Ten Thousand Days - 4 - Wings
by Valyssia
Ascended
[reviews]
A handsome muscular man clothed only in a white silk toga and sandals paced in front of a curved table in a well lit room. Behind the table were seated seven other men dressed in similar fashion.
The man spoke in a lyrical voice, "What was prophesied has come to pass. Our influence on the world of men is ended. The last of the true Chosen will lead an army to vanquish the remainder of our progeny on the earth."
"What of our seed?" asked a dark-skinned man in a red toga to his right.
"It is as we feared. The seed of our kind is no longer viable in the world of men, even inside a host. When the young witch passed through to her realm, it was destroyed, leaving her as barren as her sister," the first man answered. He put his finger to his chin and raised it in a thoughtful gesture. "The Prophesy is plain in this matter: by her ten-thousandth day, the Chosen will complete her mission. We can only seek to stand in her way. She foolishly collects enemies as a dog collects fleas. We may yet have what we seek. Many prophesies have been proven false by the folly of man."
"For now, we have other matters to which we must attend." The leader turned his back on his fellows and called to the guards standing at the entrance, "Bring us the traitor, Rosier, and his woman." Once Rosier had entered the room with his arms bound to a large piece of wood, the man spoke again, "For the crime of treason — aiding the enemy by allowing our weapons to fall into their hands — your sentence shall be crucifixion before the lower court. To be carried out immediately."
As the guards dragged Rosier from the court, the man's gaze leveled on Alexa. He gestured to the guard and they ripped her clothing away. He spoke in a low venomous voice, "You are to answer for the crimes of the Chosen. You will be stripped of your rank." He pointed at her feet and a burly imp approached her, cutting the silver rings from her hamstrings. The imp moved to her wrists and repeated the process. A sharp metal bar slid through the pierced flesh of her ankles. The imps used the bar to knock her onto her face. When she began to scream, a gag was shoved into her mouth. The two imps seized her arms and impaled her wrists on the bar then raised her up by it.
"Your life force will be joined with your husband's. When he dies, you will be allowed to join him. As you know, crucifixion is merely torture to my people. Your wrists will be bound and nailed to the base of his cross. Then you will be positioned prostrate before him for the pleasure of the lower court." When he finished speaking, the man waved the imps away.
***********
Willow turned to look out the window. Sunlight beamed in, warming her shoulders. She shifted her weight in the wheelchair that the nurses insisted she stay in. Her left forearm itched from the sling that bound it to her stomach. A deep sigh passed wistfully from her as she turned back to take her slayer's hand again. She's alive.
"Y'know, if you don't rest you're never gonna get better," Faith whispered as she entered the room.
A soft snicker slipped out, then Willow turned to face the brunette. "Could say similar for you," she offered frankly.
After crossing the room, Faith took a seat in the hospital recliner next to the witch. "Alright...fair, but I wasn't under the knife a couple days ago with a punctured lung, Red."
"No, but the way I hear it, you were digging through a bunch of unstable rubble looking for a certain blonde," Willow replied in a tone that mocked annoyance, but her face spoke of gratitude.
"S'okay, Red, just doin' my job. If one of you bites it, I end up leadin'," Faith offered with a cheesy grin. The grin morphed into a bright smile, fading when she added, "So not my thing."
A wry grin flashed over her features before Willow remarked, "So that would be the 'why'... Vi and Rona were here yesterday, telling me how freaked out you were. Quite a story. Almost sounded like you cared. You just don't want a promotion... Totally explains it."
Faith nodded. "That's the story I'm stickin' to. Wouldn't want B. to get all mushy over it." She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, "I have news from the frontline if you want it."
Willow shifted attentively toward Faith, making eye contact. She made the 'go ahead' hand gesture with her good arm.
"The teams finished the sifting last night. Last bits of that thing are gone. The covens helped us bounce 'em all over. Have you ever been to Timbuktu? Be glad if you haven't. It's a dust pit," Faith commented amusedly, grinning softly at the witch. She grew quiet and sullen, stalling to avoid the inevitable. When the redhead's expression changed to curiosity, she continued reluctantly, "Next bit... I'm not sure how to tell ya, so... I'm just gonna do it. The vet managed to save one of the pups. I'm sorry." Her eyes turned to the floor and fixed on a crack in the tile. Funny how shit changes. Years ago I might've loved this. Now I can't take seein' her cry. My luck I get to play the asshole. Short straw.
Faith started to mumble apprehensively, "Just gettin' our people into the site was a total bitch. We had to play the mojo game—" she stopped when the witch whispered something she didn't quite hear. "Sorry?"
Willow looked up from her lap. Tears stained her cheeks. "Which one?" she asked in a choked voice.
"Cha-something, I'm sorry. I didn't know their names. She's the one that survived," Faith responded, nervously turning her attention away from the weeping redhead.
"Figures it'd be hers," Willow muttered, casting her gaze back at her lap.
"Look, Will, I should bail. We've been siftin' through, trying to salvage what we can. Personal stuff and all," Faith offered as she stood up to leave.
Willow looked up as Faith made her way to the door. "'Kay... Thanks for—"
Faith stopped next to the door and turned back to meet the witch's gaze. Her eyes filled with sympathy as she offered in a firm voice, "Don't thank me. It's cool. Y'know we'll get through this, right, Will? We always do."
A subtle sad smile passed over her face and Willow tipped her chin in a faint nod. When Faith had gone, she struggled for a few moments to retract the lower railing on Buffy's bed with one hand. Finally frustration and a minor magickal assist removed the annoyance. Leaning forward, she turned her head to face her partner and lay it next to her thighs, reclaiming the hand. All I wanna do is be close to you. Stupid hospitals.
***********
A bloody moon hung low on the horizon, backlighting a lone standing figure on a pale horse. The field was littered with the bodies of the dead and shadowed in crimson light. Stark silence pressed down on the field, broken only by the occasional death rattle.
Willow started across the expanse, picking her way through, careful not to tread on the fallen. Her gaze was set on the ground in front of her as she moved. Faces of the dead came into view when she passed. Some of them were familiar to her, some were not. She pushed the bleak reality of the scene from her mind. The rider was what was important here. She glanced up to look at the figure as she drew closer. The eyes of the woman on the pale horse glowed red.
The woman pulled the reins of her horse, turning toward the approaching foe. In her right hand a large battleaxe stood ready to strike. The horse's head dipped to the ground as the woman dug her heels into its flanks, urging the animal forward.
Willow responded to the threat by focusing her power. As the horse charged, she rose from the ground. The energy she collected shone around her, casting a soft, white light on the blood-stained field. By the time the rider reached her, she was high above the ground. She swooped in, just out of reach. She had to know. "Buffy?" she called as her gaze locked with the red, piercing eyes.
The rider rose in her saddle, coaxing her horse into a graceful courbette. The axe lashed out in answer to the query.
Willow rolled her eyes and dodged the blow. "'Kay so...lemme guess... We're on another 'this is where I belong—I'm so evil' trip, right? Nice symbolism, but it needs a little work," she offered wryly. When she finished commenting, the ground began to rumble violently. The pale horse fell, casting its rider aside. She looked down at the woman as she lay on the ground and winked. "You forgot this," an altar rose from the ground under the woman, "and this," three other horsemen rode onto the field, "oh and we can't overlook this," a trumpet sounded in the distance and massive dragon approached, sweeping from behind a cloud. "You might wanna get ready. Think the dragon's hungry."
"So, here's the thing, Buffy..." Willow remarked as the woman rose and dropped naturally into a combat stance below her. "You showed me something this week." She waved a hand absently and heavy vegetation began to spring up around the field, claming the bodies of the fallen. "I violated you worse than anyone ever has. I know it. I know you, or at least your history." The dragon approached them as the other riders backed away. "Your answer? You didn't blame me." She waved her hand again and the moon began to sink below the horizon. "Instead you gave yourself to me again in exactly the same way." Her hand moved again and the dragon vanished. "I was wrong, Buffy." The altar sunk into the earth. "You showed me...reminded me...that any kind of touch can be loving or hateful." Trees grew up around them and morning birds began to sing. "And you showed me in the gentlest, most loving way imaginable." The sun rose casting warm light on the garden and Willow settled to the ground next to her slayer. "I refuse to let you go," she added resolutely.
The axe dropped to her side as Buffy looked around the lush garden. She glanced at her witch and asked, "What about the cost, Will?" Her hand swept the garden away. It was replaced by stark white walls and sterile floors. She walked purposefully down the hallway, ducking behind the sliding doors marked with the letters 'ICU.'
Willow followed her slayer up to the bedside of a young woman. She'd been so badly beaten it took the witch a moment to recognize her. Dawn? The continuous tone of the heart monitor pulsed in the background as she studied the younger Summers. A bandage covered half her face. Metal brackets curved around her shoulders, connecting to a wreath of metal and pins that was clamped to her head. Thin blankets did a poor job of veiling the other measures the doctors had taken. Metal braces wrapped around both her feet linked to her thighs via a system of pulleys. Her right arm was suspended above her chest in a heavy cast. Plastic tubes ran to her nose and left arm feeding her oxygen and medicines.
After walking around the bed, Buffy took her sister's one free hand. "She's in a coma, Will. I'm not sure how I know—just do. Suppose I should, since I put her here. Makes what I did to Faith look like a bad hangnail."
"Buffy, you can't blame yourself for defending. Dawn made her choice. She attacked us," Willow offered in a gentle voice as she walked around the bed to join her slayer. She placed an arm around her. "The trouble with freedom is it's never free. It's a stupid word. Should be costdom or pricedom... There's always a price. The price for our freedom from the Grigori was heavy. They saw to that." Willow drew her partner into a tight embrace. "Now come on. Let's go back where we belong," she prodded.
Meeting her witch's gaze, Buffy slowly withdrew from the hug and turned from her sister. She took Willow's hand as they started off through the hospital.
"Dunno about you. I don't wanna be in this place any longer than necessary. The food sucks," Willow commented sardonically as she rushed through the halls, towing her slayer along. When they reached the room, she guided Buffy to lie down, watching as she slipped back into her unconscious body. "That always looks so weird," she whispered. Making her way around the bed, she slid into the wheelchair and settled back into her own limp body. Her eyes opened and she painfully sat up.
Buffy smiled as her witch groaned and tried to stretch. "You wanted to come back to this train wreck because?" Her chest ached like she'd been smacked by a troll god's hammer. Goddess! Not sure I ever felt this horrible.
"Just work the meditation with me, so we can scare the nice doctor and get outta this hell. We can debate the 'why' at home in bed," Willow responded in a dreary tone as she took her slayer's hand.
***********
Xander knocked twice on the door of a small, lower-floor apartment in the warehouse, then used his key to open it. He entered and made his way to the bedroom. Taking in the appearance of the former watcher he had once viewed as a surrogate parent, it was a relief to see he didn't look quite so sick. He thought back to the night of the explosion after everything had settled down when he went to check on Giles. What he found had left him slightly ill. A rushed trip back to the emergency room had resulted in deep feelings of sympathy and male solidarity. Out of respect, he'd been very cryptic about the matter with Faith. Sharing with her only what was needed to satisfy her. A strange bond had developed between himself and Giles over the past couple of days. There was a new respect he hadn't felt in the past.
Giles looked up from the bed. "Ahh... Xander," he said in a cheerful tone as he tried to sit up against the pillows. He was grateful when Xander came over and assisted him. After he was seated, he pulled on the hem of the flannel pajama top to straighten it.
"Brought you some dinner," Xander replied, making room for the young witch to pass by him with the tray. "This is Janine. She'll be sitting in on our session. I think now you're a little better...it might be time for..."
A gentle smile warmed his face as Giles accepted the tray and began to eat. "Yes, of course," he replied between swallows of rich beef broth. "You wish to understand why," he filled in.
Xander nodded and left the room to retrieve chairs for himself and the witch. When he returned, he took a seat next to the bed and motioned for the shy witch to do the same. "Janine is an empath. She's here—well...she's a lot kinder than a truth spell."
"Thank you," Giles remarked gratefully. He took a bite of bread and ate it before commenting, "I never wished to harm any of you. I only pray you will come to believe me."
Xander shifted in an attempt to make himself more comfortable in the straight-backed kitchen chair and crossed his legs. He patiently waited for Giles to conclude his meal.
Once Giles had finished, he asked in a soft pensive tone, "Were you aware that Quentin Travers was something of a mentor to me?"
His attention shifted. Xander looked up to meet the former watcher's gaze. After a moment of stunned silence, he responded with a soft head shake indicating 'no.' I must need my ears cleaned. Did he say—?
Giles gratefully allowed Xander to take the tray, retaining the cup of tea. "Thank you," he said and settled back against the pillows. He placed his cup on the nightstand. When Xander returned, he continued, "Indeed, he was. I know you must think this confirmation of some dark agenda on my part. I assure you Travers was one of the kindest, most gentle men I ever met," he sighed, "That is, before he became head of the Council. I had a great deal of trouble resolving this myself. It was that fact which allowed him to talk me into performing the Cruciamentum."
Giles reached over and took a sip of his tea, replacing it on the nightstand. "Shortly after Travers' death and the fabled destruction of the Watchers' Council, I returned to England. I was visited one evening by a beautiful young blonde woman. She had with her an object that she presented to me. Then she pronounced me to be the new head of the council."
"I will never forget that evening so long as I live. It was horrific. So many secrets and so many lies were revealed to me then. I will share them with you now." Giles trembled and his attention fixed on the far wall.
Xander turned to Janine, giving her a puzzled look. She simply nodded in response.
"That test, the Cruciamentum, was where things began to unravel. You'll recall that Buffy left the council afterward. She was the first, the only slayer in history to reject the mighty Watchers' Council." Giles laughed mirthlessly. "Naturally, the council was enraged. Even on the outside, away from their direct influence, I understood they would be. Years later, I came to understand how deeply their disapproval ran. What means they went to—" He stopped short and cleared his throat, taking another sip of tea. "Glorificus was the first new child of the Grigori," he paused to clarify, "The Watchers, to set foot on earth in a thousand years. She was their gift for disobedience."
Giles glanced over just in time to see Xander's face sag. "Yes, Xander, it was their goal to kill the slayer. The truly amusing part of this story is the role of Quentin Travers. When he came to us, he knew exactly what we faced." He took another sip of his tea. "There was a great celebration the day that Buffy died. They were rid of this impetuous child that had dared question the almighty council."
"The resurrection of the slayer was a dark day for the Watchers. At that point Willow Rosenberg revealed herself a threat as well. After her attempt to bring about an unscheduled apocalypse, the Watchers could no longer ignore her. They wanted her destroyed. I stood in the way. Protecting her by placing her with the coven rather than allowing her to—"
Giles fell silent and removed his glasses. After rubbing his eyes, then cleaning his glasses with a tissue, he replaced them and continued to speak, "The First Evil: Semjāzā."
Xander sensed the young witch's shudder. He felt foolish, but asked anyway, "Who's Sam...Samyaza?"
"The leader of the Watchers, their general," Giles responded in an emotionless voice. He took another sip of his tea and let that sink in. "This was their response to the failures of the past. Understand that the Watchers could care less who serves them on earth, only that they be served with complete obedience. Quentin Travers failed in controlling the slayer, so a new council head was elected to replace him," Giles sighed and added, "me."
"When Buffy did not die, as was their goal again, it was their hope that, because of my role in her life, that I could restrain her. For a time it looked as though they were correct in their assumptions. Then the events that took place regarding the man 'General Voll' caused her to begin questioning once more. She grew insubordinate, refusing to eliminate enemies of the Watchers," Giles closed his eyes and sighed.
"I was ordered to control her or face the same fate as Travers. The threats grew darker as time passed. The Watchers cannot directly influence our world, but they have agents. Finally, I acted in an effort to save us. The rogue slayer, Sarah, was my attempt to break Buffy's mind and it was effective. I released the girl and set her on the facility in Scotland."
"Jesus, Giles!" Xander spat. A deep scowl set on his face as he rose and began to pace with fists clenched. "Do you know how many—?" he growled.
Giles cut him off, "I know exactly what occurred. I am not proud of my actions. I simply sought to bring order to the situation. If Buffy had gone to see the councilor I'd arranged, this would've all ended peacefully."
Xander rounded on the former watcher. "Yeah...and we would've stayed puppets to these monsters."
His eyes lowered submissively as Giles offered, "I was frightened, Xander. It was not just my life they threatened. You must understand, these creatures are as old as time and remarkably powerful. Breaking away from their influence seemed impossible. They showed certain interests that left me horrified."
"Make me understand, Giles," Xander snarled.
Giles attention remained on his hands, clutched in his lap. "They were intrigued by the Key, the concept of mixing their essence with an ancient artifact to create something new and perhaps more powerful."
Xander returned to his seat and worked to calm himself. "Why didn't you protect her?"
"Dawn is a woman now. What would you have me do? Lock her in a cage?" Giles responded, turning to meet Xander's gaze.
Xander nodded in understanding.
"And there you have it. When Willow went rogue once more, I knew our days were numbered. I am both amazed and grateful to still be sitting here, a free man, after a fashion I suppose. It is a testimony to the strength of you and your friends." A gentle smile returned to Giles' face. Then he turned his gaze back to his hands. "I must urge you to proceed with caution. Their agents are numerous and powerful."
***********
Willow reclined back in bed and a warm soft hand caressed her side. "They're gonna be upset. You do get that, right, Buffy?" she asked nervously.
"What're they gonna do? Throw us out?" Buffy commented wryly.
A soft snicker shook her form then Willow responded, "Suppose you're right."
Buffy shifted and raised her hand to stroke her witch's hair. "Actually wish they would. I feel better and this is getting old quick."
"Y'know, this is fascinating stuff?" Willow remarked as she attempted to turn the page on Buffy's chart one handed.
Buffy rolled her eyes and helped the redhead turn the page. "I'm glad I make such good reading."
"Seriously, they could write a whole medical journal on you, sweetie. Just this one visit, almost one-hundred stitches inside and out. They made repairs to your liver, diaphragm muscle..." Willow stopped the inventory when she felt her slayer tense up.
"You have a point?" Buffy asked, appearing mildly aggravated.
After accepting assistance with another page turn, Willow replied, "Kinda...I sorta have this theory about you."
Buffy relaxed and went back to playing with her witch's hair. "That is?" she queried pensively.
Willow studied the chart for a moment then began to nervously explain, "Well, it just seems—I mean to me—it seems that you kinda...the slayer—it's not a set thing with the healing. I mean sometimes its really quick, then others...not so much. So, I looked for patterns. The way I have it figured, if your body's pumping lots of endorphins, lots of that good adrenaline and stuff...you heal faster."
"Suppose that true. I know I don't notice it as much. But then, go figure," Buffy replied in a sleepy voice tinged with boredom.
"I think it is. You know that scar you just hid with the tattoo...'cause of the look? Not that I recall any looks, but I believe you. I know I looked and thought yours was lower," Willow commented trying to shrug unsuccessfully when she was finished.
Buffy cleared her throat before she remarked, "Yeah...there were looks...and there were almost tears. It was a thing. What's wrong with it now?"
"Nothing's wrong...nothing at all, promise. It just looks like a paper cut by comparison to the one where you were stuck with your own stake. You know...the one Riley fixed. The big difference is that you almost passed out. Well, that one was not so deep and blunter... I dunno..." Willow sighed, "The scars on your neck are really a better example. You passed out. Big scar."
"We're still circling around a point?" Buffy questioned uncomfortably.
Another sigh hissed through her parted lips and Willow let the chart fall onto her lap. After rubbing her eyes, she offered apologetically, "Sorry...we're actually just bored. You know how bored is—bored becomes mischief—then with the badness. I suppose the point was that this time...scars, lots of stitches 'cause you passed out. Actually, you got knocked out, but still."
The nurse entered the room and looked in mild disbelief at the two women curled in bed together. "I'd rather not ask how you two managed, but I'm afraid—" she cut her thought short when Buffy gave her a scathing glance. "Yes, well, I suppose, so long as you've done each other no further injury, we might overlook..."
"Might be best," Buffy challenged in a surly tone.
"Alight then, Ms. Summers-Rosenberg," the nurse prompted. When both her patients replied, 'yes,' she nodded and left the room.
A soft snicker shook her slight form, then Buffy remarked, "Think we broke her."
Willow's gaze fixed on the doorway. "I think she just went to check on me—my stuff. She'll be back," she offered pensively.
Buffy reached for the phone. "Good 'cause I'm gonna call Xander. I'm sick of this. It's passed time to go home."
"Sounds good to me," Willow confirmed.