FIC: Whither Thou Goest... Part 9/?

[PB <pbnj@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

Title: Whither Thou Goest...
Author: Pink Rabbit Productions
Archive: Pink Rabbit, A Slayer/A Hacker
Author's Notes: This is the latest sequel to Spin, Spinning, Spun Out, It
All Depends On Your Timing, and Interludis Neanderthalensis. It's not
finished, but I'm going to start posting in segments since it's getting
close to the end (probably).
Disclaimer: The characters and show all belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant
Enemy, Kuzui, and God only knows who else. This particular arrangement of
words in cyberspace belongs to me, however. Btw, it contains love between
two women, so if such things offend you, are illegal where you live or
somesuch, kindly don't read it and upset yourself, 'kay. It'll just make
life easier on all of us.
Spoilers: Some Early Season 5 stuff (but only in a pretty vaguish way)
Rating: PG-13
Part: 9/? (yeah, I know the parts and the chapter numbers aren't
necessarily matching up, but that's because there was a prologue and now a
chapter that had to be split into two parts)

Whither Thou Goest...


Giles' house was where the Scooby gang always did their planning and mapped
out strategy--he had both the necessary research materials and the money to
afford the best snacks--and Buffy certainly wasn't going to leave her
mother alone at their house. Which was how the former librarian wound up
with the three teenagers and one semi-teenager and ex-vengeance demon
spaced around his livingroom, Joyce Summers stretched out on the couch
under a knitted afghan, and a Baroque era painting taking up its own chair
as an impromptu display easel. The only one missing was Spike, and Giles
was comfortably certain he was nowhere near lucky enough to have the
vampire either disappear into the night, or even better, get himself dusted
somewhere along the way. His life just didn't go that smoothly.

"It's..." the ex-librarian began as he stared at the painting only to fall
silent for a beat.

"Very hot," Xander proclaimed as he moved to stand beside Giles. "I mean,
am I the one thinking major girl on girl sex here?"

Sitting off to the side and just in front of Willow, Buffy did a
doubletake--did he somehow know how she'd spent the night with Willow--then
realized he was just referring to the painting. She could feel Willow's
eyes on her back, but she resisted all temptation and didn't look back.

"It's a biblical story of selfless love and devotion, not Debbie Does
Judea," Anya pointed out, sounding faintly put out. "You just get excited
by thinking that all women are about to have sex with each other."

"No," Xander corrected cheerfully, "I'm excited by the idea all women are
about to have sex with each other while I watch and then invite me to join in."

"Xander," Buffy yelped, "my mother's here." Not to mention my best friend
whom I spent last night making love to and we'd just as soon not go there,
she added mentally. Says you, her little Willow-crazed nag disagreed.

Willow just hunched deeper into her chair.

"Sorry," Xander stammered an apology as he glanced back at the Slayer's
mother, then slunk over to join Anya, who put a proprietary arm around his
shoulders.

"'Sokay," Joyce assured him with a bleary wave of her good arm. She wasn't
really tracking the conversation very well anyhow. Her entire attention was
reserved for the artwork leaned only a few feet away. It was exquisite and
the would-be artist in her couldn't help but be fascinated by the
workmanship. Even in the unflattering light of Giles' livingroom, it glowed.

During the exchange, Giles had gone into his default ignore-mode, his usual
method for dealing with the often inane chatter that tended to bounce back
and forth between the teens. Finally, he lifted his chin and looked back at
the small group assembled around the room, putting on his best
I'm-in-charge-here face and voice as he informed them, "If you're
finished.... We have to inform the Watcher's Council and let them handle this."

Buffy was the first to respond. "Excuse me?" the Slayer demanded. She
pushed to her feet, ready to go toe to toe with her former Watcher. "Some
vampire comes to town, nearly kills my mother and Xander, and you want to
call the Watcher's Council. The last time I checked, I don't work for them
anymore."

Giles' gaze slid back to the painting, though his expression held none of
Joyce Summers almost reverent awe. "This is different," he insisted
distantly, and without explanation.

She absorbed his non-answer answer, then shook her head. "Different?" the
Slayer repeated. "What's different. See vamp, fight vamp, kill vamp. Same
game, new channel is all I see."

Giles turned to look at his protege, his expression sad. "You don't
understand," he said softly. "Delaine DuCourvallier isn't like any other
vampire you've ever fought--"

"None of them ever are," Buffy pointed out. "But you've never suggested I
walk away before."

"Because you've never faced a vampire who was a Slayer before."

Buffy froze for a beat, then slowly exhaled, "A Slayer?"

Giles nodded, then turned back to the painting. "Delaine Annalise
Marguerite DuCourvallier, born 1595, the only daughter of the Countess
DuCourvallier. Wealthy, educated--

"And died of the plague in...what...sixteen-ten or eleven?" Joyce
interrupted from her personal peanut gallery on the couch. "How could she
have been a Slayer? When her mother arranged for her to study with Orazio
Gentillesci, she went to Rome and then painted almost up until the hour of
her death, according to both Orazio's and his daughter, Artemesia's, accounts."

"She didn't die of the plague," Giles said quietly. "She was drugged to
simulate the disease and then removed to England for training. Apparently,
when her Watcher first contacted her, she refused to have anything to do
with being the Slayer--"

"So they had to force her, and then make sure there was no one she could
turn to for help," Willow filled in, not sounding at all surprised. Giles
had no way of knowing about her research into the history of the Watcher's
Council.

Giles frowned as he looked at the girl, startled by her accurate reading of
the situation. "Something like that," he allowed, then felt the need to
defend the long-dead Watcher's who'd made the decision. "But it was a
necessity. There is only one Slayer--"

"And duty above all else," Buffy murmured with a distant sort of
bitterness. "Right, Giles?"

The Watcher's and Slayer's gazes locked and held. "It was another time," he
said simply. "And in any event, it scarcely matters. She betrayed them,
plotted to escape her fate by handing the entire Council over to a cadre of
vampires. She failed, though she did succeed in getting her Watcher's wife
killed." He'd been told the tale in Watcher training over and over,
learning every detail of the betrayal, and like all Watchers, he'd learned
to hate and fear the long dead Slayer.

Buffy looked away from his hard gaze, not wanting to admit how thoroughly
she'd momentarily identified with the young woman from another time forced
to accept a duty she had no desire for, and made to let go of whatever
dreams and talents she might have had that had nothing to do with destiny
and killing.
"So, if you're feeling too much kinship, you might remember that she was a
killer before she became a vampire." Giles' voice throbbed with the
long-held hatred the Council had for their legendary enemy. "Before all was
said and done, all but two members of the Watcher's Council were dead and
Delaine DuCourvallier was a vampire--and as much stronger than a normal
vampire as you are stronger than a normal human. In the four-hundred years
since she's killed at least six Slayers, perhaps more. That's why there's a
standing order for the Council to deal with it if she's seen. They have
teams of professionals searching for her at all times--"

Buffy shook her head. "But they're not here, and this bitch has threatened
my family--"

"Well, actually," Joyce broke in, still more than a little buzzed, but
oddly fascinated by the conversation. She couldn't help but wonder if this
sort of thing was a huge part of the whole vampire fighting experience for
her daughter. Actually, this wasn't so bad. Kind of interesting even, in an
odd way. "She didn't exactly attack me...I mean, she just kept demanding
her painting...who knows, she might have gone away if I'd just given it to
her..."

"If you had given her the painting, she probably would have just killed
you," Buffy explained patiently, but Joyce was already staring at the
canvas in question once again, her mind a million miles away. Handed a
mystery that related to her own field of interest, she couldn't help but be
fascinated.

"Why does she want it so badly?" the older woman questioned out of the
blue. "The painting, I mean. From what you've told me about vampires, they
don't really seem like the artistic types."

"I'm certain she just used it as an excuse to get close to you," Giles
dismissed. "Killing a Slayer's mother would probably appeal to her." His
lip curled with distaste.

"I don't think so," Joyce disagreed. "If she was just trying to kill me,
she had plenty of chances. No, she wanted the painting, and when I
threatened to burn it, she froze...I mean she did not move a muscle." Her
head canted to one side as she continued studying the play of paint on
canvas. "So why is it so important to her?"

"I really don't think that's important--" Giles began, but Joyce waved him
silent, throwing the blanket aside as she climbed unsteadily to her feet.

Giles and Buffy both automatically reached out to steady the woman when she
weaved back and forth during the short journey to stand in front of the
painting.

"I think maybe it is important," Joyce disagreed, still staring intently.
Her mind was racing, or at least trying to race as several things occurred
to her at once.

Giles glared at Buffy as if the interruption was her fault.

"Mom, I really think--"

"Maybe there's something coded into the picture," Joyce murmured
thoughtfully as she held up a hand to silence her daughter, the fogginess
leaving her incapable of noticing the hints to shut up.

"I really doubt--" Giles began, but Buffy cut him off.

"What do you mean?"

Joyce turned toward her daughter. "Elizabethan and Renaissance artists
often included little in-jokes, like curse words, names, or Latin
inscriptions in their paintings. To sort of put one over on their patrons I
guess...there's a even a painting that some historians think is a clue in
the possible murder of a couple of princes--I wish I could remember the
story--but the point is, they hid things--"

"You mean like those old Seek and Find games in Highlights magazine?"
Xander seized on the concept.

"I really don't think--" Giles tried to take control of the discussion
again, but Joyce interrupted without ever noticing he'd started to speak.

"Actually, that's a pretty good analogy," she admitted, and Xander preened
under the attention. "So, what if she hid something in there...some piece
of knowledge she needs?"

"Like a map or spell?" Willow whispered as she moved to join them.

Joyce shrugged. "I don't know. You guys are the experts on that front."

Giles sighed softly, finally accepting that he'd lost all control over the
situation. Ought to be used to it by now, he silently chastised himself for
feeling put out. Actually, he had to admit that Joyce had a pretty good
idea. "It's possible," he murmured aloud. "But--"

"Mom, do you think you're up to lending a hand?" Buffy asked her mother
before Giles could put a stop to things. "None of us know enough to know
what to look for."

Joyce turned to meet her daughter's gaze, blinking in surprise as she
processed the request. "I...uh...of course. Any way I can help. I'm not
really at my best, but I'll do what I can."

"I've got some experience in the arts," Anya volunteered, then shrugged
when everyone looked her way. "Artists tend to be an unfaithful lot." A
wicked smile curved her lips. "What, you thought it was Van Gogh's idea to
cut off his own ear?"

"Honey," Xander said nervously, "remember that little conversation we had
about sharing too many details about your past?"

Anya frowned, then noted her boyfriend's nervous look. "Don't worry,
Xander. I like your ears far too much to ever do that." She reached out to
play with his hair. "Besides it's so much fun nibbling on them when we're
having sex--"

"More things we probably shouldn't share," Xander groaned, wondering why it
was that demonic attacks, doorways into alternate universes, and reopening
Hellmouths never appeared when he could most use them.

Buffy took pity on her friend. "Um, Anya, if you could help my mom, that
would be great," she said, pointedly diverting the topic away from any and
all sexual escapades. All things considered that was the last topic she
wanted to discuss.

In fairly short order, things settled in a bit, with Anya and Xander
helping Joyce, who took a seat, while the two teens found a couple of
Giles' magnifying glasses, then began checking for signs of anything unusual.

While they did that, Giles caught Buffy's arm and tugged her into the
kitchen with a soft hissed, "We need to talk."

"All right," the Slayer responded once they were alone. "Talk."

"I know you've had a couple of very bad nights--"

"Which is not that unusual for me," Buffy dismissed instantly. She was in
no mood for his arguments to try and sway her from hunting DuCourvallier
down and destroying her.

Giles studied his young protege, taking in the circles under her eyes and
the unusual jitteriness to her movements. Contrary to whatever she was
saying, the stress was getting to her. He felt an all too familiar wave of
guilt. No one should have to bear the things she did, but particularly not
a teenager on the brink of starting her life. "A woman died in your arms
and your mother was attacked by a creature that very probably intended to
kill her for sport. I think that qualifies as unusual, even for you."

"All right," Buffy admitted stiffly. "I'll allow you have a point--"

"Which is why we need to turn this over to the Watcher's Council."

"No." Buffy said flatly, her tone brooking no argument. "My mother, my
town, my problem."

"It's not that simple," Giles reiterated his point. "The Council..." He
shook his head, trying to find a way to express the paranoia he knew
existed when it came to the subject of the former Slayer. "They are
terrified of her...and of any possible influence she might have over a
current Slayer. They don't just want to make certain she's dead. They want
everything she's ever done and every thought she's ever had eliminated.
They've forbidden any Slayer from having contact with her...even if it's
only the kind required to kill her."

"But I don't work for them anymore...and you said she's been around for
four hundred years while they were hunting her. That's she's killed six
Slayers--and who only knows how many of their family members. I'm sure the
Watcher's don't keep stats on that, since we've both seen how much they
value the lives of my friends and family. Sorry, Giles, but I'm not risking
my family on that kind of success rate."

"If the Council finds out you've defied their orders--"

"I don't give a damn about the Council. I care about stopping her!"

The two stood glaring at each other for a long moment, each judging the
other's sincerity. "Twenty-four hours," Giles bit out at last. "I'll give
you twenty-four hours, and if she's still alive after that, I'm calling the
Council." And denying he'd delayed even a minute.

The Slayer tensed, but didn't argue, sensing that she'd already pushed her
Watcher farther than he'd intended to go. "Well, then I guess I'd better
make sure she's a pile of dust by then." Buffy straightened her shoulders.
"So I need to know everything you know about her...everything...."

"That could be difficult," Giles admitted. "Since there isn't much. She's
been remarkably successful at destroying...or killing any information
sources. The last fairly reliably proven sighting was in the 1840's in
China, but it was during the Opium Wars and she managed to disappear in the
confusion. Since then reports have been sporadic...uncertain..." His jaw
muscles clenched and unclenched with every word as he had to admit that
there was nothing to know. "There's evidence to indicate she was involved
in various attempts to resurrect a Wraith Demon in the Arizona territories
in the 1880's, a try at opening a HellMouth near St. Petersburg in the
1920's, and a late 1930's summoning of the demon Azrael in Germany...but
due to the circumstances, confirmation was never possible."

Buffy couldn't help it. She laughed. This was just too funny. "So they're
vaunted hit teams can't even tell you where she's been for over a century
and a half, but they're gonna kill her." She shook her head disgustedly.
"Pardon me for being unimpressed."

"You don't understand how smart...and how very evil she is."

"Well, I guess I've got twenty-four hours to find out," the Slayer said.
She turned as if to leave and suddenly stiffened as she realized that
Willow was standing just inside the entrance to the kitchen, silently
listening--though Buffy had no way of knowing how much of the discussion
she'd heard--something haunted gleaming in her pale gaze. As Buffy watched,
her friend's eyes slid over to Giles, an odd expression flickering there
momentarily, before she looked back to Buffy. "Can I count on you to help,
Will?" she questioned, her tone leaving Giles confused. He'd never heard
Buffy sound so uncertain when asking Willow to do something before.

Willow nodded. "Whatever you need."

"Thanks." Buffy turned to look at Giles, silently willing him to leave her
alone with her friend. "Do you mind?" she whispered at last when he still
hadn't moved a long beat later. "I'd like to talk to Willow alone."

Giles seemed about to say something, but changed his mind and slipped out,
leaving the two girls alone.

Willow didn't even try to broach what had happened between them earlier,
thinking it wasn't the time. "It's bad this time, isn't it?"

Buffy shrugged, waving Willow closer as she responded. "No worse than the
mayor, or the master, the Hellmouth...or a dozen other probable ends of the
world we've faced. Maybe not even as bad." Maybe they were lucky and it was
only the Slayer this evil was in town to destroy, rather than the entire world.

"But it's personal this time," Willow reminded Buffy as her eyes slid over
the Slayer's features, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the
tired slump of her shoulders.

"Personal...yeah...." Buffy sighed softly. She looked away for a moment,
taking a deep breath in an effort to calm her suddenly racing pulse. Bad
things were coming and coming fast. And with them, possibly her own death.
She looked back, reaching out to catch Willow's hand in her own. She hadn't
really had time to think about what she was going to say or how she felt,
she just knew that she couldn't leave things with Willow where they were.
"Will, I just want you to know..." she trailed off, not know what to say or
how. Finally, she just whispered, "I love you, Will...nothing changes that."

Willow let out the breath she hadn't even been aware of holding as she felt
some of the constriction wrapped painfully tightly around her chest let go
and her heart started beating again. "I know," she whispered past the
tightness in her throat. "I just...." She couldn't quite finish.

"I know." Buffy's free hand lifted and she tucked a few stray strands of
red hair behind Willow's ear. She swallowed hard, dropping the hand at
Willow's cheek because she didn't know what to do with it. "We'll figure it
out...I promise...." She almost reached out to trace cupid's bow lips.
Almost leaned forward to taste them and see if they were as sweet as they'd
seemed in the darkness of their dorm room.

"I trust you," Willow breathed.
"Of course you do. Too bloody stupid not to," Spike derided as he entered
the kitchen. He'd cleaned up most of the mess the Vampire-Slayer had left
on his face and his vampire physiology had taken care of sealing the worst
of the cuts, though he still looked like hell. "Y'know, Red, if you were as
smart as they all say, you'd have taken one of those scholarships and
gotten the bloody hell out of this town. It's cursed in case you haven't
noticed."

"Oh...joy...you're back," Buffy observed as the blond vampire stepped past
them and headed straight for the refrigerator. She quickly released
Willow's hand and pivoted to face him, turning only a little green as he
retrieved a bottle of pig's blood and took a long draft.

"God, this stuff reeks," Spike observed as he tipped the bottle down.

"Hey, if you want to go find your own, you're welcome to try," Buffy
taunted. "Oh, wait, I forgot, you can't." She never missed an opportunity
to remind him of his little condition. It was the one revenge fair play
still allowed her.

Spike growled softly. "Sod off, Slayer," he sneered. "You should be nicer
to me since I come bearing messages that just might keep your...." He
turned an assessing gaze Willow's way, making the Slayer wonder just how
much he'd heard during his untimely entrance. "...loved ones alive."

Buffy frowned, mentally debating whether to hear him out or just go ahead
and stake him and make all of their lives easier. "Spill it," she snarled
at last.

"DuCourvallier put in a little appearance after your Watcher and the others
left. She wants a meeting with you--and just you...tell your Watcher and
the deal's apparently off--tomorrow night at midnight in your mother's
gallery. You're to come alone and unarmed."

"That'd be suicide," Willow gasped.

Spike shrugged. "I think murder's probably a better term for it," he
observed cheerfully and took another long swallow of the pig's blood,
curling his lip in distaste as he noted, "Doesn't get any better the second
time around."

"And why would I want to do that? Meet with her, I mean," Buffy clarified.
"Unarmed and alone."

Spike offered a feral smile. "Because if you don't, she starts going after
your friends ... and ... family." Again his eyes touched on Willow, sensing
the same vulnerability on that front that his sire had wielded against the
Slayer only two years before. "Starting with Red here." He offered a toothy
smile. "I've always heard that DuCourvallier was quite a connoisseur of the
ladies." His voice dropped low, becoming suggestive as he added,
"Particularly the young and succulent type. She liked them very pink by all
accounts."
Willow stiffened, determined not to show any fear and not succeeding to any
great effect.

Buffy, on the other hand, took one pace forward, slamming a hand into
Spike's throat, fingers clenching tight as she used her hold to slam him
into the refrigerator hard enough to send it skidding back into the wall.
"And I should trust your word because?" she growled, eyes flashing with fury.

Spike glared at her with thick anger. "Because I've got no reason to lie,"
he choked past the punishing hold.

"Other than the fact that you'd like to see all of us dead, that is," Buffy
jeered. "Now tell me another one. I repeat, why should I trust you?"

"Because your precious Scooby gang aren't the only ones with their heads on
the chopping block," he gagged. "That lunatic threatened to dust me as
well." He tried to pry her fingers off without success. "She half destroyed
your mother's gallery using my head as a battering ram...believe me, I want
the stupid bitch dead."

The Slayer released the harsh grip on his throat, a grim smile twisting her
lips. "Now that sounds more like the Spike I know and loathe."

The vampire straightened his shoulders, resettling his jacket as he rubbed
his sore throat. "Y'know, it would almost worth being dusted to see her
take you apart," he shot back.

Buffy's hand shot out, fingers closing on his groin with punishing strength
and nearly dropping the vampire to his knees as she leaned close to his
bent over frame. "Just remember, if you're lying, I'll take you apart a
piece at a time...and this is the piece I'll start with."

Bent double and his eyes rapidly filling with crimson tears of raw agony,
he almost told her the truth, filled in every left out detail, and begged
forgiveness for lying. Only his hatred kept him from surrendering to the
awful pain and saying anything she wanted. "I'm telling the truth," he
gasped, his voice bordering on a shriek.

"You'd better be," Buffy whispered near his ear, then released her brutal
hold as she backed off, while Spike spilled to his knees, whimpering
softly. "Come on, Will," the Slayer said as she grabbed her friend's hand
and tugged her out.

"Bitch," Spike exhaled to no one in particular. He could hear the blond
Slayer speaking to her Watcher in the livingroom, but didn't have the
strength to care what she was saying.

* * * * * * *
TBC

--"If I was all that fond of real life, I would never have majored in theater"

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