age was not that difficult, but surviving the pregnancy and birth while being hunted by vampires and demons was another story entirely. There was a myth of one Slayer possibly having borne a child back in the eleventh century. As the Slayer went into labor, a then three hundred year-old vampire named Gornokmet came upon her, killed the midwife, and completely drained the Slayer. The fate of the child was never known, though some speculated the vampire had kept her. Answers were never received, as Gornokmet was reportedly destroyed by a Slayer from France around 1430.
Uriel looked to Malaika, not knowing how this particular Slayer had a chance at giving birth, especially given all the extra problems in the world.
“Okay, you have my attention… how?”
“There are several reasons. The first one is this.”
Malaika dug out another folder from her coat, and Uriel blanched as he caught sight of it: a gold profile folder, obscenely overstuffed and bound with a black cord to prevent any of the paperwork from falling out. This was not shaping up very well, even if there was a chance for a Slayer progeny. He caught the name Casey, Faith on the tab, and looked at the picture attached. Her eyes were much more haunted than those of the Slayer’s, with dark circles playing heavily below them. There was a look of remorse and sorrow behind the hard, jaded façade, though it would have difficulty emerging from behind the mask this young woman wore.
“And who is this youngling with the dark locks?”
“She would be the Slayer.”
Uriel had been confused in his life exactly twice prior to today. The first time had been the only time a woman said she was in love with him. The second time was ten minutes after that, when he told her he didn’t feel the same and she suddenly screamed she hated him. This was quickly becoming number three.
“Huh?”
“Elizabeth Anne Summers was ‘killed’ by a powerful vampire, who didn’t bother to drain her completely; he simply left her unconscious and face-down in a pool of water. She drowned. She was dead for maybe two minutes before a friend of hers performed CPR and brought her back. This allowed for another Slayer to be called, even though the first wasn’t permanently deceased. So, now there will be two active Slayers for the foreseeable future.”
“Considering how bad things have become, I guess the world needs two Chosen. I assume while the Summers girl is pregnant, the other one will take care of the Slayer duties?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I wasn’t allowed to look over the files, just given a brief summary and told to deliver them to you. There are two more I’m supposed to hand over, so you might want to sit down somewhere to read all of it.”
“I think I need a drink first.”
“Weren’t you just knocking back some coffee?”
Tilting his head down to accentuate his words, Uriel offered his reply. “I had something stronger in mind.”
“Okay… the bar across the street?”
Uriel nodded, and the two of them proceeded into the establishment. Taking a darkened booth in the back corner, they were quickly approached by a waitress.
She glanced at Uriel first, recognizing that ‘alcohol welcome here’ look in his expression.
“What can I get you this evening?”
“Amaretto. Bring the bottle and two shot glasses.”
The waitress was a little surprised, but shrugged it off. “For both of you?”
“For him. I’ll have a Red Death.”
“Back in a minute.”
Malaika understood the emotional distress her companion must have been feeling. Few occupations ever required someone to willingly risk their very existence. The waitress was back with their drinks before she could offer any consolation, though. She dropped them off and left, prudence apparently outweighing curiosity.
After pouring shots of the sweet liqueur into both glasses and downing them himself, Uriel felt he was ready. “Next.”
Malaika obliged him, retrieving a dark gray folder bound by a black cord similar to the one on the other files. Several tabs were sticking out from the top, and Uriel noticed the colors were dark and somewhat indistinct. Removing the cord, he sifted through the internal files, noting name, file color, and brief summary.
Giles, Rupert, a.k.a. Ripper. Navy folder. Demonologist; Combat Instructor; Ex-Watcher; Practitioner of Class V Magick, with estimated Class XI potential. Uriel was not happy. Class XI Magick was able to cause some serious damage in the wrong hands, even those not intentionally trying to do so. Most humans could work Class II on a subconscious level, but those whom actively pursued the Art could reach Class XV, though such an occurrence was rare. Apparently, this fellow had done some serious delving.
Harris, Alexander. Gray folder. Classified.
“Classified?” He wasn’t sure how to take that, given that he was supposed to be informed of whom he was dealing with. The folder hadn’t even been assigned a color yet. He stared at the bottle of Amaretto, suddenly wondering how many more of them he was going to go through before the night was over.
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t even know anything was inside the gray folder until you removed the cord.” Malaika looked at her glass, which was already half gone. Suddenly, she was glad Uriel had suggested getting a drink. She watched as he poured and knocked back his third pair of shots before moving on to the next folder in the comprehensive file.
Rosenberg, Willow. Black folder. Research Specialist; Computer Hacker; Practitioner of Class IX Magick, with estimated Class XLV potential. Warning: Use extreme caution when approaching.
Uriel choked. Another black folder. A black folder for a Practitioner. A black folder for a Practitioner who could compare herself to Talesin, the last known human able to even possess the potential for that kind of power. His current whereabouts and status were unknown, though most speculations placed him in an alternate reality of his own creation. Malaika’s voice brought him back to some semblance of linear thought.
“Uriel? Hey, you okay?”
“Practitioner. Class XLV potential.”
Malaika could only think of one response to that. “Waitress? Bring me two more of these.” She looked to Uriel’s blank stare and amended herself. “And another bottle of Amaretto for my friend.”
After three hours, seven Red Deaths and four bottles of Amaretto, Uriel had finished reading four of the five profiles he had been given. He was starting on his fifth bottle of Amaretto when his companion, her speech slurred slightly, inquired something of him. “How bad is it?”
Uriel resisted the urge to laugh, knowing he would start crying if he did. “All things considered? A non-coded profile, a navy profile, two black profiles, and a gold profile. Within that, we have not one, but two Slayers, a Demonologist who is a skilled Practitioner, a Computer Wiz who just happens to have the potential to be a demi-power, and a guy whom I only have a name for because the Classified seal on his file refuses to release! Of the two Slayers, the first has had a wonderful life thusfar. First, her name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls her Buffy. Second, her freshman year of high school, in Los Angeles, she found out she was a Slayer. Through a nasty set of events and a boom in vampire population, she had to torch the school gym in order to get rid of them all. Third, she moved to Sunnydale, which just happens to have been built over a Hellmouth. There, she fell in love with a vampire with a Human soul, inadvertently caused him to lose it, watched him maim and torture her friends, and then sent him to Hell right after he regained his soul in order to save the world from being devoured. That was before she finished her junior year of high school. She left for a short time after that, trying to sort things out and escape being ‘the Slayer.’ Failed to happen, so she came back, but things were ugly for awhile with her mother and friends.”
“Shortly after that, our girl Faith arrives in Sunnydale. Boston born, she was abused and molested by her father, then her step-brother as a child. She quickly learned the concept of travelling after she was Called to escape some of the hardships she had endured, just to encounter new ones. Her Watcher was ripped apart by a vampire named Kakistos right in front of her eyes. She ran, and he hunted her cross-country until she met up with Elizabeth, who helped her defeat him. Their relationship was tenuous at best, but while out bonding and breaking all the rules one night, Faith accidentally killed an innocent bystander. Well, he was the aide of the demon-wannabe Mayor, but he was still human.”
“Anyway, Faith acts like nothing happened, and the rift starts to open between the Slayers. Faith goes to work for the Mayor, and she and Elizabeth start running into one another. Needless to say, they come together in that expectant final battle. Faith loses, and due to a horrendous amount of lost blood she winds up in a coma. Then, to stop the Mayor, the Slayer and her friends had to blow up the high school. That was eight months ago. Two days ago, Faith woke up and, armed with a trinket the Mayor posthumously left her, switched bodies with Elizabeth. Six hours ago, they switched back with a spell one of the other profiles concocted.”
Uriel stopped for a moment, poured himself another pair of shots, and dropped them back. Malaika just stared at him, wondering how he could put away so much alcohol and not feel any effects. She also considered the chance that he wasn’t
feeling anything at this point. Something he had said didn’t seem to be logistically possible, but she allowed herself to recline in the alcoholic numbness and shrugged it off. His voice, still unaffected, sounded in her ears once more.
“Then we have their former Watcher. He did a fair amount of experimentation back in his twenties: drugs, some rather kinky sex and, of course, demon summoning. The guy loves Elizabeth like a daughter, but has been going through a personal crisis since the Watchers’ Council fired him. Then, when they had to blow up the school, he found himself out of a job, which made him feel as though he had no reason to be in her life.”
“I have a file on another guy, but the fucking thing is still closed. Without so much as a photo, I could trip over the guy and never know it. “And, finally, our little redheaded witch. Cute girl. She was kind of a loner in high school, so she started playing around with computers and discovered she had a real talent with them. She started getting into Magick and found she had a natural talent for that, too. So far, she summoned a vampiric version of herself from an alternate reality, performed a ritual to return the soul of a person transformed into a vampire, and caught the attention of the Vengeance Demon Council after casting a Class XVII ‘Invoke Will’ spell that ended up making the lives of her friends temporarily miserable. The best part is, she has so much potential she could redesign the face of the planet if she wanted, but self-doubt keeps her from exploring it fully.”
“For some reason, I have to get involved with these people. Beyond that, there was no information relevant to the assignment in any of the files…not even sure if I should aid them or keep them from drawing breath again.”
Malaika frowned, unsure of what to say to Uriel after all that. She wondered why no instructions had been given, when a moment of clarity allowed her to remember something.
“Oh, duh. The other folder. It seems The Lady had kept this file set aside before She left, marked to be given to you the next time I was to deliver your mission profile. There is supposed to be a letter inside for you. Maybe the instructions are in there?” She slid a pale gray folder into his hands, which he opened with no effort, though Uriel could feel a seal breaking at his touch, and saw the ‘letter’ lying on top. On a sheet of gold parchment, he quietly read the missives that had been left for him.
To the Chosen you must lend your strength.
To the Practitioner you must lend your wisdom.
To the Chosen you must teach compassion.
To the Practitioner you must teach forgiveness.
To the Chosen you must give healing.
To the Practitioner you must give peace of mind.
Uriel was somewhat confused. Was it referring to one or both Slayers when it mentioned ‘Chosen’? As for the Practitioner, did it mean the ex-Watcher or the redheaded hacker? He looked further down the page, noting another line that he would swear hadn’t been there at first.
While facing the known darkness, the Chosen shall fall from a hidden one, and Hell shall claim a Slayer for its own. The twin Sisters have decreed it so; no man may intervene.
“The ‘Twin Sisters?’ Who the Hell are…” Half of the color drained from his face as realization of whom The Lady had meant dawned on him. “Oh, fuck me. This is just… perfect.”
“What?”
“I have to deal with the Norns’ panthenogenic Sisters, Fate and Destiny.”
“Somebody must really not like you.”
“Tell me about it.” Seeing that the most recent bottle was still more than half full, Uriel picked it up and took a long swig, lowering the contents to one-thirds full. “As if the rest of this failed to be cryptic enough. As to which part applies to which person, or if it would apply to more than one, I have no idea.” Turning the page over, he decided to check if there was anything else.
There was.
When this assignment is completed… come home.
“Home... I can finally go home...” Tears started welling up in his eyes, while Malaika looked at Uriel with a profound sense of awe.
“Wow... I guess all is finally forgiven. How long has it been?”
“Since before you formed your first thought.” He regained his composure, and wiped the tearstains from his cheeks. “Now, shall we get out of here so you can be a good girl and open a Gate for me so I can get there a lot sooner than commercial travel would allow?” Uriel saw a smile creep onto her lips and knew she was planning something. “Not inside a women’s locker room this time, either.”
“I would have thought you’d appreciate that.”
“Oh, yeah, great idea. A U.S. Marine Officers’ Club Women’s locker room. Yeah, I loved dodging bullets for two hours while half the base was chasing me.”
Her laughter began to drift throughout the bar. Hysterical laughter. Drunken, hysterical laughter. He had no reason to stop her; Malaika needed to do something to relieve some of the stress in her life. Uriel placed the files into his backpack, dropped three hundred dollar bills on the table, then staggered out of the bar with Malaika, returning to the alley they had come across each other earlier that evening.
“So, this is your last assignment, huh?”
“Appears to be. After this, I can reflect back on how all this began... and why I opened my big mouth in the first place.”
“Hope this trip isn’t too memorable for you. You might not want to retire.”
“Yeah, right. If my luck holds out, I may make it out in less than eight pieces. You sober enough to do this?”
“You betcha, old man. Watch.”
Malaika gestured somatically, opening a Gate. A swirling disk of white, blue, green, and gold shimmered, suspended in mid-air, and Uriel hugged Malaika goodbye before stepping through. As he did so, he caught her grinning out of the corner of his eye. As he came out the other side, Uriel saw why she had been smiling. He found himself half a mile in the sky, plummeting towards the ground at a high rate of speed. His backpack trailed a few yards above, the wind resistance having an easier time slowing the less massive object. He looked towards the ground, and saw himself overhead a burnt shell of a building; probably the high school judging by the size. It appeared as though impact would be, at best, excruciatingly painful.
“Shit. Not again.”
There were some days he hated his job. Today was turning out to be one of them.
<*> UC Sunnydale <*> Sunnydale, CA <*>
Buffy Summers was having an unusual nightmare. That isn’t to say she didn’t have them, just that normally they involved vampires or demons or some other particularly nasty thing she had to beat. This particular nightmare involved Faith.
They were in the Church. Faith was beating on her, attempting to kill her. Except she wasn’t trying to kill Buffy per se. She was trying to kill herself. Buffy had looked into Faith’s eyes, and saw the hatred there. Not for what had happened to the younger Slayer, but for what she had done. The hard, unrelenting life she lived. The pain. The distrust. The solitude. Buffy wondered what Faith would have done had they remained in each other’s bodies. Then, Faith reared back to deliver the killing blow, and Buffy watched as her arm came forward in slow motion.
Usually, Buffy awoke from a nightmare screaming. This time, she opened her eyes slowly, sat up in bed, and looked out the window, wondering where her estranged counterpart had gone. She gazed towards the heavens and saw a shooting star, though this one looked a little dimmer than most. It seemed to be falling directly towards Sunnydale. As it descended lower, she could see it was going to land somewhere in town. Following its trajectory, the Slayer watched as it impacted, sending off a small burst of light. Thinking what lay in that direction, Buffy could only think of one place. The high school, which indirectly meant the Hellmouth. Shit.
Glancing at the clock, she noted the time to be 4:07am. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she began to sneak around the room to get dressed. She found herself unable to do so, as she stubbed her toe on the corner of her bed, unleashing a muted profanity of choice at the slightly jarring pain. Looking to the other bed to see if she had woken Willow, she took stock of the fact that such a feat would have been rather difficult, given that Willow wasn’t there. She was probably with that Tara girl, trying to either explain or cover-up what had been going on. From what Giles had told her, Tara had been the one to figure out she was in the wrong body, and she and Willow had performed the spell that allowed her to switch back to her own body.
Another witch. It wasn’t that Buffy didn’t trust Magick, just… She wasn’t fond of the stuff since that incident with the fear demon at the frat house Halloween party. Or the Neanderthal beer. Or Willow’s spell that made her want to marry Spike. Or when Ethan Rayne turned Giles into a demon. Or the artifact that had allowed Faith to take over her body in the first place. And this was just the last six months.
Okay, she hated Magick. She loathed it. If she couldn’t punch, kick, stake, carve or bludgeon it, she did not want to deal with it. She needed to feel at least partially in control, and Magick did not allow her that possibility. With her body on autopilot, she had finished dressing and was already out the door by the time she had formed this thought. Her weapons bag was a little light, only holding six stakes, a crossbow, and a pair of swords. She could call Giles and ask him to bring some alternative artillery, but it was better to let him sleep. If this looked to be a nasty that was too tough to handle solo, she could get everyone together afterwards. Either that, or she could introduce it to Adam and watch them kick the crap out of each other.
Adam. She had gone all out, and he had casually tossed her away like a rag doll. If there were other things on his power level, how would she be able to stop them? She knew the gang meant well, but they were a lot more likely to get hurt, even killed. Only two people who could stand by her in a fight and not be in as much danger: Angel and Faith. The former had left her, feeling they could never truly be together. The latter…if she got her hands on her, Buffy wasn’t sure what she would do. There were too many conflicting emotions there: pity, concern, rage, as well as others that she couldn’t quite place.
Reaching the school grounds, the Slayer saw a hint of movement within the shadows of the blackened building. Drawing out a sword and a pair of stakes, she started to enter the crumbling edifice.
Some days, Buffy Summers hated her job.
<*> Angel’s Mansion
<*>
In a bed once slept in by a vampire, Faith found herself curled into a fetal position. Truly seeing what she had done to those around her – Buffy, her mother, her friends – the rogue Slayer had gone berserk when she came face to face with her corporeal form. She hated what she had done; the dark thing she had allowed herself to become. Angel’s old stomping grounds were perfect for her right now – no mirrors. Nothing to remind her of the life she had lived; of what she had done; of where she had come from; of the people who had hurt her; of the people who had reached out to help, and her response of delivering them pain and suffering.
The raven-haired girl buried her face in a pillow on the bed, and started to cry. One person had believed in her, and she had let her down by attacking without thinking, causing the death of Mayor Wilkins’ assistant. That day had gone so well up until that point. Buffy was finally starting to understand why the concept of ‘Want… take… have.’ had been a part of the taller Slayer’s life. Later, the Bostonian had planned on trying to show her what Buffy meant to her.
A friend. A companion. Someone who could understand the adrenaline rush from dusting a vamp and from the fear that this night could be your last. Someone who could understand the physical and emotional strain put on your body, knowing the closer you got to people, the more likely they were to die, leaving you alone. Someone who could understand the longing for…The ground shook violently, and a flash filled the sky from the direction of the high school, reflecting off the single tear rolling down her right cheek. Faith disregarded it, and felt… something, shifting in the wind, though she
wasn’t sure what. Demon? Hopefully. She needed to fight, to get some of these… emotions and thoughts sorted out. She needed to fight something evil; to stop whatever it was planning to do. Because whatever it had in mind, Faith knew the reason she was supposed to stop it.
“Because it’s wrong.”
<*> Ruins of Sunnydale High School <*>
“Ow.” Uriel hurt. Correction: he was currently in a large amount of pain. Had he landed on the floor, it might not have been as bad. Unfortunately, he had impacted, back first, into one of the few still-standing walls. He was beginning to remove himself when his faithful backpack finished its own descent, hitting him square in the chest. Uriel was quickly knocked back through the wall and into, of all places, the girls’ shower room.
“Cute. Well, at least this one was empty. Malaika, if you can hear me, start running, because when I get my hands on you...”
“What are you supposed to be? A Birkenstock Vampire?”
Uriel cursed himself silently. Most times, he would arrive, complete his assignment and be gone before the second time his arrival was questioned. Every time Malaika got involved, someone or several someones, usually female and often in a bad mood, would just happen to be nearby. He looked to the sound of the voice, barely making out her figure since his eyes refused to focus. Whether it was from the impact, the alcohol, the darkness, or a combination of all three, there was no certainty. He heard her sniffing the air, though unsure why.
“Not a demon, not a vampire…not exactly human, either…Well? Are you going to answer me, or are you just going to lay there while I beat you senseless?”
She had shoulder-length blonde hair, that much was currently discernable. Maybe around five foot four, but beyond that, things were still too unclear in the dim light.
“Seeing as I am already partially out of my wits, girl, the most you could do would be to beat me the rest of the way to ‘senseless.’ So if you would…” He could hear a feral growl, and knew this was not one of the people he was sent to assist.
“I think I will, actually. Always did prefer a slow meal.” The blonde’s features shifted to a vampiric countenance, then quickly changed to shock and surprise. Her skin, muscle, and other tissue turned to dust, collapsing in a heap at his feet. His vision was coming into slightly better focus, and he could see another blonde standing behind where the vampire had just been.
“I knew there was a reason I hated California.” riel struggled to his feet, as the other girl stood watching him, keeping both a wary eye and a defensive posture.
“Too many vampires?”
“No. Too many blondes, though I always enjoyed that line from The Lost Boys.” He grinned at the joke, then grabbed his head as the alcohol began to purge itself from his system.
“Headache?”
“No, starting to sober up.” Uriel took a pair of deep breaths, closed his eyes, and began to center himself. Drawing in a deep breath, he focused inwardly, regaining his personal balance, and slowly exhaled. Opening his eyes, he could clearly see the face of the young woman in front of him now. It was the same as the photograph on the first file he had been given for this case.
“Would you happen to be Elizabeth Anne Summers?”
Buffy brought the sword up level and took a pair of steps back, not sure where this was going. Most apparently unusual people looking for her by name were often killers hired by various people. She still had some flashbacks from Slayerfest, though she usually laughed when she pictured Cordelia staring down that vampire. “Who wants to know?”
“That is unimportant right now.”
“Considering most people who come here looking for me have tried to kill me, I find it to be kind of important.”
“Look, I can tell you my name later, including my life history.” Uriel paused for a moment, reflecting on what he had said. “Forget the life history. If I start in on that, we might not be able to stop it in time.”
“Stop what?”
“I am uncertain.”
“Okay, let me explain the situation.” She took a step closer, bringing the sword into a defensive, ready position. “I’m Buffy. No one calls me ‘Elizabeth,’ not even my mother. I have a sword, and I know how to use it.”
Uriel was somewhat still pissed for the stunt Malaika had pulled, and reached into his duster with his right hand, drawing out a polished Roman gladius. He swung forward, snapping the blade Elizabeth held with ease, and replaced his sword in a single motion. The look of incredulousness on her face would have been quite amusing under other circumstances.
“Okay, I had a sword.” She dropped the broken weapon and hopped forward, delivering a kick into the tall man’s ribcage. He fell back through the hole, tumbling on the tile in the shower room. Rolling with the impact, he stopped himself with his feet, settling into a crouch. He watched as the Slayer came forward, maintaining a fighting stance as she stepped through the wall. “Good to know I have other options, though.”
Standing up, Uriel brushed a healthy amount of dirt he had collected from the floor, ignoring her posture. “Listen, I am not here to fight you.”
“Funny, most people who want to just talk don’t carry swords on them.”
“Uh-huh. Who leveled a weapon at whom first?”
Buffy had to concede that point, and she knew Giles was not going to be happy about having to replace one of his blades. “You didn’t have to destroy it, you know.”
“Yeah, much better idea to wait for you to try and shove it in my ribs. That would have been much more productive.” Uriel was starting to see why this particular Slayer had so much potential: witty, confrontational, but focused. The profile didn’t do her proper justice. “Now, can we talk?”
“You expect me to talk after you broke Giles’ sword?”
Uriel let out an audible sigh. Need to add ‘stubborn’ to that list, as well “What would you have preferred I do?”
“Should have let her stab you. She’s already had some practice.”
Expecting a response from Buffy, Uriel was caught off-guard by the voice coming from behind her. The blonde Slayer turned to face the source, already knowing who it would be.
“Faith.”
“Heya, B. What’s the what?”
Buffy knew something was wrong. The words were right, but Faith’s voice lacked the cockiness and false self-confidence normally carried in the undertones. Even from five yards away, Buffy could see the sunken, haunted eyes staring back at her. It didn’t matter, though. Faith had violated her, and Buffy was bound and determined to make her suffer for it.
Uriel could feel the tension between the two Slayers, and suddenly he wondered what sick joke was being played on him that he had managed to draw this assignment. His fear abated somewhat, as he saw Buffy ease up on her stance slightly.
“How… dare you?” Buffy had been fighting a number of conflicting emotions, but it seemed as though rage had won. “You threaten my mother, take over my body, sleep with my boyfriend, and then tried to kill me. Again!”
“B, listen…”
“No. No listening. No talking. Do you understand, Faith? No more.”
Uriel stood there, wondering how to prevent the Slayers from going all out while utterly ignoring his presence. He did the first thing that came to mind. He cleared his throat. The stares coming his way unnerved him somewhat: one filled with anger, one laced with resignation.
“Ladies. Now is not the time for this.”
“What gives you the right to fall out of the sky and then tell me where I can or can’t fight?”
Not backing off, Uriel looked down into the face of the blonde Slayer. “I may be mistaken, but this building gives me the impression that it could come crashing down on all our heads at any moment. Revenge is meaningless if it kills you in the process.” He watched as her face relaxed slightly, which hopefully meant that she was giving some thought to his statement. Faith, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care.
“Sounds fine to me. C’mon, B, why don’t you finish what you started with my knife.” So saying, Faith leapt to the attack. Uriel moved forward with a speed that surprised both Chosen, shoving Buffy out of the way and absorbing the attack meant for her.
“What business of yours is this, anyway?” Faith had tackled the tall, vampiric-looking guy and began repeatedly punching him in the face. “This is between the good and evil Slayers. She’s supposed to fight evil. What right do you have?” After landing roughly a dozen blows, Uriel caught both her hands in his own, halting her fury.
“That will be quite enough of that.”
Faith attempted to look him in the eyes, instead finding his sunglasses. He, however, could see into her brown eyes, past the rage to the self-loathing. He saw her need to end the cycle of darkness and was about to peer further when Faith brought her feet up, kicking off of his chest into a backflip. The sudden jarring caused him to lose hold of her hands. He watched as she landed gracefully on her feet, arms curled to strike.
“Another time, B. Just you and me.” Faith turned to run out the door to the locker room, but the blonde was quicker, ensnaring her wrist. Buffy pulled, spinning the Bostonian around. The shift in direction did not lessen Faith’s momentum, causing the Slayers to collide. Both fell towards the floor, and the ringing sound of a head impacting against an exposed water pipe echoed off the charred walls. Uriel caught the eyes of the older Chosen flutter, then close.
Faith, atop the dazed form of her rival, looked down with remorse and a touch of anger. She would have to wait for this to end. The tall stranger watched as Faith rose to her feet, the began to walk towards the shower room doorway. She spared a last look at Buffy before turning her gaze to him.
“You’re… you’re not human, are you?”
“No.”
Faith cracked the knuckles on both of her hands, taking a tentative step towards Uriel. “So I guess that means you and I are gonna throw down, huh?”
“No. We need to talk.”
“Why? Is there someone you need me to kill?” She stood next to B’s prone form, her arms crossed over her chest.
“In a sense.”
“Who? Do I know them?”
“Somewhat, though not as well as you might think.”
“So who is it?”
You.”
Willow Rosenberg quietly slipped her key into the lock of her dorm room. Buffy normally slept straight through her entrance, but she didn’t want to risk disturbing the Slayer at 5:30 in the morning. Buffy had been through a good deal of suffering in the last few weeks, with the Initiative trying to kill her, Adam, and that creepy thing with her and Faith switching bodies. Thankfully, Tara had been able to sense something wrong with “Buffy,” and together they were able to return the souls to their proper forms.
Tara. The thought of the blonde witch brought a jumble of thoughts to Willow’s mind. They were friends, and they cast spells together, but was there more than that? She wasn’t certain, and she also wasn’t sure if she did want something to be there. While the whole ‘kinda gay’ thing had bothered her at first after encountering her vampiric alternate, the redhead had come to realize she cared more about who a person was than what society accepted as a norm. Oz had been a werewolf, which was a far cry from any sort of conventional relationship. After he left, Willow had actively avoided pursuing any intimate venues. She had encouraged Riley and Buffy to get together, though to some extent she regretted that. The Slayer wasn’t as available to talk or offer a shoulder to cry on recently.
Then Willow had met Tara, and she had found a different kind of comfort in her fellow witch. There was a new type of familiarity there and the hacker often found herself examining the undertones of her conversations with the other blonde woman in her life. Two days ago, before they had gone to the Bronze, the redhead said she liked having something that was just hers, and Tara had responded by saying she was hers. She could see, and quite often feel, the looks directed at her by Tara. After her last relationship, Willow was more than a little hesitant to enter into another one.
Deciding to internally shelve the discussion until after sleep had been achieved, Willow turned the doorknob, opening the door and peeking over at Buffy’s bed to see if she was currently residing in Morpheus’ domain. The lack of a body there assured her she wasn’t; the unmade bed and lack of an equipment bag next to it made her wonder if something had happened in the middle of the night. Knowing Buffy, though, Willow was certain she would be fine. “Probably just working off some frustration using the local vamp population.”
“Gee, no wonder I get such a warm and fuzzy feeling every time I walk in here.”
Willow emitted a small, startled shriek as she turned to face the blonde vampire emerging from the shadows in her corner of the room. As her heart settled back to a normal rhythm, she glared at him icily. Spike’s eyes went a little wide as a stake floated up from the other side of Buffy’s bed, aimed towards his heart. “Get. Out.”
“What the Hell is this? First the Slayer comes on to me like a bitch in heat, now you’re getting all witchy and hostile! Can’t a guy just sneak around without running into you people?”
“Without… um, Spike, you’re in my room, which, I might add, I don’t like you being in, considering that the last time you were here, you tried to use me for a late supper.”
“Well, yeah.” He reached into a pocket, pulling out a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?” He noted her non-verbal response, as the unlit cigarette found itself removed from his hand and propelled into the trash can. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ ”
“Spike, up until a minute ago, when I opened the door expecting to see Buffy sleeping in her bed and instead found you lurking in a corner for some unknown reason, I was feeling rather good about a very trying day. Which brings me to my next ‘point,’ which you will feel rather soon unless you either tell me what you want or get out.”
“Right. You know, you really do tend to ramble on a bit.” Seeing her green eyes narrow, the vampire decided not to push his luck any further. “All right, all right. Just thought you might like to know your other Slayer is up and about.”
“Old news. Get out.”
“Hold on, I know where she is.”
“Where?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I don’t end up with a need to explain to my roommate why I had to borrow her dustbuster.”
Spike thought it over quickly, remembering why, in general, it was a very bad idea to piss off a redhead, and decided he wanted to enjoy his unlife for at least a few more moments. “Good enough. She’s staying in Angel’s old digs. Saw her sneaking out of there earlier.”
“Okay. Now, please, just… leave.”
“You know, you really would make a rather fetching vampire. Might even be able to take on old Angel-boy.” Spike heard the stake fall to the floor as Willow collapsed on her bed, ignoring his presence as he approached the door. Figuring she was no longer paying him any heed, he crossed the threshold, and was surprised by her response.
“Been there, seen that, didn’t care for the leather.”
William the Bloody began to turn around to comment when a blonde woman crashed into him, sending him sprawling onto the dorm hallway floor. Cursing the Initiative for the things he had to endure because of the chip, he regained his feet, looking down at the girl still on the floor. “Mind where you’re going next time.”
“S-s-sorry.”
Hearing a voice she actually didn’t mind, Willow sat up on her bed, hanging her feet over the side. “Tara?”
Working herself back to her feet, the blonde witch stepped into the doorway, though not into the room. Her attention was focused solely on the redhead, utterly forgetting about the man she had just run into. “A-are you o-okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I j-just had this feeling y-you were in tr-trouble.”
Willow looked at the concern on Tara’s face and could see other emotions battling just beneath the surface. It made her feel… guilty. “No, I’m okay. Really.” The hacker watched as a small smile spread across the face of the other girl, and she wondered what she had done to warrant such… She recognized the look, but was too scared of the implications to admit it to herself.
“Oh, sure, just ignore me. No one’s afraid of…” Spike found himself cut short, as a single word, edged with malice and conviction, drifted on a current of arctic air from the room.
“Dustbuster.”
“Yeah, yeah. Times like these makes me wish Dru were here.” With that sentiment, the ‘neutered’ vampire sulked out of the building.
Tara looked at Willow, still seated on the bed, wondering how she had been so fortunate to find someone so concerned for her. She knew her own feelings for the redhead, though they were much more than platonic, but she wasn’t sure if they were reciprocated.
Willow, her ire diminishing, took stock of the fact that she had just defended Tara without hesitation. True, Spike was no longer a physical threat, but he could still be a verbal menace, and friends defended one another. She and Tara were friends. Still…
“So, you’re sure y-you’re okay?”
Lost in mid-thought, Willow returned her gaze to meet that of the blonde witch, and found herself unable to deny the emotion in those eyes. Affection. A deep, profound affection. Maybe even…
“Willow?” Tara had been unable to tear her eyes away, even as the green ones she focused on seemed to drift to another place.
“Oh, um, yeah, Tara, I’m fine. Everything is okay. Yup, no problems. Life is good, only, not, but not in a negative way, and I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
Tara couldn’t help but smile and softly laugh at Willow’s speech. In a way, they balanced each other in that area. When flustered or nervous, she stuttered, while Willow seemed to have difficulty in ending her speeches.
“Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s one of the things I l-l…” The word she wanted to say was locked in her throat, as though allowing it to pass her lips would cause reality to be revealed as a mere illusion. “L-like about you.”
Each woman examined the other at that moment, searching for something, terrified and anxious of the possibilities. Willow was about to break the tangible tension, when Tara disengaged their locked stares and turned her back to the redhead.
“I-I sh-should g-go. I’ll t-t-talk to y-you l-later.” With the moment shattered, Tara ran swiftly down the hall towards the dorm exit, while tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes. She could have told her how she felt and nearly blurted it out, but fear of rejection – magnified by years of taunting and ridicule at her previous school – kept her from risking her heart or losing the one friend she had made. Stepping outside into the first rays of dawn, she looked ahead to watch where her feet led her, though the world had suddenly gone blurry for a reason she refused to admit to herself.
Willow watched as the other girl left, never moving from her spot on her bed. She had seen it, emanating truly and purely from within the blonde’s eyes and now had to decide if it was worth the possible pain and heartache that might accompany this development in her life. With her mind churning more intensely than it had before she had entered the room, Willow walked to the door and shut out the rest of the world from her private dilemma.
<*> Ruins of Sunnydale
High School <*>
“Excuse me?!”
Uriel looked at Faith, her face a contorted mix of shock, anger, and disbelief. He found it rather amusing, given her documented ability to mask her true feelings about a given situation. Humor gave way to apprehension as he saw Faith focus on the anger and charge him.
“Oh shit.”
Faith automatically launched into one of her favorite combinations. Leading off with a right hand to the breadbasket, Uriel watched the punch come forward with no intention of blocking it. Being resilient to most types of blunt-force trauma, he chose to allow her to work out her frustrations on him. As she connected, he found himself understanding what a baseball hit by Mark McGuire felt like as it sailed over the outfield wall 415 feet from home plate. Wincing from the pain, he decided to silently bear it as the younger Slayer continued.
She followed by rotating her body counter-clockwise, delivering a southpaw backhand into the kidneys. Grasping his elbow, she brought her right hand around to his back for a series of quick jabs to the wounded area. As she made contact, Faith noticed that her opponent was making no move to defend himself. His indifference simply added fuel to the fire of her rage, prompting her to change from jabs to full-force corkscrew punches. Glancing at his face, the dark-haired Slayer saw his impassive countenance falter with each hit, registering the pain but refusing to acknowledge or yield to it.
“C’mon, fight back!”
Frustrated, she swept her right foot into his left knee. It reacted to the impact, but did not buckle. Abandoning her punches, she delivered two more kicks, increasing her ferocity each time, with his knee still refusing to give way.
“You want me to die, do it yourself!”
Buffy began to stir, her head still somewhat cloudy from landing on an exposed water pipe. She could hear the familiar sound of flesh impacting on flesh and turned to see Faith hammering on the guy she spoken with earlier, seemingly relentless in her assault.
Faith changed tactics, viciously punching him in the back of the head. He staggered from the force of the blow, but still refused to submit or go down.
Buffy’s eyes caught his gaze as he reeled from the impact. She could clearly understand his non-verbal request for her to stay out of it, though she failed to comprehend any possible reason why.
“What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you fight back?”
Hearing something begin to change in the attitude of his opponent, Uriel released his left arm, pivoting to face the dark-haired girl. Taking both of her wrists in his hands, he noticed Elizabeth pull herself into a seated position out of the corner of his eye as he addressed Faith.
“Because you are not evil.” Uriel looked into the face of the girl before him, and saw all the bitterness overtake the rage. She ripped free of his hold, and began an alternating series of kicks and punches, which he began blocking and deflecting.
“You don’t know what evil is!” Faith swung clumsily, her diminishing rage no longer allowing her to focus her attacks. She feigned a blow to his stomach, ducking into a leg sweep at the last moment, knocking her opponent onto his back. She stood, bringing her right foot down in an overhead arc, attempting to crush his lungs. He rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the kick as she followed with a punt into his ribs. “C’mon, kill me!”
Moving with the momentum of the kick, Uriel regained his feet as Faith came at him again, swinging wildly, losing her convictions with each movement of her body. “It is not that simple, Faith.”
“Yes it is!” She connected into his jaw with her right fist, but her arms were becoming more like gelatin with each throw. “I’m evil!” She attempted another roundhouse kick, though this one was batted away like a child’s wandering hands. “Just kill me!”
Buffy found herself unable to move from her spot. Standing was likely not a problem, but the scene playing out before her was like an operatic tragedy. She watched in horrified fascination as Faith’s psychological walls came crumbling down, exposing the fragile girl beneath the hard, detached façade of the Slayer she wore. She heard the voice of the taller Chosen falter and crack as she screamed the last sentence, seemingly imploring anyone to end it for her.
“No.”
Uriel looked behind him to the source of the single, profound word, noticing that Elizabeth was on her feet. He watched her take a cautious step, checking her balance in the process, slowly making her way to where the two fighters were. Faith had crumbled to her knees, her chin hanging in repose above her chest, mostly unaware of the approaching blonde.
“Faith.” Buffy placed her right hand beneath the chin of her counterpart, feeling a dampness she hadn’t expected. She slowly tilted the girl’s head up, bringing brown eyes to meet blue, and lost herself in the depths of despair she found there.
“B…”
“Shhh. We can talk later.” Buffy traced the path of tears that had fallen down Faith’s left cheek, stroking away the evidence of their existence with her thumb. She looked to the tall man in the room with them, exchanging a silent communication with their gazes. He nodded to her, and stepped out of the room with no more than a faint whisper of sound from his footsteps. After he had departed, she returned her view to the young woman still kneeling on the dirty, tiled floor of the former shower room. “We should go.”
Faith simply nodded in response, picking herself up from the floor, stepping into the open arms of the person she had caused so much pain. She fell into the embrace, burying her head in the right crook of the blonde’s neck. Shaking from
several sobs she was unable to restrain, she felt a hand slide up to the back of her head, full of more tenderness and concern than she could ever remember receiving from anyone before. The dark-haired girl felt her tension drain away and, exhaling a heavy breath, slipped into quiet, oblivious slumber.
<*> Basement of the Harris’ House
<*>
When Alexander Harris dreamt, it was often about things he either had not, or wished he hadn’t, done in his life. For three weeks after the Valentine’s Day mess he had brought about by blackmailing Amy, he had been plagued by dreams of what might have happened in the library and in his old room upstairs with Buffy and Willow, respectively. Needless to say, he had made certain to do his own laundry during that period. In the long run, he was glad he had managed to control himself that day, but there was always this impish little voice, nagging away in the back of his mind, mocking him for the numerous sexual conquests he had passed up.
Recently, his dreams had been about Anya. After the last few months, he wasn’t sure whether to be elated or depressed that she had decided to stay with him. True, the sex had been incredible for the most part, but, then again, his only comparison were his two sessions with Faith, and the second time she had almost suffocated him. His feelings for the ex-demon were confusing, since they weren’t in what you could honestly call a relationship. They were, as she had phrased it, ‘orgasm buddies.’ He wanted to get to know her better, but other than the vengeance factor, there didn’t seem to be much else there she was willing to share.
Currently, though, he was dreaming of an enjoyable Scooby Gang vacation on a remote, tropical island. He was lying on the beach in a pair of OD green knee-length shorts, soaking up the hot, sweat-inducing rays of the sun. Willow, Buffy, and Anya were in the water, splashing and diving off a low cliff further up the beach, cooling themselves in the brisk waters surrounding their getaway. It suddenly occurred to him that he was perspiring rather profusely and stood to take a dip in the crystal blue, unspoiled ocean before him. Breaking into a full-sprint, he leapt off the sand, diving for the refreshing expanse before him. He made contact, and felt everything around him shift.
He landed with a dull thud and found himself facedown in a shallow pool of water. Gone was the warm sunlight, replaced by a dark, heavy dampness that seemed to press him down further into the puddle. Struggling to his feet, he took in his surroundings, and began to immediately wish he hadn’t. He was in the lair of the Master, standing next to the pool he had pulled Buffy out of nearly three years ago. It was a memory of a day he both cherished and dreaded, knowing that he had been the one to bring her back, but also that he nearly lost a good friend. He started walking towards the exit he remembered when a woman stepped into his path.
“By my will, the Chosen was to die, and the world was to experience a period of darkness at the hands of the aged vampire known as the Master.” The woman was perhaps six feet in height, dressed in an emerald green shift, with delicate features masking the power that seemed to radiate from her. Straw-blonde hair seemed to flow from her head, falling like rain in a smooth curtain to gently brush the ground with its tips. Her face reminded him of chiseled marble busts from the ancient Greek city-states, and her eyes seemed to literally sparkle with the same intensity of a clear night sky. Her voice was silken and seductive, reaching his ears as barely more than a whisper, seeming to slowly eke away his will to resist it. “Yet, my Sister and I did not account for your intervention, and so we had to set other events in motion in order for the Darkness to be allowed its allotted time in this place.”
Xander found himself listening, but not hearing her words, until the last phrase, which shook him from his reverie. “Whoa, wait, ‘allotted time?’ You act like the Hellmouth has a right to spit forth a bunch of nasties to run around and wreak havoc just because they obtained a permit or two.” He wheeled about, suddenly hearing the same voice speak to him from behind.
“We do not create the Way of Things; we are simply here to set events in motion so that they pass.” The woman, now dressed in a crimson shift, began walking towards him, passing him by as she went to stand by her twin. Xander studied both women, noting the only difference he could perceive was in the color of their clothing. “The Chosen’s destiny was to combat the forces of the Darkness, while unleashing a greater one upon humanity. After the Master was slain, another had to take his place, and so Angelus was re-awoken.”
“You’re telling me that you were the ones that made Deadboy lose his soul and go out on a killing spree?”
“The Slayer had a need to understand Destiny more clearly, even if she refused to accept Fate. The suffering was a necessity to allow her greater clarity.”
“People died and were turned into vampires left and right, and this was a positive thing?”
“Has all of this not given you a greater understanding of your role?”
“I drive an ice cream truck. I’m co-habitating with an ex-demon. I get shut out because out of all of us, I have the least to offer.” Xander hated saying the last line, but felt it was true. Buffy was the physically powerful one and was able to think on her feet. Giles was the knowledgeable one, with his history as ‘Ripper’ coming into play when all else failed. Willow was not only the smart one, but also had a wicked aptitude for spellcasting. What did he have to offer a group like that?
“All of you have a destiny to fulfill and a fate you cannot yourselves avoid. Are you finally ready to accept yours?”
“What, as demon fodder?”
“Destiny calls for you to be the guardian and protector of the Chosen, but never receive what you truly long for from her.”
“Fate calls for you to be all you ever wished to her and more, but fail the Slayer in her greatest hour of need.”
“We will allow you to embrace one and avoid the other should you choose, but the decision must be made now.”
Xander thought it over very carefully, weighing his emotions on each issue. After a very short pause, he knew which course he would take. If the cost was that high, so be it – he would learn to accept it in time.
“Have you made your choice?”
“Yes.” Stepping forward, Alexander Harris spread his arms wide and embraced…sunlight streaming into his eyes from the window. Grumbling with having to suffer the indignities of yet another bright, sunny morning on the Hellmouth, Xander looked over at the woman still snuggled against his chest. His mood brightened slightly as he considered the irony of things. Here he was, lying in bed with a ex-vengeance demon whose job it had been to fulfill the requests of spurned women, often resulting in disfigurement, dismemberment or death for the man previously involved. And she was a snuggler. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t admit things weren’t likely to get any weirder.
<*> Angel’s Mansion
<*>
When Faith opened her eyes again, she found herself in the bed she had started the night in. Looking out into the parlor, she saw a few errant fingers of sunlight playing along the stone floor. She shook her head as she rolled off the bed, wondering if everything had been a dream. Stepping out of the bedroom, she looked around and noticed two people seated on the patio, apparently talking about something. Though she was uncertain of who was in one of the chairs, the one facing her direction clearly held a very familiar blonde, who was now standing up and walking towards her.
“Sleep well?”
“Um, I think so.” She scratched her head, nervous as to where things were progressing towards, given recent events. “All that stuff happened last night, huh?”
“Yep, right down to you passing out, though it was a lot more like really early this morning. Uriel was the one who carried you back here.”
“Who?”
“Uriel. The tall guy you were trying to beat the crap out of.”
Faith paled a little at that, wondering what kind of damage she had inflicted this time. “Oh, shit, is he okay?”
“A little sore, but nothing to be concerned with.” Uriel walked in, standing a few feet behind the blonde, a backpack clearly visible over his right shoulder. Even though these two were part of his assignment, he knew they had enough issues to work out on their own. He had spent the last four hours conversing with Elizabeth about the trials and tribulations of Slaying, though he avoided answering who he was and why he was there. He told her it was better to wait for her counterpart to awaken and explain it to them at the same time.
“How are you feeling, Faith?”
“Fucking miserable for the most part.”
“Believe it or not, that is a good sign.” He took a step forward, resting a comforting hand upon a shoulder burdened by more than anyone should have to bear, especially alone.
“What, it’s good that I regret all the stupid shit I’ve done?” Faith moved to swat the hand away, but found her own hands suddenly encased by warm, tender ones. Knowing the source, she kept her gaze away from the face of the blonde owner of those hands. “B, I can’t… this is…”
“It’s okay. We’ll get through this. The Chosen Two, remember?”
“Elizabeth, if you and Faith are ready, I think I should explained why I am here.”
Faith looked at the blonde with a quizzical expression plainly visible. “Elizabeth?”
“As long as I have been around, I refuse to call anyone one of those pretentiously ‘cute’ names, especially those that end in ‘-fy.’ ”
“And how long has that been, exactly?” Buffy took a closer look, attempting to gauge his years. “You don’t look much past thirty.”
“Thanks for the compliment. I might answer that question, if time permits.” Uriel adjusted his sunglasses, settling them slightly higher on the bridge of his nose.
Faith looked him the eyes… well, she tried to, anyway. “Do you ever take those shades off?”
“Not since I got them.” He started to walk towards a crushed red velvet chair and sofa ensemble, arranged in an ‘L’ pattern, in another corner of the parlor. He set himself in the chair, depositing the pack beside him, leaving the comfortable couch for the two ladies. Buffy leaned against the far arm of the sofa, resting her legs along the rear cushions, while Faith had plopped down at the other end of the piece of furniture, effectively trapping Buffy’s feet with her lower back.
“Why not?”
Uriel silently wondered if the sign of a successful Slayer was the ability to continuously antagonize someone. Reflecting a moment, he realized it probably was and decided to answer the query of the younger woman. “Well, it beats wearing a blindfold. You have no idea how irritating those things are after prolonged wear.”
Buffy was becoming more curious and added to the line of questioning. “You’re blind?”
“No.”
“Then why…”
Sighing, Uriel lowered his eyelids, then slowly removed the sunglasses. He felt the light level vastly increase, and braced himself as he opened his eyes to the stares of the two Slayers before him.
“Um…” Faith could understand why now, but the ‘whathefuck’ caught in her throat couldn’t quite make it out. She began to slide down the couch towards the other end, wigging slightly at the possible reasons. Thankfully, Buffy was able to voice her own version of the sentiment they were currently sharing.
“Where are your pupils?”
Returning his shades to their proper place, Uriel addressed the most recent question posed to him. “I never had any. That is another matter for explanation later. Please, allow me to begin.” The two Slayers re-settled into their places on the sofa, which he took to be as a sign to relate his tale.
“I work as a type of ‘Intervention Specialist’ for a very special person, and yesterday I was handed my latest assignment, which involved the two of you and a small group of others.”
“Um, who do you work for, exactly? The government?”
Uriel figured it was a valid question, but answered Buffy as indirectly as possible anyway. “No. I work for someone a little better connected.”
“Who?”
“Elizabeth, is this really important?”
Faith gave a short chuckle, which Buffy felt along her quadriceps as her body shook ever so slightly. “That’s just too funny, B.”
Wondering how she and Faith had gone full-circle so quickly, from friends to enemies and back again, the blonde decided to respond to the question addressed to her rather than the comment. “Look, I’ve recently had a federally-sanctioned military operation try to take me out, so you might understand my concern here. I’d like to know who is supposedly helping me and what their angle is for doing so.”
Sighing in growing frustration, Uriel offered another cloaked reply. “The individual I work for wishes to remain anonymous. As for the ‘angle,’ they just wish to help both of you and a few others stay safe.”
Faith was just as worried as Buffy, simultaneously remembering and attempting to block the way Mayor Wilkins had treated her so well and used her at the same time. “Whaddya say, B? A name or we walk?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Uriel reached down into his backpack, rummaging for a few moments while the ladies looked on with some interest. He found what he was looking for and pulled out a bottle filled with a clear liquid. Checking the label, he removed the stopper, taking a long pull from the bottle and lowering it after four large swallows.
“Is that what I think it is?” It had been a while since Faith had a drink, not counting the last eight months in a coma. The Mayor had been somewhat strict about her staying clean and sober, though she had wished she had gotten plastered the night B had…
“Unless you knew this was vodka bottled during the reign of Peter the Great, then, no, it is not.” Downing another two swallows, he replaced the cap and returned the bottle to its place within the pack. “Okay, now I can tell you.”
“Was that necessary?”
“Yes, Elizabeth, it was. If anyone asks why I told you what I am about to, I can say that I was drinking and unable to think clearly.” Uriel felt no effects from the alcohol, though he could taste that the vodka had fermented even further than the last time he had sampled that particular bottle. He judged to approximately 170 proof now, which would easily dull the pain he was still feeling from the beating he had endured a few hours prior. “Now, to answer your question, I work for The Lady.”
“Um… who?”
“The Lady.”
“Still confused here.”
“You and me both, B. Care to be a little more vague?”
Extending the index finger on his right hand, he pointed in a direction they would have little difficulty understanding. “Her.”
“Huh?” Faith was still confused, as evidenced by the look on her face. She looked to Buffy for some assistance, saw her own confusion reflected, then watched as a growing comprehension took its place.
“Oh. Oh! Wow, talk about friends in high places.”
“Screaming that from any hillside might not be a good idea, though.”
“So, She’s really a… Her, not a Him?” The Slayer with the raven tresses had finally grasped the notion and started to slowly fall backwards, attempting to lie down as she absorbed the information. She sighed contentedly as she found her head resting in the lap of someone else, but tried to return to a seated position when it dawned on her exactly whose lap she was in. She paused as a calming right hand placed itself on her shoulder from behind, guiding her back down into a delicious comfort she had forgotten could exist.
“To be perfectly honest, The Lady is neither, but a number of us were more comfortable with the feminine notion when gender started to come into play.”
“When was that?” Buffy was absent-mindedly stroking the hair of the younger woman currently resting on her. Realizing what she was doing, the veteran Slayer knew she should be furious at Faith for the physical and emotional pain she had inflicted. After what she had witnessed last night though, she couldn’t find it in her heart to stay angry. For some reason, Uriel seemed to have a calming, soothing effect on both of them, for which some portion of her was grateful.
“Not sure. That began before I was a thought.” Uriel felt a chill slide across his shoulders, and instinctively knew that the ‘hidden evil’ mentioned in his directives was making its way towards Sunnydale. “Listen, we can discuss this all later. Right now, I have to explain why I am here.”
“If you work for Her, exactly what does that make you?” At one time, Faith had dreams about things like this. Just her and Buffy, relaxing somewhere; feeling close, feeling intimate. All her normal anxiety was temporarily forgotten, and she gingerly moved her right hand to the knee of the shorter Chosen. Encountering neither resistance nor rejection, she rested her arm there, continuing to enjoy the ministrations to her hair as she awaited Uriel’s answer.
‘Stubbornness’ was apparently a trait more Slayers should have had in the past; it might have helped them live longer. Uriel accepted the fact that until their questions had been answered, there was little to no chance of them listening to his warning. “I… could we not discuss me right now?”
Buffy shook her head slightly from side to side, sending a very clear signal. “Sorry. Not about to trust someone without knowing who they are, even if they do say they have excellent references.” She felt Faith tense beneath her, observing a great deal of apprehension in the dark eyes she met with her blue ones. She caressed the taller woman’s right cheek, gazing at her with a sincere trust she wouldn’t have believed she held in Faith.
“I am a Fallen.”
Faith watched as the moment shattered, with both of them voicing the same question. “You’re a what?”
“A Fallen. A Fallen angel. I was cast out of Heaven and sent to Earth.”
“You mean when I saw you falling out of the sky…”
“No, that was Malaika pulling a practical joke, reminding me of the first time it happened.”
“Who’s Malaika?” Faith decided to join in the conversation again, knowing that the mood that had been building between her and Buffy was now ruined.
“She is the current Angel of Death.”
“I thought that was Zophiel.” Faith had read several of her Watcher’s journals on angels when she had been called, never thinking that it might one day be useful.
“He was the Angel of Death, until Michael Fell and The Lady needed someone else to take command of the War Host.”
“The Archangel Fell? What did he do?”
Buffy listened to the conversation between the other two with mild interest. Though she had never really given the notion of Heaven much thought, she wondered if there was a special section reserved for Slayers there. “He fell in love with a woman and gave up his angelic status to be with her.”
“So, Malaika was made the Angel of Death?”
“No. She was given the job after I Fell.”
Faith peered at Uriel, realizing what he had implied. She internally shrugged, unsure, but no longer concerned, as to why she and Buffy were getting along so well right now.
“So how did you Fall?”
Uriel started to blush at the question, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. “I got into an argument with The Lady.”
“About what?”
Faith laid back and watched the show from her vantage point in Buffy’s lap. She was never very good at the whole interrogation thing, and left the older Slayer to the task. She gazed up at lips she once dreamed of kissing, but had never gotten up the courage to follow through. Part of her chalked it up to the adrenaline rush, the ‘hungry and horny’ mantra she had adopted, though there was a voice buried deep that dared her to consider another possible reason.
“I was observing humanity, and told her I thought that the species was not worth allowing to continue.”
Faith’s eyes went wide, catching the same look of incredulousness as she adjusted her view to include the other woman in the room. “Um…”
“She laughed at me, wondering how She could have given such a difficult job to someone with such impatience. So, The Lady said I should learn to understand people better, and sent me down with half my angelic strength to act as her ‘Intervention Specialist.’ I ended up having to lend aid to those whom I thought worthless.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Long enough for my opinion to change.”
“Meaning ‘how long’ in real time?”
“By your calendar? About 32,000 years ago.”
Faith found herself rudely removed from the furniture, then struck in the head and back as Buffy fell off the couch. She looked to the blonde Chosen, currently lying face-up on the stone flooring next to her, a look of utter shock plainly visible on her face. “Damn, B, and you thought Angel was old.”
The statement brought Buffy out of her trance, drawing her to face its source. Turning to her fellow Slayer, she discovered the grin plastered there a welcome change to the normal dour expression. It was highly infectious as well, and the two young women soon found themselves laughing like schoolgirls discussing boys. Which, technically, they were.
Uriel was still seated in his chair, smiling down at the two children in front of him. At his age, everyone was a child until they could no longer find a reason to laugh. “Shall I continue?” He watched as they composed themselves, resumed their original positions on the crushed velvet piece of furniture, and began to relate some of his exploits.
<*> California State
Highway 101 <*> Ventura, CA <*>
A demon, looking quite similar in appearance to D’Hoffryn, was driving a black Cadillac limousine up the coast, cruising up the road at a modest 75 miles an hour. Those he passed could not clearly see him in the driver’s seat, leaving them to wonder as to whom was in the back of the stretch job. The darkened dividing glass was up, obscuring his passenger from the early morning sun. Pressing the intercom button on the panel next to him, he asked the only question necessary to confirm his current direction.
“Destination, Mistress?”
A soft, female voice whispered from the device, delivering a single, unmistakable word.
“Home.”