Life; Version 2.0
by Kirayoshi
Turn and Face The Stranger
[reviews]
Chapter Three
Turn and Face the Stranger
I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets and
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time
--David Bowie
"Changes"
Newbie vampires generally didn't take this long to dust. Xander had joined Buffy on enough patrols, witnessed her dusting enough newly sired vamps, to know this. Usually a newbie attacked without thinking or planning an attack, allowing Buffy to easily ram a stake in his or her heart. No muss, no fuss.
But tonight, it was different. The vamps weren't different; they were your garden-variety newbies, all hunger and appetite, mindless under the throes of the madness that came with needing to feed for the first time.
No, Xander mused as he dodged the severed limb that Buffy had ripped away from one vamp before staking her, it was Buffy that was different. She was frustrated, at odds with herself. He had seen her in this state before, shortly after her birthday, when she had blamed herself for the return of Angelus. She held herself responsible, even though she had no cause to blame herself. She had no idea about the curse that bound Angel's soul, and how it would be lost to him during a moment of pure happiness. As much as Xander resented the knowledge that Buffy had made love to Angel, he would always empathize with his friend and hero over her grief.
As he empathized with her grief now.
It had been a week since Miss Calendar had succeeded in casting the spell to restore Angel's soul. One week since they watched Angelus callously snuff out the life of their friend Oz. One week since Buffy drove her former lover away, vowing never to forgive him for Oz's death.
One week since they had last seen Willow.
The image of Willow staring at the cooling body of her once-beloved was etched into Xander's memory and would never leave him. If in his old age he would forget everything else that had happened to him in his lifetime, he would remember Willow's unblinking eyes, the tears flowing freely; her mouth hanging open, her jaw slack and unmoving, shock and terror settling into her face.
One more reason to hate Angelus, Xander mused to himself. He may not have known Oz very well in the few months that he was part of their gang, but Xander did acknowledge that the taciturn young guitarist was a good friend, a stand-up sort of guy, and above all else he was good to Willow. Soul or no soul, Xander would never forgive Angel for killing Oz.
He certainly wouldn't ever forgive him for making Willow cry.
And if she never returned to the gang as a result of his actions, Xander would hunt Angel down and stake the vampire himself!
Xander returned his attention to the Slayer, who had finally dispatched the last of her sparring partners with a stake thrust squarely into his heart. She stood stock still, her arms slowly lowering to her sides, her right hand grasping her stake in a death-grip. She glanced around her, looking for more undead victims. She snarled as she scanned the area with wolfish eyes, "Anyone else want a piece of me?"
"Uh, I think you scared off every vamp west of the Continental Divide," Xander offered hesitantly. Buffy glowered at Xander with an unpleasant fire in her eyes, almost challenging him to risk her anger by speaking further. "Look, what say we call it a night and head home?"
Buffy stared hard at Xander, her features hardening into a 'game-face' that would intimidate any demon that dared to cross her. "It won't be enough, will it?" she shouted to the night sky, lifting her stake into the air and shaking it desperately. "It'll never be enough. No matter how many I take down, there will always be more waiting. Always waiting for me to turn my back, waiting for me to drop my guard...waiting...to kill someone who's only crime was being my friend..." Her grip slackened, and the stake dropped soundlessly to the dirt beside her. She lowered her arms, the strength leaking out of her like air from a punctured tire. Her shoulders sagged, her head lowered and her eyes half-closed. Xander rushed to her side, noticing the fatigue and exhaustion that threatened to overtake her. "C'mon, Buffy," he rushed to her side and gently shouldered her weight next to him. "Let's get you home." Buffy, too tired and too depressed to put up even a token resistance, allowed him to lead her out of the cemetery.
As the tired warrior and her best male-friend ventured toward the cemetery gate, Buffy glanced beside a familiar gravestone. She lifted her hand, signaling for Xander to stop, as they read the epitaph that Devon had given his former bandmate;
"Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne
1982-1998
While My Guitar Gently Weeps..."
Looking downward, Buffy grimaced at the pile of loose rocks at the foot of the stone. "Geez, wouldja look at that," she murmured. "Some a-hole's piling rocks on top of his grave. Can someone say 'no respect'? What say we clean it up before we head home?" She lifted herself from Xander's side, slowly moving toward the grave.
"Don't, Buffy," Xander barked at her, stopping the Slayer suddenly. Buffy turned toward Xander, puzzlement furrowing her brow. "It's not vandalism. It's Willow."
"Willow?" Buffy twisted her head rapidly, nearly giving herself whiplash, hoping to see her friend again.
"She's the one who put the stones on his grave," Xander explained. "It's a Jewish thing. She told me once that Jewish people place stones on the graves of their loved ones instead of flowers, because flowers fade and die, while stones are eternal."
Buffy stared at the stones. "She must have been here every day since the funeral. God, she must hate me. I mean, if Oz hadn't been there—"
"Okay, Buffy," Xander gently placed his hands on the Slayer's shoulders, quieting her rant, "stop that line of thought now. You are not, repeat, NOT, permitted to blame yourself for anything you didn't do. You want to blame someone for Oz's death, blame Angelus. As for Willow hating you, I've known her for only forever, and I can tell you that she couldn't spell 'hate' if you spotted her the 'h', the 't' and the 'e'! She does not hate you. She does not hate, period."
Buffy's questing gaze reached Xander's eyes and saw the truth in them, the truth of his words. She turned back toward the grave, her eyes resting on the stones that her friend had placed on the headstone. She wanted to believe Xander's assertions. She wanted to believe that the person who placed the stones so reverently on the grave would never hate, that the girl she called 'best friend' would forgive her for failing Oz, or more likely declare that forgiveness wasn't required.
But she knew something else. She knew that the body of Willow Rosenberg now housed a soul far older than her years on earth.
A soul that, out of rage, had killed.
A soul that, out of despair, tried to destroy all creation.
A soul whose motives Buffy couldn't fathom.
A cold clammy dread grabbed Buffy's heart. More than Angelus, more than Spike, more than the Master, she feared that she had lost her best friend.
========
Buffy approached her house without speaking to Xander. The young man silently insisted that she not try to go home alone. The adrenalin charge she received from fighting the vamps had worn off and all that was holding her together was Red Bull and good intentions. To worn out and frazzled to argue, Buffy accepted Xander's company without speaking.
As she neared the front door of her home, a new fear hit her; her mother was probably waiting up for her, angry that she stayed out late with no good reason. She had considered her usual means of late-night entrance; climbing the tree up to the window of her bedroom, but was too weakened for even that maneuver. Her only hope was that her mother was working late at the art gallery.
That hope was dashed the moment she opened the door. Joyce Summers, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed as she regarded her daughter. Buffy felt a black lump of acid form in the pit of her stomach, knowing beyond all doubt that the words 'you're grounded' would figure prominently in the conversation.
Xander, recognizing the glare on Mrs. Summers' face, immediately charged to the rescue. "Uh, hi, Mrs. Summers, sorry I didn't tell you I was borrowing your daughter. She was helping me on my, uh, history paper. World War I."
"Right," Buffy nodded vigorously, grasping for anything she could remember about the first World War. "Remember, Xander, it was the assassination of the Arch Duke Ferdinand that started the war."
"And all this time I thought Ferdinand was a bull," Xander quipped. "Uh, I'd better be going. Don't bother to see me out, Mrs—"
"Xander," Joyce barked suddenly, "you'd better come with us. Come on, Buffy, we'll discuss your lame excuse later. Right now we have to go to the hospital."
"Hospital, Mom?" Buffy asked blankly.
"Mr. Giles called me while you were out," Joyce answered, a weariness in her voice as she grabbed the purse hanging from the doorknob and headed out the door, with Buffy and Xander close behind. "Apparently Willow collapsed at his front door tonight. He's bringing her to the hospital and I promised that we'd meet her there."
Buffy blanched at the statement, and at the worry lines etched deeply into her mother's face. She could almost hear Xander's teeth grinding behind her, as her own heart began hammering in her chest. Without a word she followed her mother out of the house and toward the jeep with Xander in pursuit. "Did Giles say what was wrong, Mrs. Summers?" Xander asked as he followed the Summers women.
"He said that it looked like a severe flu," Joyce answered as she opened the driver's side door. Xander quietly jumped into the back seat while Buffy took shotgun. Without another word, Joyce started the engine and drove off toward the hospital.
========
Giles and Jenny greeted the others when they arrived at the hospital, saying that Willow was in the Intensive Care Unit, and that's all the doctors would say. All they could do now was wait, which aggravated Buffy no end; if there was one thing Buffy was terrible at doing, it was waiting. Especially at a hospital.
Cordelia quietly entered the waiting room, carrying a box of Krispy Kreme donuts. She and Xander had argued earlier when Xander insisted on tagging along with Buffy on her patrol. She had accused Xander of being too concerned about Buffy, especially considering that he was dating Cordy now. After hearing about Willow's medical emergency, Cordy found it harder to justify her anger toward Xander. "Here, guys," she whispered, "thought you could use a sugar rush while we wait." She placed the box on a nearby table, adding, "Xander calls dibs on the chocolate frosted one, though." She glanced at Xander, a comforting smile on her face, which Xander returned warmly. Giles and Joyce both reached for a donut, but Buffy sat quietly in her seat.
Buffy started to scan the waiting room before staring down the clean white hallway at the antiseptic white doors of the ICU, watching while white suited doctors and nurses hurried to and fro, carrying white trays and pushing white carts. "Why do hospitals have to be white?" she muttered to no one in particular. Xander craned his head in Buffy's direction, a question forming on his brow. "Seriously," she continued, noticing Xander's casual interest. "Why all this white? Can't you have sterile environments in earth tones? How about some wooden floors, or paisley seat covers or something, huh?" Shaking her head in frustration, she added, "Sorry, guys, I'm not coping. I just wish that they'd tell us what's wrong with Willow!" She slumped in her seat and lowered her head in quiet rage.
Xander, Giles and Jenny glanced at the agitated Slayer, then turned back toward Joyce. Mrs. Summers nodded sympathetically toward her daughter. "She's always hated hospitals," Joyce explained. "Her cousin Celia died in a hospital when she was eight." The others nodded quietly, as Buffy closed her eyes and slouched further in her seat, her misery compounding as the seconds ticked by in agonizing slowness.
Finally a doctor emerged from the ICU and approached the gathered friends. "Excuse me," the doctor asked Giles, "I'm Doctor Garber. Are you Miss Rosenberg's father?"
"N-no," Giles stammered in slight discomfort, the fiberglass waiting room seat aggravating the crick in his back. "I'm one of her teachers, Rupert Giles. Jenny and I," he hastily gestured toward his girlfriend, who nodded helpfully, "we're teachers at Sunnydale High School."
"Ah," Dr. Garber answered calmly. "Actually, she has 'Rupert Giles' listed as her contact on her school ID, in case of emergency. I thought you might be her legal guardian or some such."
"Sadly no," Giles answered. "Her parents, however, are frequently absent," ('And as far as I'm concerned, she's better off without them,' he thought but didn't say) "so I suppose I'm the next best thing."
"I see," Dr. Garber nodded non-committally. "Anyway, Willow is recovering from a rather serious flu. Her fever just broke, however—" The doctor's statement was interrupted by two audible sighs from Buffy and Xander. "—so she's going to pull through. I would like to keep her here for observation, however. We'll be wheeling her into a private room shortly, but we're not sure how she'll handle visitors. She's still a little delirious."
As Dr. Garber finished speaking, the ICU doors flew open, as orderlies wheeled out a steel gurney. Buffy caught sight of a flash of red hair, and jumped out of her seat, rushing toward the gurney, the others rapidly following her. "Willow," Buffy soothed, "you're gonna be okay. Just rest, honey. Just rest."
"N-no," Willow began to thrash back and forth on the gurney, moaning softly as the orderlies gently restrained her and mopped the sweat off of her brow. "No, got-ta stop-stop the v-vampires...the K-kin-nderstod..."
"Uh, don't worry," Giles spoke gently, trying to calm the babbling young woman. "We'll take care of those nasty vampires. You just relax and leave everything to us." Turning toward Dr. Garber, he added, "You were quite right, she is still slightly delirious."
"Perhaps we'd better wait until tomorrow for her to see any visitors," Dr. Garber suggested, as he and the orderlies carted Willow away. "She should be fine then."
"Yes, thank you," Giles answered. Buffy tried to follow the gurney, but Giles gently tugged at her arm, holding her back. Buffy turned around and looked at the others. "You heard the doctor, right? She's gonna be okay. That's good, right?"
Xander nodded vigorously. "Yeah, good. Better than good, even. Uh, goodest. Or best, or whatever, shutting up now." Jenny valiantly attempted to suppress a chuckle as Xander blushed furiously, only to be shot down by Giles' withering stare. Jenny composed herself, but could not disguise the mischief that glowed in her eyes. A mischief that Giles secretly found attractive.
Joyce stood apart from the two lovers, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, her face set in a hard scowl as she glared at her daughter. "Buffy," she spoke in quiet, bitten-off tones, "I would like to talk to you. Alone." She spun on her heel and walked briskly toward the main entrance. Buffy slowly followed her retreating mother.
"Hey," Xander called back, "you think she's gonna ground you?"
Buffy turned her head slightly, a world-weary cast to her eyes. "If I'm lucky."
========
Buffy sat in the passenger's side of her mother's jeep, her head slumped in defeat and gnawing fear. She had tried twice to speak to her mother, but Joyce only raised her hand in a curt motion, cutting off all communication. Buffy sat silently for the rest of the trip, staring at her mother, who refused to even turn her attention to her. She kept her head faced firmly forward, her eyes riveted to the road ahead of her. The drive back from the hospital became the longest period in Buffy's life.
Finally, the Jeep pulled up in the garage. Joyce stopped the jeep, shut off the ignition and exited the vehicle. As Buffy climbed out of the jeep, she gazed hard at the exterior of the house, as her mother unlocked the back door and entered the house without even glancing once at Buffy. Better get used to this place, Buffy thought, because odds are I won't see the outside of it until I graduate.
Buffy entered the house on leaden feet, feeling like she was walking the last mile toward the firing squad. As she closed the door behind her, she swallowed hard and lifted her head to face her mother. Joyce Summers looked back at her, her brow furrowed in concentration, the tendons in her neck stretching against the skin. Buffy knew that her mother was trying desperately to remain calm.
"Buffy," Joyce finally began, "you must understand that sending you to that mental hospital in Los Angeles after the, uh, incident in Hemery was the most difficult decision that I had to make in my life."
"Mom, I—" Buffy began, but Joyce cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand. "Please, Buffy, let me finish. I was worried for you. You had run away to Las Vegas, I had seen your diary, I didn't want to believe what you were writing down. I was scared. I admit that. I was losing my baby and I didn't know what to do about it. And no, before you say anything, I'm not blaming you for my divorce from Hank." With a derisive snort, she added, "I blame that tramp secretary of his. Anyway," she collected herself, "I believed that I was doing the right thing. I thought that it had worked. That you had gotten those fantasies about vampires out of your system." Buffy sat motionless, a black bile rising in her throat. She had prayed for so long that she would never have to reveal her darkest secret to her mother, but now she didn't see what other choice she had.
"But then there's tonight," Joyce continued, "and Willow's sudden outburst about fighting vampires. Not only do you still persist in this little delusion of yours, you're dragging your friends into it. All I want is to understand why."
A dam broke within Buffy's psyche, and the floodgates to her soul had opened. "I didn't drag anyone into anything," Buffy shouted, unable, and not particularly willing, to control her rage. "You want to know the truth, Mom? Here's the truth! There are vampires out there. And lucky me, I'm the one who's destined to stop them!"
"Buffy, keep your voice down!" Joyce hissed at her daughter. "You want the neighbors to think you're crazy?"
"Why the hell not?" Buffy shrieked. "You do, don't you?"
"I didn't say that..." Joyce started, but Buffy shouted her down; "Oh, then why did you have me locked up? For my sinuses?" Buffy prowled around her mother, her Slayer side rapidly taking over. Joyce searched her daughter's eyes for any sign of recognition, of any sense that this was her daughter. A spark of Buffy was still in there, inside her charcoal-gray orbs, but it was subdued by the predatory fire, the snarl on her lips, the body tensed like a coiled spring ready to strike.
"Look around you, Mom," Buffy snarled at Joyce. "How many people you know have disappeared without a trace since we moved here? How do you explain the fact that this town's got more cemeteries than Los Angeles, and only one fifth of the population? Remember last year, when the doctor told you that you fell on a barbecue fork? WE DON'T HAVE A BARBEQUE FORK!"
Joyce gasped hard, desperately trying to regain her breath. "Buffy," she stammered, "I don't understand half of what goes on here, but vampires? I cannot believe that!"
"Maybe you should hang out with me some night," Buffy suggested angrily. "But I warn you, don't eat beforehand, or you'll toss it up! Forget it, Mom, you'd never believe me anyway. Just trust me that vampires do exist." With a frustrated growl, Buffy turned toward the door. "In fact, I hope that a lot of them exist right now, because I need to work out some aggression! Don't wait up, I won't be back for a long while." Buffy pushed hard against the door, nearly blowing it off its hinges as she headed outside.
"BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS!" Joyce screamed as she followed her daughter outside of the house. "I am not through talking to you!"
"I beg to differ," a sultry British voice called from the shadows, a voice that Buffy recognized all too well. Before Buffy could react, a taloned hand grabbed Joyce's throat, dragging her off the porch. With lightning speed, the fiend held Joyce captive, twisting her right arm behind her back. "Trust me, Miss Summers," the bottle-blond vampire spat, his words poison in Joyce's ears, "you're through talking. In fact, you'll be through breathing in a few moments."
"Back away slowly, Spike," Buffy intoned levelly. "You have one shot at walking away alive, I suggest you take it."
"Ooh, scary scary," Spike hissed, his lips curled into a mad-dog snarl. "You think you know how it's gonna go down, don't you, Slayer? Here's how it goes down! You took Dru from me, you killed my dark angel. You killed the one thing that made my unlife bearable. You stole everything from me, now I'm gonna take everything away from you!" He turned his head toward Joyce, his face contorting into a sickening mockery of humanity; horned brow, yellow eyes, regarding Joyce as a hungry man would eye a Big Mac. The terrified woman stared at the thing that held her, her eyes big as baseballs, her mouth hanging unhinged, her heart jammed in her throat. There was no way to deny or explain away what was happening. This thing called 'Spike' was a vampire. And she was at his mercy.
"Say goodnight, Gracie," he crooned as he bared his fangs and lowered his mouth toward Joyce's throat.
"Goodnight, Gracie," Buffy called out as she launched herself toward Spike. Sailing past her mother with a flying kick, her right foot connected with Spike's jaw with a sickening thud. Spike fell back, releasing Joyce who stood unmoving, almost catatonic as her daughter delivered a vicious uppercut to the monster's jaw. "Mom!" Buffy shouted, "Duck and cover! Get down!" Joyce backed away slowly, still watching the display before her.
"Y'know," Spike spat out as he lunged toward Buffy, "I used to like this world. I mean look at it; it has Manchester United, the Love Boat and people." He grabbed Buffy by her shoulders and threw her into a nearby tree, before punching her in the gut. "Billions of them, walking around like Happy Meals with legs." He ducked as Buffy righted herself and threw a sloppy right hook at the vampire. "But all that means Jack without someone to share it with," he continued as he and Buffy circled each other, "someone like Dru. You killed my sire, didja know that?" Spike thrust his hand forward in a series of rapid jabs which Buffy evaded easily. "I just can't let that go without retribution, can I? I mean, how could I live with myself if I—UGH!"
Joyce watched in silence as Buffy shoved a crude wooden stake hard into Spike's chest, and the blond vampire exploded in a cloud of ashes. As the ashes settled, Buffy clapped the dust off of her hands, grimly regarding her surroundings. "Elvis has left the building," she announced.
Buffy moved toward her mother and offered her hand to her. Joyce flinched for a second, causing Buffy to back away. "Th-that..thing," Joyce stammered quietly, "th-that was a v-vampire, wasn't it?"
Buffy nodded slowly. "Yep."
"And this D-dru he was talking about," Joyce continued, "she was also a vampire?"
"Yep."
Joyce swallowed hard and continued her line of thought, half-aware of her daughter's presence. "And you, you just—" she paused, not wanting to even think the word.
"Slew them," Buffy supplied the word.
"Why?" Joyce's single-word question caught Buffy by surprise. She wasn't condemning; she was simply trying to understand.
Buffy cocked her head slightly. "Because he tried to kill you."
Joyce shook her head in frustration. "No, that's not what I meant. Why? Why do you do it? Why are you the Slayer?"
Buffy nodded in understanding. "This could take all night to explain, Mom."
Joyce shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere. I just need to know, why do you do—what you do?"
Buffy stood before her mother, silently praying for understanding. "Because nobody else can." She stepped forward, offering her outstretched hand. "Please, Mom, I want to explain this to you. I never meant to hurt you by lying but I couldn't tell you about my freaky life. Please, Mom. Let's go inside, I'll make some coffee, and we can hash this out. Please."
Joyce looked at the outstretched hand before her, and at the girl who held it before her. The girl who gave her a crude homemade Mother's Day card when she was five. The girl who cried fiercely when her cousin Celia had died when she was eight. The girl who had been expelled from Hemery for burning down the school gym.
The girl who, for all the grief that she had given her over the years was still her daughter.
Joyce slowly reached out to her daughter, taking her small but incredibly strong hand in her own. "Better make it decaf," Joyce quipped feebly. "I doubt I'll be sleeping tonight anyway." Buffy flashed a slight smile for her mother's benefit, as the two women slowly approached their back door, and Buffy steeled herself for the thousands of questions she knew her mother would ask.
It was going to be a long night.