Flood
by Valyssia
Just How Damaged Have I Become?
[reviews]
I scramble to reach higher ground, some order and sanity, or something to comfort me.
Mayor Wilkins plastered a forced smile on his face as he walked through his office doors. His feet made splashing noises with each step. He glanced briefly around the sodden room. The door to his altar had been opened during the vandalism and the picture was more than a little grim. His coveted 'Books of Ascension' had been reduced to so much pulp by the deluge of water.
Eventually the mayor managed through gritted teeth, "You know, Faith, we're all just products of our environment. Poor upbringing, bad manners, they can't be excused. But really, who's to blame? The criminal or the ones who influenced the criminal?"
"I sorta think it's both," Faith replied simply as she looked around the ruined room.
"That's why I want you to—" the mayor started, then cut short as his temper got the better of him. He took a couple of sharp breaths and continued, "To provide our little friends with an environment more conducive to acceptable behavior. I'm thinking something in a satin-lined box." He took another deep breath. "And speaking of boxes—" The rage won out and he screamed, "I want my box back!" He walked around to his desk and sat in his leather chair. As his weight settled, the cushion poured water onto the already soaked floor; he seemed utterly oblivious. "Please, Faith, the box and Buffy Summers' eyes."
Ignoring the mayor's aberrant behavior, Faith put on her best waitress impersonation when she replied, "Comin' right up, boss. Want the eyes breaded and fried? Maybe a little ketchup for dipping?"
The mayor shot the slayer a terse glare. With his elbows on the desk, he dropped his head in his hands. Eventually he rubbed his face and looked up. Rage reflected sharp around his eyes, betraying the charming mockery of a smile he put on. "Oh, no... Yuck! They're just hard on the old ticker that way, all that oil and starch. Good nutrition's just as important as good manners, Faith. Now run along."
Faith smirked. "Sure thing, boss."
***********
Buffy peered into the mirror while she brushed her teeth. Grateful that the face that stared back was almost familiar, she quickly finished up and went to her room. Fuzzy flannel pajamas were located and she stripped out of her robe to dress. Almost human again—nearly me. The mom wig was bad, but not so much I couldn't deal. 'Worried Mom' is way better than 'Suspicious Mom' any day.
After crawling in bed, Buffy pulled the covers up and did something extremely out of character: she grabbed a textbook. Holding the heavy book open, she began to read her English assignment. Anything's better than an encounter with 'Suspicious Mom.' Even homework. Pushing the limits, giving her what she needs to become 'Suspicious Mom,' not a plan. 'Cause 'Suspicious Mom' could—more likely, would—spawn the most horrifying of all Moms...'Questioning Mom.' 'Questioning Mom' would summon 'Answer Buffy' and, and, and...well, I'm supposed to stop apocalypses not cause 'em. So, homework. Homework is an excuse that trumps 'Worried Mom'—cuts her off before things get outta hand. It's a small price to pay for world saveage. Amazed it worked. Think I scared her.
Just about the time Buffy was beginning to read, comprehend, and perhaps even retain a fraction of the material, the world conspired against her. A knock issued from her window. Crap! Stuffing a scrap of paper between the pages to mark her place, she dropped the book over the side of the bed and got up. After donning her robe, she went to the window, mocking softly as she moved, "I love you. Always will. Know that." Her voice dropped to barely a mumble, "But I'm not your fucking whore," then she pushed the curtain aside and slid the window open, making eye contact with Angel. "What?"
Angel appeared somewhat perplexed at first; back-peddling to recover, he gasped a hasty, "Huh?"
As she met her former boyfriend's gaze, Buffy grumbled tersely, "Just a line from a stupid movie, Angel. What do you want?"
"To say I'm sorry," Angel responded plainly.
Still appearing less than tolerant, Buffy nodded and aridly observed, "I'm in no position to really get all judgey. It's been a crappy couple of days."
"I can tell," Angel remarked, gesturing to the sickly looking yellow bruises around the blonde's eyes.
"Yeah...had a little run in with a thick-headed old British guy. I managed to get it figured why knocking him out seems to have so little lasting effect," Buffy commented wryly. Perking up, she added, "But hey, snagged and torched the mayor's magic box, so...no more ascension." Dropping back to the dry tone, she snarked, "Yay us," then started to shut the window. "Anything else, Angel?"
Angel appeared sheepish as he reached for the sash. "Can I come in? There's something—I don't want to intrude, but—"
After taking a step back from the window, Buffy drawled, "Yeah...sure, whatever," while she removed her robe and hung it up. Slipping back into bed, she drew the covers over her chest and leaned back against the pillows. When she looked up, Angel was standing by the window, peering out into the darkness.
"I'm leaving, Buffy," Angel offered in a flat tone, "But, before I go, I want to talk with you about something."
Once settled, Buffy picked her English textbook up off the floor and mumbled, "Okay, I'm all ears," in a vaguely sarcastic manner while she opened to the correct page.
"It's about Willow. Something you may not understand," Angel said gently as he turned to face the bed. Ignoring the fact that the blonde instantly grew uneasy at the mention of the name, he continued with marked distaste, "It was common practice not that long ago—still is in some places—to arrange marriages based on family affluence or whatever other petty reasons. Men mostly, making decisions to gain some advantage, using their daughter's lives for barter."
Cocking an eyebrow, Buffy asked, "What's that got to do with Will?"
"Ever wonder why it works? Why people can do something so crass and get away with it?" Angel replied, countering the question with a question blatantly.
Buffy set her textbook aside and propped herself up against her pillows. "Never really thought about it, I guess. But you didn't answer my question."
Angel stepped away from the window, still keeping a respectful distance from Buffy's bed and reflected, "My point is this: women fall in love with the first person they have sex with, unless the sex is in some way cruel, or they're severely repulsed. It's a universal truth. That's why a woman's status as 'virgin' holds such significance." He sighed. "You can answer the question for yourself now."
Allowing Buffy a moment to comment, Angel went on, "You need to be very careful with her. I know you love her, but...what happened, it changes things. Doesn't matter how much you want it not to, or how much she says it doesn't. She'll say things just to make you happy."
Taking in the harsh stare the blonde gave him; Angel cleared his throat and continued, "You know I'm right. Just look at how you held onto me, come hell or high water. Not that it wasn't absolutely mutual. I still love you, Buffy. I clung to you too, but it's time for me to stop. It's time for you to live. I need to leave to allow..." His voice trailed off.
The sharp expression was replaced by an air of melancholy as Buffy queried, "Wait, you mean you're leaving Sunnydale, 'leaving'?"
Angel looked away, unable to meet the forlorn gaze the blonde was giving him. "I have to, Buffy. Here, where we are, my being here is just causing you—causing us both pain. I can do more good someplace else. You stopped the mayor alone. You've proven yourself many times over," he sorrowfully muttered, "I'm proud of you."
God! He sounds like my mother! "But I love you," Buffy murmured.
Fully aware that Buffy was on the verge of tears, Angel whispered, "And I love you, but love can be the most painful thing in the world. I have to do this, Buffy. It's what's right and you know it."
Buffy found herself at a loss for words.
"I couldn't ask for better," Angel reflected, then turned for the window to make his exit.
Watching Angel leave, Buffy asked, "Better?"
Angel slipped outside and leaned back in through the open window. "I know it'll be hard at first, but it's good, Buffy. There's so much good there. Willow's a remarkable woman."
By the time Angel finished speaking, Buffy was at the window. She leaned down and embraced him, then muttered in his ear, "Wait. You—you aren't suggesting—? Oh, Angel, I don't know."
Withdrawing from the embrace to make eye contact, Angel replied frankly, "Buffy, understand I'm not trying to make any decisions for you. All I'm saying is that you should think about it. Don't let other people tell you what's right. You and Willow are the only ones that should make that choice." He cupped her cheeks and swept the tears away with his thumbs. "And you know as well as I do you don't get to plan who you love. It doesn't work that way and we both know it."
Buffy took in the sad smile on Angel's face and nodded. "You'd better get going. Mayor's probably all rampagey. Hanging out in my window might just qualify as an extreme sport," she remarked sardonically through the tears.
As Buffy relaxed her grip, Angel slipped away. When he was gone, she closed the window and drapes, then listlessly went back to her book.
***********
Willow pulled the afghan that was draped over her up to her chin and turned onto her back on Giles' couch. After staring at the ceiling briefly, she closed her eyes. We're right where I expected. I need someone to talk with and...I can't talk to him.
Turning toward Xander where he lay on the other side of the coffee table in a sleeping bag, Willow opened her eyes and began to imagine telling him all her troubles. Buffy didn't say a single word, nothing. We burned the box and she clammed up. Her expression was— Well, there wasn't one. Every once in a while it was like I'd see the faintest hint of a smile. Guess it hurt—the expressiveness. It looked like it hurt. Lots actually. Her facial muscles tightened, crinkling her brow. At least I got to say what I needed to before the burning. Not like she had bunches of choice with the listening, but still.
All she really said in return was that she'd expected me to feel used. She seemed happy I didn't. Not used—I don't feel—I feel...umm...lonely, isolated, cut off, ignored, neglected... I shouldn't though. I told her I'd give her space. I just wish I knew.
Clutching her shoulder, Willow crossed her arms over her chest in one of those mock hugs that never feels quite right. I wish I could get a Xander hug. He gives good hugs...and I miss them. Ever since the fluking, Xander hugs have been really, really rare. Always with others around, but never Oz or Cordy. I miss my Xander hugs.
I don't understand how something so beautiful could be so difficult, so painful.
Willow listened to the ambient noises coming from around the apartment. He's not asleep. Xander's breathing was slow and steady. Back when we were kids, Xander used to hug me all the time. He'd see I needed a hug—that someone, usually Cordy, had been picking on me and he'd just—he'd hug me and it'd get better. Nothing complicated, just simple comfort. Now, all of a sudden, there are all these rules about the hugging.
And Buffy—now Buffy—does this mean that if we can be friends that there'll be rules about the hugging? Only around lots of other people, but not Xander or something like that? It just seems so silly.
So now I'm alone. I'm the bad and— Willow brought her hand to her mouth, brushing her lips, then returned it to her shoulder almost defensively. All I really want is to kiss her again. What if I never get to? What if it never happens again? Can I be okay with that? I told her I could. Friends first, that's what's important. It really is, so I guess I'd have to.
I should've appreciated it more.
Her face relaxed, leaving her expression neutral, but not placid. A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, pooling against the side of her nose and Willow quickly wiped it away. Oh! And she said she was sorry for leaving. That's a good sign. Actually, as signs go, that's a really, really good one. Guilt. Yeah...always a positive thing. I should know. I have a Jewish mother.
Willow turned away from Xander to look at the shadowed ceiling again and rolled her eyes. The rest of our big talk, like it was 'big,' was about the 'why' and Oz. I wish I actually understood the 'why' myself. I don't. It was—looking at it, there wasn't a choice. Oz or Buffy. Buffy or Oz. Makes it sound like I don't love Oz. Like, 'Oh, it's no big, no great loss.' That's not true. I'll always love Oz...and it'll probably always hurt. But the choice—in that moment—there wasn't a choice. It was like a dream. Not sure why. I suppose it was just so far outside the realm of possibilities that—
Lifting her hand from her shoulder, Willow rubbed her eyes. I wish there had been a choice. I meant it when I said, 'no regrets.' I don't. There's no regret. But if Buffy can't handle it—if she leaves—if she never speaks to me again— Her hand flopped limp against her shoulder again.
I'll die.
Not exactly regret, is it? Nope. No siree, Bob. No regret here. Just gimme a shovel.
Tears streamed freely down the edges of her cheeks now, but Willow didn't make a sound. As they collected and trickled into her ears, she cringed and clenched her jaw muscles, trying to bite back the unrest. I need to get a grip, have a plan, do something—something proactive. I need to be 'proactive girl.' What can I do? Well, there's the standard list: candy, flowers, stuffed animals, jewelry, cards, bad poetry... Oh! I could write a sonnet. I'm good for at least a sonnet. 'An Ode to My Bestest Buddy Buffy.' She'd slay me and I totally get the 'why.' Wonderful ideas, all... If I never want her to speak to me again. Not like any of them really say 'friend' either. I could buy her a mocha. And we all know what that got me last time. Well, we don't—not all—Xander doesn't know. My other bestest buddy's totally in the dark...and I still need a hug.
Actually, we're both in the dark, literally and figuratively.
A soft, grumpy sigh disturbed the silence of the room, sounding more like a hiss, and Willow wiped her eyes. There's always Prom. Guess we're going stag if we go at all now...and we have to go. It's a 'Rite of Passage'...and what good is a 'Rite of Passage' without the passagers...er...passengers ...umm... passers—without the people to go through it? I could take her as a friend, right? I could do that and it wouldn't have to mean anything. Question is: do I have the nerve to ask? 'Buffy would you go to the Prom with me?' See, easy-peasy. Getting the words to actually pass through my lips without choking on my tongue and passing out: that'll be the trick. It's always so flattering when that happens.
I can do it. I can. I'm psyching myself up. I am.
Willow turned toward Xander's voice when the sound derailed her reverie.
***********
Angel picked up a small rock and carefully lobbed it at the wall next to Giles' bedroom window. Really don't want to push it, but he needs to know this. Waiting a moment, he listened for movement inside the apartment, then tossed one more rock. When the window finally slid open, he took in the expression of annoyance on the Englishman's face. "Giles, I'm really sorry to bother you like this, but I have something important to tell you."
"It is perfectly acceptable to knock at the front door, Angel, though it would get you no closer to setting a single toe inside my flat again," Giles replied in a bitter tone.
Angel nodded and accepted the barb at face value. "I appreciate that, Giles, but this is something I'd rather not say around the others."
Giles leaned against the window sill. "Then please, carry on, but do be quick."
"The potion we made to counter the effects of—" Angel started, cutting off when he received a nod from the former watcher. He did his utmost to keep his tone neutral, but failed miserably as guilt tainted the remainder of his account, "Something happened—something bad and it had to be the potion. I ran into Buffy in the cemetery last night and, Giles, there was—it wasn't like anything I've ever been around before. She smelled like a human male, but not— There was a very strong male pheromone—but it wasn't—it was like there was something else—something demonic," he hung his head shamefully, "I attacked her. I did everything I could not to, but I attacked her."
Giles started to say something, but Angel cut him off, noting the harsh accusatory expression. "Giles, I know you feel I'm not good for Buffy. And right now, I'm not gonna argue, but you're a watcher," he pleaded, trying to appeal to the analytical side of the Englishman's nature. He took a breath to continue, "This thing, it caused me to change. It brought out the demon and made me want to hurt her. It's dangerous. If I didn't care— If it had been more than one vampire— It needs to be recorded so others know. Just a simple 'stay home' in the margin would save the next person a lot of pain."
Giles appeared pensive as he considered the vampire's words. It seemed rather silly to me in the moment that one would allow themselves to be driven mad by the 'aspect of the demon,' however in retrospect, perhaps the cost was simply too high? Having to choose: saving oneself versus the violation of another human being and becoming a target for every creature of the night? It certainly doesn't sound appealing. And where we're concerned, there still remains the question of Willow's health.
Speaking in a careful even tone, Giles replied, "That assumes the situation would remedy itself of its own accord. However, I will certainly note what you've said in my records," After a brief pause, he prompted, "Now if that is all?"
"Thanks, Giles," Angel returned sincerely and nodded. "There's one more thing. I'm leaving as soon as I know the mayor can't hurt any of you. I've already said goodbye to Buffy. Don't let the others know I'm still here. I'd rather just—"
"Yes, yes, well, thank you for your candor," Giles responded crisply, then shut the window.
When Giles closed his blinds, Angel began a lap around the apartment building, searching for a way to access the roof. Around the rear of the building he spied a terrace he could leap to. From there he jumped up and out, grabbing the rough tar surface and pulling himself to the roof. He walked to the front corner of the building, positioning himself over Giles' apartment door, and stooped down to wait, sitting on his heels.
***********
"Did you say something?"
Willow blinked in the darkness, trying to make out exactly where Xander was. Still recovering from the discomfort of her internal monologue, she babbled anxiously, "Say? No, no saying, just sighing. If 'sighing' is 'saying,' then I said—" then produced a phony sigh.
Suppressing a chuckle, Xander asked bluntly, "What's wrong, Will?" Under the sleeping bag, he raised his shirt and rubbed his tummy. Then, careful not to pull any hair, he fished out the day's collection of bellybutton lint, rolling it between his fingers.
"Nothing," Willow lied badly, seconds later covering by adding, "Or, I mean, nothing much." Her arms tightened defensively as Xander began to probe for information.
"You sure? 'Cause you and Buffy both have been acting really wigged all day. I mean, I get the weirdness over Buffy with the injury, but before, you were both just weird. At least what I saw of you was weird," Xander said, finally voicing his inner concerns. He turned on his side and looked at the silhouette of his friend in the dark. "What was up with the 'hand' thing? Buffy didn't hurt you did she? She wouldn't hurt you. She couldn't, right? I'm talking crazy," he stammered, amending by quickly pleading, "Please stop me, Will."
Willow brought her hand to her sides in an abrupt movement, actually pounding the cushions of the couch. The afghan moved with her arms, exposing her sleep shirt to the waist. When she eventually spoke, her tone was curt, "No she didn't hurt me, Xander."
Sounding slightly wounded by her unusual brusqueness, Xander took a deep breath and implored, "Then what's with the weird? 'Cause 'weird' is mostly hellmouthy and hellmouthy is always bad." Bringing his arm out of the sleeping bag, he dropped the lint and propped himself up attentively, cupping the side of his head in his hand.
It was apparent from her harsh demeanor that Willow was fed up with the questioning. Her tone was utterly arid as she prompted, "You really want to know?"
"Yes, I really want to know. I wouldn't ask if I didn't," Xander replied, sounding a little too curious, "Oh! And what was up with Oz? Is he okay?"
Willow ignored the question and simply pressed again, "You won't wig on me and you won't talk about it?"
His brow furrowed as Xander tried to imagine what could cause his friend's uncharacteristic mood. Putting on his best 'reassuring voice,' he replied, "I'll try not to. And if it's a secret, I can...I'll keep it. Just tell me, Will."
Stalling a moment to psych herself up, Willow blurted out, "I had sex with Buffy," then drew in a sharp breath.
Xander gave his head a tiny shake hoping his ears would clear. "No, really, Will. Just tell me."
"I did."
***********
Faith skirted around the back of the Summers' residence, concealing a few select weapons as she went. Her favorite bow was the first item stashed, far away from the main house, then a knife and a short sword. It was just enough to make her feel comfortable, but not enough to offer a chance advantage to the other slayer. Now all I gotta do is getcha out in the open, blondie.
After making her way to the tree under Buffy's window, she scaled it and leaned in place to wait. We get to see just how good you are now, B. How long will it take for the perfect slayer to sense my presence? An hour? Two hours? Make it three and you're gonna end up with company in that snug little bed of yours.
When the light finally flipped on, Faith's legs were very nearly asleep. About time, B., she mused, then dropped to the ground. Listening intently, she heard Buffy walk over to the window, pause for a moment, then move away. When the door to the room swung open, Faith climbed the tree and slipped silently inside. Bit disappointed. I expected her to at least pull the curtains back. After taking a seat on the bed, Faith made herself comfortable, propping herself up on the pillows and flopping her boots on the clean, white sheets.
The door opened and Buffy walked back into the room. Without taking a look in Faith's direction, she said, "I wondered when you'd show," as she shut the door. Seemingly unaffected by the brunette's attempt to raise her ire, Buffy turned toward the bed and simply folded her arms, awaiting the snarky comeback.
Well, alright, B.! You go, girl! She's not been missin' me, she's been ignoring me. Takes guts. I may have to show 'em to her. Faith folded her arms across her chest and said in a disinterested manner, "Never been one to disappoint."
Buffy looked at her nails, feigning boredom, then put her hand to her mouth and yawned deeply. "Sorta depends on who you ask."
Faith ignored the cheap taunt. Sorta walked into that one. "Well, y'know, B., if you weren't walkin' around like some snot-nosed, preppy-princess reject from a John Hughes film, you mighta noticed that I wasn't tryin' to unseat you from your throne. I just wanted to fit, didn't really care how. And yeah, maybe I tried too hard," she laughed mirthlessly, "Trying to impress the great Watcher Giles and make friends with your lackeys. Anyway...I'm over it. I got on with my life. There wasn't any room for me in 'team misfit.' My heart bleeds for the loss. Now can we move on?"
Buffy glared at the brunette slayer. After tilting her hip to the right, and placing a hand to her waist, she remarked dryly, "Been moving on. You were barely a hiccup on my social calendar. Now what the hell do you want, Faith?"
Faith met the unspoken challenge, locking eyes with the blonde. She cocked an eyebrow and asked, "There's the little matter of my boss's box, B. Any ideas?"
A wicked little giggle slipped out and Buffy replied, sounding very amused, "Yeah...ideas, lots of ideas. Picture this, Faith: all us pitiful Scoobies huddled around a roaring fire, toasting marshmallows and singing 'Nobody Likes Me.' We ran low on firewood and sacrifices were made. Good times. You shoulda been," she yawned and stretched, "Now, if that's it, my bed misses me."
Faith's eyes narrowed for just an instant. Boss's not gonna like that. "Yeah...it's pretty comfy," she countered, reaching back to fluff a pillow. Bitch isn't gonna take the bait and I'm not throwin' down here. Mrs. S. was decent to me. Killin' her daughter in her house? Even I'm not that low.
Crossing the room, Buffy stood beside the bed and remarked, "You're on my side. Scoot over."
Jesus fuckin' Christ, B. Faith shot outta the bed, stepping square in Buffy's face, and growled, "Bit late for us to be bunk buddies, B. Sorry—had your chance. I wouldn't fuck ya with Xander's dick."
Buffy didn't even blink, she stood utterly still and snarked in a low, dangerous voice, "Good. I don't like where it's been." Appearing completely impervious, she mimed a yawn at Faith and stretched again. After stepping around the other slayer, Buffy slid back in bed. As she drew the covers up over her, she commented absently, "Leave the window open on your way out. I sleep better with the fresh air."
She's gotta have somethin' up her sleeve. Faith strutted over to the window, stopping just as Buffy flipped the light out.
A not-entirely-unexpected knock issued from the door and Buffy flipped the light back on. "Yeah, Mom? Come on in. Join the fun...that's not—" she grumbled, abandoning the sarcastic attitude when she met her mother's gaze.
Faith turned toward the elder Summers and smiled sheepishly. "I was just leavin', Mrs. S."
Joyce ignored Faith entirely and fixed her glare on Buffy. "Would you mind explaining this? You're grounded, Buffy. 'Grounded' doesn't mean that you can have people dropping in to visit at all hours of the night."
Buffy muttered a curse under her breath, then glanced at Faith and glowered at the cocky smile. Turning back to her mother, she smiled coyly and stammered, "Er, umm...visit?"
Faith smirked at the blonde slayer and interjected, "Hate to butt in—such a touching family moment and all—but" — she glanced at her nonexistent watch — "look at the time." After climbing back out the window, she commented, "There's this little redhead I was gonna visit," leaning in the window to wink at Buffy, "Helluva lot cuter than you, B."
Prying her attention from the glare her mother was giving her, Buffy turned to watch Faith slip into the darkness.
"I'm waiting," Joyce prompted impatiently, "And what exactly did she mean by 'cuter'?"
"Uh-boy," Buffy intoned, then turned to face her mother, and looking a little bit desperate, shrugged. A sigh revealed an acceptance of her fate and she answered dully, "I dunno, Mom."
Still smirking, Faith dropped to the ground. Not exactly an arrow to the chest, but definitely fun. Good times, B. We're gonna have such good times.
***********
Did she just say 'sex'? Like the naked kind? Xander stuck his finger in his ear and wriggled the digit around, hoping for a popping noise or some indication that his hearing was somehow at fault. He gradually became aware that his mouth was hanging open and quickly clamped it shut, grateful for the darkness. She did say 'sex'! Oh! My! God! How could she? Okay, think this through. On the upside: two girls having sex; downside: Buffy having sex with somebody else not me. My...two...best...friends and...uh, er, umm...sex... I'm gonna die. Should I ask her what it was like? I mean, details, never a bad.
Thick silence hung in the room and Willow was left feeling guilty. "Xander, I shouldn't—I didn't mean to—to hurt you. Did I hurt you?" She paused briefly, hoping for an answer. "I just really, really, really need someone to talk to. I-I feel so alone. I can't talk to Giles. He figured it out. I figured you'd figure, but you didn't and, well... I told Buffy I'd give her space to— Now I'm alone and I don't know if I've lost one of my best friends and..." she stammered until she ran out of steam. Tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke. By the time she drew silent, she was sobbing.
But Buffy? I saw her first. Of the two—the 'her' and the 'me'—who'd've thought she actually had a better shot? In point of fact, it never crossed my mind. What does that say about me? Xander rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
No, no, I have real reason to be upset. What if they never make up? Where does that leave me? I'm the go-between-guy then. That never goes well. Especially when you're dealing with— Xander suddenly realized that Willow had been speaking and he hadn't heard a single word of it.
"Xander, are you mad at me?" Willow asked bashfully.
Xander sunk back into his reverie despite himself. Oh! What if they make me choose? Who would I pick? I'd have to pick Will, but what about Buffy? My best friend, the girl who used to carefully take home each picture she drew in school and hang it on her refrigerator hoping her parents would notice, had sex with— Does that make her a lesbian? Is Buffy a lesbian? Xander tilted his head trying to imagine what it might look like for his two best friends to even kiss.
"Xander?" Willow tried again. She wiped her teary eyes in the darkness and prayed he would answer.
"Huh?" Xander gasped.
"Are you mad at me...and please say 'no' 'cause I'm not sure I can take any more," Willow prompted, sounding a little desperate.
"Not mad—not exactly—just very, very confused. I thought you loved Oz? I thought Buffy was still all angsty over the evil dead?" Xander offered. He stopped, not having the heart to go any further when he recognized the sobs that were coming from the couch. But Buffy over broody boy would be a major good. This might be a 'good'? Huh? We'll see. Right now, Willow, she's sort of melting. Might wanna deal with the melty redhead.
Willow sniffled. Eventually, she managed, "Oz and I are—we're 'not'," thickly through the tears.
Sitting up to turn on the lamp next to his feet, Xander located a box of tissues and handed it to Willow. After taking a seat next to her on the floor, he gently brushed a clump of hair out of her face and waited patiently for her to speak again. Big brother mode: check. I can do this. Just listen. Let her talk herself out. Nod lots. And, above all, find something funny and make her laugh. Silly faces are a little desperate, but a valid last resort. I'm not proud. Getting used to it, whatever it is. I got used to my parents throwing lamps at each other. This should be a piece of cake.
Naked Buffy, naked Willow, naughty touching. Xander's eyes glazed over.
Willow snagged a tissue, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose, then asked tentatively, "Xander?"
Xander slapped himself on the cheek at the same moment Willow thumped him on the crown of the head. He barked, "Ow," and rubbed his head, "Yeah, Will?" I can do this.
***********
A high pitched whirring noise blended harmonically just above the frequency of the sound of a passing car. Angel spun in the direction of the familiar sound. As he swept his forearm across his chest, he turned sideways, sending the arrow clattering across the rooftop. Then he began to carefully survey the point from which the projectile had originated. Movement betrayed the would-be sniper. Angel dove to the ground, rolling to absorb the impact. Using a parked car for cover, he quickly crossed the street and dashed between two houses. When he got to the tree-line—the site where the assassin had been—it was vacant. A few disturbed weeds were all that remained.
Angel inhaled deeply. Faith. I could track her but, being lured away—pretty stupid, all things considered. She could easily double back. Aware that he might be settling himself up for another attack, he turned and swiftly made his way back to the roof. En route to his post, he swept the arrow up, inspecting it as he went. Aluminum? He felt the cold shaft of the hunting arrow and brought the tip up to his nose. Poisoned. Nasty stuff too. I'll sneak this to Giles tomorrow so he can figure out what she's playing at. He carefully checked to make certain he was uninjured. The only mark the arrow had left was a small scrape on the sleeve of his leather duster. He shook his head ruefully at the damage, grateful it wasn't skin, and put the garment back on.
***********
Faith ditched her weapons behind a dumpster and snuck in through the backdoor of The Bronze as a couple was leaving. Tonight's a bust. Boss's just gonna have to be patient. The Scoobies may be a lot of things, but they aren't stupid—well, not for the most-part—not where it matters. They're something else too that's even more scary: painfully, amazingly, ridiculously...lucky.
Reaching the bar, she took a seat. Once she caught the bartender's attention, she flashed a fake I.D. and ordered a draft. It's tactically stupid to attack any of 'em on their home turf. Especially all clumped together like that. A vampire, two kids with crossbows, and the old man's pretty handy with a blade. Bad odds. Listen to me thinkin' tactics. My watchers would be so proud, if two of them weren't a little too stiff to be anything and the other one wasn't... Jesus! Is he an idiot—too busy singin' 'God Save the Queen' and screwin' with his new suits to notice shit.
Faith accepted her beer and paid the barman. After taking a drink, she rapidly surveyed the room. Bad things out tonight. She watched a vampire leave with a victim through the backdoor. I think the mayor will appreciate wantin' to go for the hurt. Kill 'em off slow. Give 'em time to grieve. I mean, once he knows his box is gone and all. Course tellin' him that— I wonder if I could get one of his stupid vamp lackeys to deliver the news? I'd rather not be around when he firms up.
Flashing a seductive smile at a cute guy who approached her to flirt, Faith took another healthy swig from her glass. Dunno how this whole thing's gonna play out. The mayor's in pretty deep. Missin' A-Day's probably gonna be unhealthy for him, not to mention anyone around him. Sad too, I liked the old guy. He's been more of a dad than my real one. Course, that doesn't take a helluva lot. Stayin' sober and not—
After quickly finishing her beer, Faith winked and took the guy's hand, leading him from the bar.
Bad as I don't wanna—survivor in me's screamin', 'get some and get gone.'
***********
Ornate violet lace and sheer white muslin hung draped organically from the top of the large canopy bed, spilling out onto the rich hardwood floor in a rolling sea of fabric. Deep purple satin sheets gave the surface of the bed a warm, reflective glow in the diffused light of the multitudes of white candle sticks burning in wrought iron stands around the room. A gentle breeze disturbed the stillness of the room and caused the candles to flicker, lending brief radiance to the darkest corners, and giving the wave of flowing draperies and fabrics life. The singular occupant of the room, a slender redhead, lay casually, curled on her side in the middle of the bed, bathed in a flow of gossamery lavender and ashen fabrics that demurely shrouded her unclothed form. She faced the doorway patiently in wait.
The redhead grew taut with anticipation when the door swung aside, revealing a petite blonde woman clothed in a white laboratory smock and carrying a clipboard. The blonde strode wordlessly across the room and placed the clipboard in a vacant space on the bureau. Her manner spoke of efficiency and grace as she skirted the parameter of the large room, directing her attention to the occupant of the bed. Buffy spoke with the distinct authority of experience when she murmured silkily, "I'm gonna show you the right way to play doctor," then made her way to the bedside, pushing aside the delicate veil. The technician's frock fell open and slid slowly from her alabaster shoulders, drifting languidly toward the floor where it came to rest in a milky pool, exposing the blonde's perfectly sculpted body.
The redhead gulped thickly when her blonde companion crawled onto the bed and closed the distance between them, slipping between the layers of fine textiles. A faint blush suffused Willow's features with color as the slayer nestled against her bare form. The timbre of the redhead's voice bore testimony to her discomfiture when she queried, "So...playing doctor is—?" wrapping her arms around the enthusiastic blonde.
Warm light and shadow played at the slayer's features as the perfume of balmy salt air wafted into the room on a mild breeze, causing the candles to shimmer once more. She lay motionless, studying her redheaded lover, appearing mesmerized by the subtle traces of fretfulness. Tenderly cupping her companion's cheek, Buffy trailed her finger tips along the border where smooth, lightly-freckled skin met the soft red hair that framed her lover's face. Her touch soothed the worry away as it followed a path set by the delicate angles of the redhead's jaw line, coming to rest at the tip of her chin. Using the supple point of flesh to guide her reluctant lover, Buffy drew her into a brief tender kiss. Their lips barely brushed before they parted, then the slayer whispered, "No, it's not 'all the way'." Touching lips again, she withdrew and appended, "But, we don't have to go 'all the way' to have fun."
Drifting peacefully on the edge of slumber, Xander suddenly became starkly aware where his dreams had taken him. He shot upright, blushing fiercely. Holy Halifax! Wanting nothing more than to burrow into the sleeping bag that he had outgrown a few years prior, he glanced nervously around the room.
Lying on her side with her head propped in her hand, Willow met his gaze with one eyebrow arched inquisitively.
Xander collapsed backward in a heap on the floor and silently lamented, 'I'm gonna die!' as Willow broke into a fit of giggles. Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to purge some of the guilt, Xander then sat back up, suddenly and extremely disconcerted by the need to pee. He didn't even need to check, he knew his condition would be readily apparent beneath the shorts he'd unwisely chosen to sleep in. That's it. God hates me. It's a conspiracy.
Willow watched amusedly as Xander made two attempts to stand, clutching the sleeping bag to his waist. On the third try, he found his footing without breaking the coffee table. She withheld her applause, anticipating that it would be better served if he made it to the stairs. Her eyebrow arched again when her friend set off in a dangerous looking sack race across the living room, nearly knocking over a standing lamp, only to catch Giles' high-backed leather chair at the last second. When Xander made it to the landing, Willow was laughing so hard she fell off the couch with a thud.
Rubbing her hip, Willow groaned, "Ow!" then turned onto her stomach. Already facing away from the stairs, she propped her chin in her hands, covering her eyes. "I'm not gonna watch," she grumbled, "so neither one of us is seriously injured before you make it to the bathroom, 'kay?"
***********
Faith raised an eyebrow and started to back slowly away when the mayor began to chuckle.
"Well, how about that?" the mayor mumbled to himself. Slapping the desk suddenly, causing every vampire in the office to jump, he rose to his feet and started pacing from person to person within the room.
"Destroyed my box, did she? How about that? That's gumption there, people. That's initiative and daring, that is." He put his arm around the closest vampire. "Wouldn't you agree that that little girl really showed some forethought in destroying my box? Er—?" he asked cordially.
Appearing anxious and confused, the vampire replied, "Frank."
"Some forethought in destroying my box, Frank?" the mayor finished.
The Vampire nodded. "Yes sir."
"Always nice to be agreed with," the mayor said cheerfully, shoving Frank into the nearest rays of sunlight. Moments later, as the mayor herded the vampires into the corner opposite the slayer, a desperate wail echoed through the room and the mayor chortled, "Yes indeed. I can see the positive influences of my various youth policies at work here!"
Faith took a slow casual step toward the door.
"Responsibility, planning, sacrifice, daring, initiative," the mayor rattled off, ticking each one with a finger. "It's...it's just...just neat" — he beamed — "to see all my efforts paying off. And I mean, really..." then spun and suddenly moved toward Faith.
Faith flinched and appeared unsure how to react.
The mayor began to herd Faith into the other corner as he spoke, still smiling, still chipper, still happy, and warm and fuzzy, but apparently completely insane. "What better way to see the future generations coming along but to have them come skipping into the very center of my operations and without any trouble at all...from any of my trusted allies" — he raised a finger, stabbing the air between himself and the slayer — "and destroy that which I've spent the better part of a century preparing for?"
He snickered, then turned away, almost screaming between clenched teeth, "Just dandy, isn't it?"
***********
Still damp from the shower and wearing a robe, Buffy fell back onto her freshly made bed with a thud and a bounce. She snatched up Mr. Gordo and placed him on her chest. Peering into his plush, piggy face, she began to speak, "It's just you and me, Mr. Gordo. Mom's gonna be at the gallery all day cataloging an exhibit," she shrugged, "And yours truly is still grounded. So, we're up for a boring day around the house, but honestly, I could use the downtime."
An exaggerated sigh exhausted through her slightly parted lips. When the last traces of air exited her lungs, Buffy took a breath and commented, "Dunno if you've noticed, but things have been pretty wiggy lately." She tilted the pig's head as if to make him nod. "I figured you would." Raising a hand to rub her itchy nose, she restrained the action, gently brushing the bridge with her nail instead. "So, whatcha think about what Angel said last night? Pretty messed up? But as usual, he was making the inconvenient kinda sense. I think he enjoys that." A twitch of her fingers caused the pig to nod again. "Yeah...I thought so too. I hate it when he does that crap."
Falling silent, Buffy continued to look at Mr. Gordo as she mused, I keep doing that and one of these days someone will walk in...and it'll be straight back to— Kay, so...not really funny. Someone might hear though...and then more grief. I can always use more grief.
So, yeah...grumpy mothers, redheads, and Angel's inconvenient truths. Sounds like a full day.
Funny thing, it seemed like the dumbest thing when Angelus killed all of Will's fish. Dunno why I just thought of that. Jenny was the worst part. But sometimes it's the little details that get missed 'cause of the big stuff—they get smushed, pushed aside, forgotten... And I guess the other night reminded me. I really wondered if something had happened. He was so much like— It scared me.
But yeah...Will's fish...it seemed so stupid, but it was the smartest thing in the world. It was so stupid that most people would've totally dismissed it—brushed it off. But it got him exactly what he wanted from me. He knew I loved Will—that I love Will. If he had hurt her I would've gone straight on the offensive. I would've hunted him like an animal and ripped him limb from limb. Kill a tank full of stupid fish and I get all defendy. Protect Will. Keep her safe. Keep her near. And of course, miss the little details... Buffy gently set Mr. Gordo on her pillow, tucking her blanket under his chin, then rose to dress.
Crossing the small room in three steps, Buffy began to open dresser drawers, selecting comfortable items to lounge around the house in. Listen to me. I sound like a slayer. The slayer that wanted to be a real girl— She chuckled bitterly. Just like Pinocchio or something. It's kinda pitiful, but then it isn't. I should be able to have a normal life. That is if a normal life means always stressing that the things you love will be ripped away by some new bigger bad. Picking up the pile of clothing, she placed it on the bed and removed her robe, hanging it in the closet. Once dressed in a tank top and sweats, she flopped back onto the bed next to Mr. Gordo. We only get the highest quality evil here at the mouth of Hell. New and improved, concentrated, ultra strength evil. Only the best for the slayer.
So, I guess the sixty-four-thousand dollar question is this: can I give Will what she needs? Can I be 'in love' with her? Am I? I never really thought about it. It just sorta was... I mean, there has to be something—some pull for the 'friends' thing to work. But can I feel those warm fuzzy feelings with her again without the hellmouthy weirdness? I guess asking isn't making it any better. Experimenting would really screw things up worse. But then, the other night was—what did Will say? 'Beautiful.' I could toss out a few adjectives myself, but that was a good one—it works. When I peel away all the horror, all the guilt, and all the ugliness, that was the one thing—it was frightening, but it was also 'beautiful.'
***********
Principal Snyder was shown into the mayor's office by a large man in a three-piece suit. He stood expectantly in the doorway, wondering why he'd been summoned.
The mayor glanced over his cup of coffee, taking a sip before he spoke, "Ah, Principal Snyder. Thank you for coming in on your day off. Please, have a seat." He gestured at a chair in front of his desk. "Can I offer you something? Coffee perhaps?"
Principal Snyder took a seat and fluttered a hasty reply, "Oh, I know you're a busy man. Please, don't go to any trouble."
"It's no trouble. No, trouble at all," the mayor responded genially and rose to prepare another cup of coffee. Crossing the room, he stood in front of the coffeemaker and took a cup from the stack as he reminisced, "My dear Edna Mae used to serve me coffee with just a touch of almond extract. It gave the coffee such a nice, nutty flavor." After pouring a cup, he asked, "Do you take anything in your coffee?"
"Cream and sugar," Principal Snyder responded nervously as he watched the mayor turn to him and smile graciously. When the cup was offered, he accepted it and began to mix it to taste from the creamer pitcher and sugar bowl the mayor had placed on the table next to him. He set his spoon on the saucer provided and took a tentative sip, smiling as the mayor returned to his seat. "This is good coffee," he offered politely and took another sip.
After watching as the beady-eyed little man take a drink from his cup, the mayor stated, "I know you're wondering why I asked you here, so let's just cut to the chase." He took a sip from his own cup. "Please set that down," he asked as he gestured to the cup in Principal Snyder's hand. Once the cup was safely in its saucer, he continued, "You allowed one of your students to leave campus on Friday. A student I specifically warned you about. When you took the job, you assured me that you could keep her in check, Ronald."
Feeling his throat tighten, Principal Snyder gasped, "But—"
The mayor ignored the obvious discomfort of his guest and continued to remark, "This building was vandalized, costing the taxpayers thousands of dollars. You may have noticed the construction crews downstairs." As the principal started to claw uselessly at his throat, struggling for air, the mayor smiled insipidly, then resumed, "It's the darnedest thing, though. Thousands and thousands of dollars in security equipment and there's no evidence of a crime. You might ask why." He accepted Snyder's futile struggles for life in lieu of an answer. "It's simple really: the vandal poured soda pop on all those expensive little gadgets. So the only record we have is the one of her leaving the school." His guest began to convulse and fell to the floor as he concluded, "Your school, Ronald."
***********
Angel stood in the shadow of a large crypt far away from the others. He could hear their muffled conversations, but he wasn't there to eavesdrop; his goal was to protect. He didn't even need to see them to be successful. A brief glimpse now and then was enough. More than he wanted really. The important part was that he remained sufficiently removed that his presence not be detected. One last thing for Buffy. Joyce's right: I don't belong here anymore. If I thought she— That's not fair. She could handle it, but I can spare her. Faith in the equation makes it messy. If all the mayor had working for him were vampires and demons, I'd leave right now, but Faith's human.
There's something else, too. Faith's not totally gone. It's hard for Buffy to see that. There's too much bad blood. But Faith, she's close to the edge and teetering. Pull really, really hard and you might just bring her back. I'd like to try again. Take her with me and try to help her away from all this. What Faith really is is damaged. She's the stereotypical 'bad girl.' It says volumes that any society would have a stereotype for young girls who've been so severely tortured that they lash out. I made a few myself, as Angelus, so it's easy for me to see.
A faint rustling at the edge of the woods caused Angel to turn and focus his attention. Suddenly he sprung to life. Moving in the direction of the sound, he slipped silently through the darkness. I don't think she's—it takes a special kind of madness to look into the eyes of someone you know and kill them. I don't think she's that far gone. She'll be under pressure and wanting to use her bow. It's like the thing with humans and guns. You can kill and never really have to look them in the eye. It's impersonal, or as impersonal as murder gets. I have to stop her. Not just for Buffy, but for both of them.
***********
Willow fixed her attention at her feet as she walked. She hung back with Giles to allow Buffy some space, trying to resist the temptation to stare. With each step she took, little wisps of ash rose from her shoes. She watched them, numb and tired from fighting. Gosh...I've become Pig-Pen. If I had to become a male cartoon character, why not Schroeder? And why did the child prodigy have to be a boy anyway? I think Sally should've— Oh! And Lucy— Glancing to make certain that Buffy was distracted; she leaned over to Giles and whispered, "I was accepted to Oxford," in an effort to strike up conversation.
Giles positively beamed with pride at Willow, then replied, matching her tone, "Oh, Willow, that's just marvelous news. Oxford is the oldest and one of the most prestigious universities in the world."
"I'm not going," Willow whispered.
Unaware that she had said anything, Giles continued to gush, "Being accepted is quite an honor. I'm very proud of you. You'll receive an education worthy of your intellect in beautiful, historic buildings older—" he cut off as Willow tugged his sleeve.
"I'm not going, Giles."
Appearing dumbfound, Giles asked, "Why not?"
Willow met the watchers' gaze and replied resolutely, "Because what we're doing here is more important." Seeing that he still seemed befuddled, she continued, "Giles, I don't want Buffy to think it's because of her, so I've not said anything, but the fact is this—all of us—it's really important to me—fighting evil. I'm not gonna find that there. Not like here. I can find an education here, though. Do you sorta understand?"
As Willow spoke, Giles' initial surprise ebbed and his manner grew more pensive. When she finished, he remarked candidly, "I do, but I must say that I am no less surprised. Passing up such an offer is quite a sacrifice."
"It's a sacrifice that's mine to make. I believe in what we're doing, Giles."
Giles nodded his understanding and smiled warmly at Willow.
***********
Griping her bow tightly, Faith crouched down and ran across the open lawn. Swiftly blending into the shadow of a mausoleum, she edged around the structure to get a better view. I need to get this done or get my ass gone quick. Considering all the kindness blondie showed me I'm shooting for the former, then the later.
Pausing briefly to listen, she hugged the darkest parts of shadows and moved to the next large crypt for cover. Wow! The mayor's pissed. You'd think he'd get that you just can't expect and make it happen. I'd like to come out of this with all my parts in the right places. Course that little detail about the box wasn't helpful. Right now, all he cares about is blood...revenge... Giving it to him...it's the least I can do. We'll call it a 'going away present.'
***********
"I'm telling ya, Xander, the adults in my life need a serious reality check. By the time I see daylight, I'll be able to celebrate by having a beer." Buffy sighed. "It sucks—not being able to tell my mom stuff. We used to talk about everything. Now...pretty much nothing. I can't. I just can't make her worry, but then I say nothing 'cause I can't lie. And guess what? She worries," she ranted absently, not really caring if Xander was listening. Taking a deep breath, she concluded, "It's like this double-edged sword. Problem is—the metaphor—I keep falling on my double-edged sword and it's way past sucking."
Xander waited patiently for Buffy to wind down. This is almost mean, but I might actually get her to talk if I hit her outta the blue. Clearing his throat to prepare, he very gently asked, "Did you have a one-night-stand with Willow?"
"What?" Buffy hissed, causing Xander to jump. Glancing cautiously over her shoulder to make sure the others hadn't heard, she glared at Xander and challenged, "I don't see what business it is of yours."
Hanging his head, Xander said sheepishly, "Alright, admittedly, not my business, but I'm worried about her, Buffy." 'Kay, so...rethinking...and maybe ducking.
Her demeanor grew reserved. Silently contemplating for several moments, Buffy finally prompted, "Why?"
Xander gave the slayer a sideways glance. Noting the change in her behavior, he reflected, Pushing my luck here, then prodded, "You didn't answer."
Buffy returned the glance and mumbled, "It wasn't a one-night-stand. It might be a one-time-thing, but it could never be a one-night-stand. I love her, Xander. You of all people should know that."
Fixing his gaze at the ground at his feet, Xander watched the dust kick up off his shoes. His posture relaxed in reflection of her honesty. "I get that. Sorry for—" he replied sincerely, leaving the rest unvoiced.
"It's okay." Buffy offered reassuringly, then murmured more for her benefit than his, "I just don't want to hurt her anymore."
Xander glanced up and whispered, "She is hurting, Buffy. She's not sure you can still be friends with her. She was a total wreck last night. I sat up and listened to her until she talked herself out and fell asleep."
"Thanks for that—the listening," Buffy responded and turned toward Xander as she walked, taking in the gloomy expression. "Xander it'll be okay. I just need some time. I still love both you guys. You're still my best friends. It's just..."
***********
Angel spied Faith in the distance. She was perched on a tombstone, looking like some bizarre cherub. He ran at the slayer desperate to stop her.
Sighting down the shaft of the arrow, the slayer moved between targets. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe... Catch a Scooby by the toe... If she... Fuck it!
Tackling Faith as she released the shot, Angel snatched at the arrow, feeling it brush just past his fingertips.
***********
When Xander looked back in Buffy's direction, she was gone. He spun, gasped and ran.
Author's Notes: Special thanks to a certain big, mean, grumpy, ole cyborg for contributing a scene to this chapter. Places a rose next to Frank's ashes. May the annoying fucker rest in peace. Winks at Howard.
The dream dialog was borrowed from none other than The Bear. It comes from the story, 'Seeing Red.'