Wish Upon A Demon
by UrbanGoth
First Glimpse Of Emerald City.
[reviews]
Wahey! A computer and no Writers' Block - this is the way the world should work.
NOTES: [ ] - thoughts
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It wasn't so much a searing, writhing pain as a tickly stab. Probably the closest likeness was to that of getting a tattoo... only with much larger needles.
Ethan Rayne lay swallowed by the Wilton carpet, truthfully unaware of what he had just accomplished.
"...because it has all been done..."
He could feel the concrete under the thick fabrics vibrating softly under his ear from the gentle pressure of sure footsteps. A pair of brilliantly shined leather shoes glided across his blinkered window of sight and disappeared again. Another pair of not so buffed, possibly mud-lined shoes trampled past heavily on their toes, helplessly dancing around the calm pair.
"...she was ruined, Master; I saw it all..."
He tried to move. Tried so hard but nothing wanted to. His brain was closing off without his knowledge, stopping the neurones abruptly in their bid to reach the arm he so desperately wanted to raise, or the leg he wanted to shift. God knows why. What good would it do him, really, to move right now? Either way he was going to die.
"...did receive her present. So Mr. Rayne did deliver my message..."
He heard a thud and felt a blunted toe-poke at his ribs. Anvil-heavy, his head swung to the left, willing the toe-bearer to come into focus. [You bloody kick me again mate... and... and... and what?] The toe-bearer was lost again in a sea of blurry darkness, then apparent. Then gone, then apparent. [Bloody hell.]
So this is dying... Taking its time a bit, isn't it?
"...wake him up..." He felt a slight nudge at his ribs again. "...he's still alive..."
The sodding Master was prodding him in the side with his foot. So, with all the energy he could muster...
"What?" he spat. "Surely we're finished here. I'd like to die in peace. A man needs his dignity, you know."
"Indeed, Mr. Rayne." The Master tapped his fingertips lightly together, humming slightly. He looked a bit pleased with himself, considering all he'd done was sit on his arse for the past millennia... Gliding in and out of consciousness, Ethan sighed heavily, waiting for the inevitable. "All I would like is to offer you my thanks in dealing with this matter."
The Brit rolled his eyes and sighed again, fed up beyond measure. "Right."
"I knew I could count on you. So snivelling, such the underdog." He paused for effect. "It's that thirst to prove yourself."
"Right." His eyes tuned in again to the darkness and off to one side he spotted Mr. Kick-'Em, smirking. [Dodgy bastard.]
"I was much the same you know," he continued humming through his leathery wrinkles. "I was the runt. Always had to live up to my elder siblings." He nodded to himself consolingly.
Ethan stared at him in disbelief, not caring if this was a load of horseshit or not.
"Right. Yeah." He sighed what he knew now was his final sigh. "Look, I really don't think this is the time for the Boss/Employee bonding session. Really. I can't move anything from the neck down, which isn't actually the agreed reward for doing my part of the deal, if you remember. You broke your word to me and that will come back to you I am sure, but right now, I really do have to get on with this dying business. So, if you would be so kind as to just piss off, I would be very grateful. Thank. You."
The Master gazed out through the deep ebony embedded in his walnut-like face and, after a calculating minute, shrugged. He smiled smugly down at the body on the rugs.
"Mr. Rayne, I see no reason why a vampire should deal with humans and have them expect him to keep his word. A demon is not evil so he can keep a promise. Even though I do like the spunk you've gained during you final few breaths." He grinned again at Ethan for the last time and turned to the toe-bearer.
"He did the spell. The Slayer will die. This is the one thing that plagues her... Kill him."
Ethan saw Mr. Kick-'Em smirk again. He rolled his eyes, closed them and simply waited for the kick to his temple, to take away the world, thinking his final thought.
[Good bloody riddance.]
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A harsh rap at the door ripped him from his good luck drink. He stared down at it, twirling the ice around for the tinkling noise he loved to think would protect him during the night. Nothing else did. He placed the glass on the varnished surface next to him and picked up a bat, ready to open the door.
You can never be too careful in Sunnydale.
Cautiously he opened the door, very aware that it could be a daywalking demon or something else just as, if not more, threatening. Completely unaware that the slayer would be joining him.
"Buffy?"
"Hey." She said flippantly, guiding a young redhead in through the door by the hand.
"Hi Giles!" She waved furiously at him, grinning wildly.
He had no idea who she was.
"Um.. Hello." He ventured awkwardly, ignoring the intimacy between the two girls, but fearing it a little.
Willow turned her head to Buffy as they leant against the back of the sofa and raised an eyebrow, almost in permission. The slayer smiled delicately and let go of her hand causing the redhead to run into the less staunch but still very British man. She wrapped him in a tight hug, her arms gripping his ribs, and she mumbled into his jumper. He stumbled back a little and looked at the slayer in shock, who shrugged in the most unhelpful way possible, a small smirk playing on her lips, twisting the scar.
She let go of him and smiled gratefully knowing he was still alive, reminding her that there was always a little glimmer of hope, no matter how dark the cloud.
"Um... Hello?" He repeated again. No idea what to say.
"I'm Willow. You don't know who I am." It was a helpful statement. It was.
"Um. Yes, quite." He hesitated. "Feel free to explain anytime."
"Sorry." She caught herself and pulled out of the stare she had been lodged in. He looked so different. His face, his size, his clothes. His usually clean-shaven features were more rugged, even dashing, she would go so far to say. Like Buffy, his posture was also unlike that of her Giles'. He too seemed, maybe not hyper-aware, but more aware of his surroundings. He knew where his exits were and he had all four limbs and would use them at his discretion. The witch reached out gently and touched the arm of his shirt, not surprised when he peered at her cautiously, ready to use the bat. It was cotton and hung well on his possibly taller frame. This Giles had fought more battles than she had seen, she knew that. His body seemed bigger, wider and his arms were less lax than she had noticed them to be before. Her Giles walked with a hand in his suit pocket, ruffling the jacket, often twiddling with or waving about a book in the other hand, typical loafing stature. Here, the man that stood before her had tense, ready arms, and a stiff back. He walked to his drink with a purpose, lifted it with a purpose, drank it with a purpose, and placed it back on the bar with a purpose.
"Okay, from the top..."
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"Well, that is quite a story." Giles, sat on a chair, scotch in one hand, chin in the other, said to the witch. It had certainly been a long journey for such a young girl. Seemed she had quite a bit of power.
Willow nodded slowly. Slowly to make sure he understood, slowly to not shake Buffy from her current position. During the tale, the ever impatient slayer having heard this all before and been there for part of it, had grown restless. She had wandered to his bookcase and began fingering the books. After glaring at a Willow-engrossed Giles for the swift ice-cube to the back of her head she had left the books. They weren't that interesting anyway. What exactly does he need to hide? Then she had wandered over to the refrigerator, searched for something to eat or drink, and glared again at the watcher for a second ice-cube to the back of the head, who, naturally, took no notice whatsoever. She sighed and spotted his drink cabinet but figuring it really wasn't worth it, she had settled on the couch next to Willow, a hand guarding the lump she was gaining.
Now, the witch could feel the slayer's head resting on her blackened legs, dared not touch her and dared not move.
"Well, we should get you back, no question."
Willow, felt herself freeze. "Uh... no. No. Not yet." She stuttered. "There's more to this story."
Giles sat up again and leaned forward.
"But, it's not my place to tell, really." She added quickly.
Instantly, she regretted her words. Buffy had grown tense on her thighs and had sat up, running her hands through her hair.
"Buffy," she leaned in towards the blond, who let out a deep breath. "Buffy, you don't have to... I mean, it would help but, y'know, if it hurts too much I can--"
"No." Buffy sat fully upright again and turned to the man in the chair. "I saw my mother tonight."
Apparently, Willow figured, the watcher knew about Mrs. Summers' death, for his eyes widened slightly, giving him a panic-slash-confused expression.
The slayer continued. "She was dead... but she was walking."
"Not vampire?" Asked Giles.
"No," she conceded. "No, not vampire. If anything I would say zombie. She was like a zombie."
Willow heard the crack in Buffy's voice and reached for her hand, holding it firmly, a foundation. The slayer seemed to pick up on the energy and, more emboldened, resumed her tale more solidly.
"She didn't seem to recognise me, but I don't know how it works. I think she had just risen. I really don't know zombies..."
"When we fought them before they didn't have any irises or pupils."
Both heads swivelled to the redhead. "Well... back in the other dimension we had to fight zombies on your first day back in Sunnydale." The faces on both heads wore blank expressions. "Different story for a different time," Willow said quietly. "The point is they were like Mrs. Summers--" Buffy's grip tightened a little "--but it was a mask thingy that brought them all to the house. An African mask."
"I don't have an African mask." Buffy said defensively.
"No, I mean... the other you, in the other dimension. Besides, it wasn't yours; it was from the gallery your Mom worked at. You hated it." The witch stated, unmoveable in opinion.
"No, Will, I mean, I don't have one now, so there's no way that could've... brought her back."
"No, indeed not." Giles sat, his chin in his hand once again, and thought with a gentle hum in the deep of his throat. "And she didn't attack you?" He said quietly. Buffy shook her head. Giles surfed into retrospect again. "Why not..?" he mumbled to himself.
"Maybe they want you to follow her? Like a trap or something." Willow played in.
"Possibly, yes," Giles agreed. "To lure you to the Master. I believe killing a slayer would make him stronger and more respected yet."
"That has to be why she's here," chimed Willow. Buffy's attention pinballed between the two sides of the conversation. "Why else would she be in Sunnydale after being buried in Cleveland."
"So what do I do?" Buffy said finally, quite exasperated. "I can't just sit here like a potato while something's going on. Do I go? Do I stay?"
"Oh no, no. Undoubtedly, you will have to go. The Master needs you there for some reason, which he would eventually accomplish anyway, possibly at a time you are not aware of. Better to stay uphill during battle." He had said it half to himself. He stopped talking and sipped at his scotch again.
Willow could hear the words before they were even contemplated. [To the books?] thought the witch. "I think we should, uh, research into this further," he stood up and made his way to the bookcase, muttering, "just to be sure. We need to know what spell this could be. Some of them have some nasty side effects."
Willow nodded.
Good to see that some things just don't change.
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"God. Thump, thud, bang, boom, thump, thud. You'd think he was digging his books out of the walls."
Willow giggled in the noise. She and Buffy were sat beside the bookcase, rifling through the leather-bound journals, spellbooks and history volumes (Buffy tapped a book pointedly. "I told them Hitler was Hellmouthy"). The witch sat lotus on the rug, leafing through a grubby, worn Evil For Dummies quite comfortably, which Giles swore was a present from his Grandfather, where the little blond struggled to get settled on even one book.
"I don't do this." She kept saying. "I've never had to. My watcher does all of this for me, or I just stumble across them. I find, I fight, I kill." She sighed. "I don't do this."
"Then now is the best time to learn, isn't it?" Willow radiated such authority Buffy sat down immediately to her side.
"Were you a dictator in a past life? I feel very reprimanded." The witch heard the sparkle in the blonde's eyes, grateful for Buffy's sense of humour.
"It's all in the eyes," nodded Willow in experience, not ripping her attention from the book.
"It's very nice." The slayer grinned. Willow shook her head and continued to smile. She was so close to content right now. If it weren't for the looming zombie problem and knowing she really didn't belong here, Willow knew that using the word 'happy' for her current mood might not even be getting too radical.
Although, the happiness came with it's balance of guilt, as is always the case. Sat with the slayer in such close proximity to her, Willow could feel her there, feel her heat and presence. Half of her was focusing intently on the book, the other half clinging to the slayer's aura. It had never changed, since the day they first researched together, maybe even met. Yet, back home, the witch knew that she would never be only hers to study. Back home, Willow had to share Buffy. With Xander, and Oz, Cordelia, Giles, other people at school... But here Willow was one of the few things that Buffy knew, excluding vampires and all other unholy beings, and they had each other to themselves. In fact, the redhead, despite how little time they had spent together, was almost sure that she was possibly the only consistency and maybe the closest thing to Buffy in this world.
Which was heartbreaking to think about, honestly. Barely a day they had known each other and Willow had become Buffy's strength. Was it only because there was no one else? Maybe there really was something there... Something special.
A loud thud from above woke her. Willow shook herself. [Just don't. Really, just don't.]
Buffy was still mumbling curses at the paper in front of her, probably hoping the witch couldn't hear them. She was trying though, to give her the benefit of the doubt. She wasn't actively cursing them (which Willow had thought about on more than one occasion when faced with what seemed like fruitless research) and seemed to be settling for a thick, musty book. Willow, considering this odd, glanced questioningly at the slayer who turned with a little half-smile.
The witch felt her eyes burn and swell. Somewhere a light flickered inside her and tickled. Buffy's gentle smile, innocent as it may have seemed at first, had lingered just a little longer than a passing gesture, and had played with that light.
Willow's eyes lidded. She bit her bottom lip. She exhaled.
If only.
"Willow?" It was quiet, but loud enough to draw her from the world behind her eyelids. She focused on the writing to gather bearings and turned with a soft 'hmm?' to the blond. Buffy had put the book down and was kneeling. "Are you.." She hesitated. Willow knew the question before it was asked, but she wanted to hear the slayer say it. The witch had the feeling that there weren't a lot of people that Buffy had ever asked this of before. "Are you ok?"
Willow nodded softly and a slow smile played her featured.
Buffy exhaled a measured breath. "I, uh... I have to ask you something." The witch's brow furrowed and fear crept from behind her ears to the nape of her neck delicately. When she didn't answer or turn away, Buffy took it as a sign to continue. "Why have you stayed? Why aren't you back with me somewhere else?"
Such a strange choice of words... back with me... Willow closed her dry mouth. She needed a drink.
"I.." Now she herself hesitated. Something left unsaid for so long needs preparation, and time, clearly, all wrapped up in a moment's hesitation. "I need to see you safe."
"You shouldn't be here. You should be there. With the other me. The me that doesn't know how lucky she is," Buffy admitted sullenly. "But... I just..."
"What?" Willow too was leaning closer now, trying to catch the subtext. "You just what?"
"You've been so good for me here." Buffy looked down at the book. "I never tell people things; I hardly stick around anywhere for more than a half-hour unless it's a really good fight. And I never really had a friend since Ashleigh." Her head hung a little lower. "I know I shouldn't ask you to fight with me but I'm going to anyway. I need you with me tonight. There's no way I can face her alone." She ran a small, elegant hand through her hair and turned her head towards the green-eyed witch. "Please. I swear, I will not let you get hurt... But I need you with me." The slayer was on the verge of tears again. Willow saw her dim, and grow smaller. She shook a little. Fear? Excitement?
The witch reached over to Buffy's hand and took it in her own, brushing her thumb back and forth over the skin. All doubts forgotten, all fear aside. "You should know you can't keep me away. Buffy has always been my best friend and it's not about to change now."
Buffy got to her feet and retrieved a tissue from its box on the coffee table. She held it between her fingers and stared at it, thumbing the soft material, still teary. Willow, feeling a hug coming on, stood also and picked her way quietly to the slayer. Lightly, she let her hand rest on the shoulder before her until Buffy turned and took the redhead into a soft embrace. Willow sighed into it, running her hand over the blonde blanket of hair. Buffy's chin rested on the taller girl and she pulled in tighter. The witch felt a small movement and heard something no louder than a breath.
"Thank you."
Willow smiled and pulled out of the embrace slightly to reach the slayer's forehead. She pressed her lips lightly onto the mochachino skin and teased the nerves in Buffy's cheeks. [I need to see you safe.]
Feeling the lips withdraw from her head the slayer let out a small, stifled sob and thinking of nothing but now, caught those lips again.
Willow inhaled sharply at the sudden onslaught of feelings. Her lungs tightened and caught in her throat, but she had to hold back. The kiss was so bittersweet to her, knowing that this could never happen again, knowing that she would never have this from any other girl, especially Buffy. Willow had never met anyone as mesmerizing as Buffy and knew she would never again. So much history backed this kiss that even the slayer before her wasn't aware of. Years of thanks, admiration and friendship shaped these lips and how they moved. She felt fingers drift into her hair, around her head, pulling her closer as they grew together. Buffy tasted of fear, pain and need and Willow caught a hint of salt as the mighty slayer cried into the kiss.
She backed away, ripping herself from Buffy's lips.
Immediately, Buffy's gaze drifted to the floor and her arms folded across her chest. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted--"
"I do." Willow replied swiftly [Oh Goddess, do I.] "But I.. We..." She looked to the ceiling for inspiration. Her hands caught her temples as it fell back to eye level with the slayer. "How can this work, Buffy?"
Buffy's eyes hardened slightly. "I know. I- I get it."
"Buffy, this isn't about you. Well, it kinda is but not specifically, I mean--"
"Look," Buffy interjected," It's ok. I understand."
"No. You don't." Willow replied. "This... I do want it but I know it won't happen again."
"It doesn't have to," Buffy started. Her hands moved vehemently as she talked. "Life is short, Will. Sometimes you just have to do what you can, while you can."
"I can't, Buffy," she said quietly, but felt her resistance level mowed down to 1 as she saw the slayer visibly flinch. "There's so much in this that it's hard to tell what matters." Even Willow herself didn't understand fully just how accurate that sentence was.
"Can't you just let it go?" Buffy was dancing on the cliff edge of begging.
Willow knew this need. She had felt it. "Just for one more kiss?" She said in a tiny voice.
Buffy nodded. "Just for one more kiss..." she breathed in agreement.
Willow let go and found herself running her hand over Buffy's hair again, kissing her again, wanting her still. This time there was no melancholic twang, no bitter regrets, no heavy history. Just one more kiss. This may be the last time Willow ever kissed Buffy. The last time she ever kissed anyone like this again. So she let it have her and melted with it and as she felt Buffy climb into her, she reached out and welcomed it. Since the first time Buffy looked at her, in that hall as she ran, Willow knew she would fast become a part of her. Now she knew exactly which part.
She would always treasure Buffy on her lips.
TBC