Flood
by Valyssia
The Lame and the Blind
[reviews]
The water is rising up on me.
Still wet from the shower, Buffy tugged modestly at her robe and lay down on the bed. After glancing over at the medical text her friend was reading, she struggled to control the anxiety she was feeling by closing her eyes and metering her breathing. Finally, she asked in an arid tone, "Are you sure about this?"
Willow glanced up from her book just long enough to reply, "Positive."
Buffy started to counter, "But, Will—" then broke off, hearing the argument again in her head. She's right, it needs to happen. It's not like I want to wear this thing for one minute more than I have to. Now that I can sorta feel the bag and—it's a major bad. I came within inches of removing it in the shower. But again, she's right: careful is a good.
Willow took one look at the blonde and blushed deep red, then began to babble nervously, "I'm really sorry, Buffy. I just can't think of any other way to— Well, you could do it yourself. I could tell you how. It's not hard, but then they say there might be pain and well...I'm not sure you want to—what, with the painful—I'm not sure I want to, with the—"
"It's okay, Wi—" Buffy tried to interject but quickly fell silent when the former redhead cut her off. Oh boy. My life just wasn't quite interesting enough. I can just imagine how much fun the 'spainy would be. Might be amusing, but I think I'll take a pass. Over with—like right now—it's a total plan.
"I mean, it's not like I can't do it—I can—you could," Willow stammered nervously. Taking a deep calming breath, she added, "This should be our last night on the road. When we get to New Orleans, I'll sit down and setup medical records for you, but right now there'd just be too many questions. I didn't expect this so soon, so...umm...yeah." She shrugged. "You could wait."
After glaring at her friend for only an instant to express her distaste, Buffy broke into a smile meant to reassure. When it had exactly the opposite effect, she couldn't help but tease, "Gee, Will, I think Xander was right."
Willow couldn't have looked more nervous as she stammered, "Ah—about what?"
"It's just—the whole 'playing doctor' thing—" her friend's pout made Buffy giggle "—you totally missed the point...or at least you missed the 'bedside manner' part of the game," she commented, becoming gradually more amused as she spoke. At least she'll be in the right area this time. Baby-steps for our Willow. We get her in the right neighborhood, and then—
Pouting, Willow poked the blonde in the side and replied defensively, "Be nice to me," returning to her book.
When her friend eventually placed a towel between them, gesturing for her to move, Buffy parted her robe and complied. After letting go the breath she was holding, she ignored the thick swallowing noise Willow made and shut her eyes.
Trying to get her mind off what was happening; Buffy reflected in a distant tone, "I'm still not sure I get this. Why so sudden? And why's it all broken up? I mean I can feel most of my thigh, calf and foot—" she stifled the urge to gasp when her friend touched her "—but not my knee. And the feeling—it's all patchy and weird—pins and needles sorta stuff in places. It makes all kind of the sense that's not. I sorta thought it'd be a 'top down' kinda thing when I got it back." 'Kay, so...why am I praying for the painful to start? It'd be so much easier—'cause my brain...it's turning to mush. And well...is she answering because, well—? Would I know if she was? The contact went away and she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god that's over! Awkward much?
"'Kay, all done," Willow said as she rose from the bed and moved away toward the bathroom still speaking, "So, yeah...it's gonna be random and weird."
If she ever touches me there again it'll be 'cause I'm showing her the right way to 'play doctor.' Buffy lifted herself up with her one good leg and pulled the towel away, tossing it on the floor. Not that I'm overly cluesome, but— As she lowered her pelvis back to the bed, she drew her robe closed and smoothed it down. At least that stupid thing's gone. I'm almost human again.
Willow returned to the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "It's only been ten days, Buffy. I didn't expect you to—but then that was the point—why no one would say. I read a case file online about a guy who took ten years to heal from a similar injury. It's just different for everyone. Some people take six months, others years. Then there's the whole 'slayer' thing. I only found one case." Continuing without pause, her voice fell off to barely a whisper, "It was buried and the language was very cryptic. I got the idea" — turning choked — "sh-she died shortly after. It was bad."
Buffy glanced up to see her friend wiping away a tear and offered reassuringly, "S'okay, Will. That's not me." She sighed before adding, "Only because of you, though." When what she said was met with only brooding silence, Buffy rose from the bed and grabbed her crutches. "I'm gonna go get ready for bed. Thanks for—"
Willow nodded vaguely.
After quickly getting into a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized tee-shirt, Buffy returned to the room to find Willow already curled up in bed with the lights out. She leaned her crutches against the wall and slipped into bed, pulling her friend up close. I dunno exactly why or how, but 'not sleeping alone' has been a major good. It's only been a few days, but it feels like weeks since I was near anything that felt like home except her. I need—I miss it. Homesick for a place that lies over the mouth of hell. Go figure. "So, would you explain that again? I sorta lost you somewhere between the—and the—"
Nuzzling into the slope of the blonde's shoulder, Willow gasped, "Oh," and breathed a deep sigh.
Buffy could feel the smile form on her friend's face and giggled in response. "Umm...yeah...now that you're not—would you mind repeating the answer for those of us who weren't in the room?"
"Weren't in the room? I'm not sure whether to be flattered or upset."
"It was distracting, 'kay?" Buffy replied dryly as she absently ran her nails over Willow's back. Hope she's not getting the wrong idea. She fell still at the thought.
Willow snickered and said, "'Kay," growing obviously more pensive before she responded, "All that stuff—the sexual stuff and, well—it's controlled from the sacral region of the spine. In other words the very, very bottom—the part that attaches to your hips. Swelling pinched it off. No more swelling and—"
"A much happier Buffy," the blonde filled in with a chuckle.
"Yup," Willow confirmed as she rolled onto her back. "The rest of it is that the actual injury was to the region of the spine that controls the knee. I'm not sure how it'll go from here. I know that some of the fadey weirdness you've been complaining of is probably from residual swelling" — she turned onto her other side, facing away from her friend — "but—well, we're back to not really being able to speculate." She yawned deeply as the blonde tucked in behind her. "The thing that was seriously weird was the 'just one side.' I mean, I've read lots of other cases now, but 'one side' is just strange."
Buffy wrapped her arm around her friend's slender waist and took her hand, setting in for sleep. "How many of those were people that got shot with an arrow? Seems like it'd be a pretty rare thing."
"None," Willow answered simply, then quickly continued to fill in, "Lots of broken backs. Lots of gunshot wounds. Sorta similar, but lots faster and a much smaller projectile. Because of the faster, I'm guessing there'd be a lot more trauma."
"Doesn't seem like it'd be even close to the same," Buffy whispered. Sighing softly before she admitted, "I have flashes of numbness in the left leg too, when I move sometimes. I didn't want to worry, so—and what with the—it just didn't seem important." She released Willow's hand just long enough to sweep the hair away from the nape of her friend's neck. "It worries me, but because it's so random I sorta guessed it was pinching. The brace—the one around my middle—helps a bunch. It's pretty rare."
Willow exhaled sharply as though she were holding her breath. When she finally replied her tone was so even it sounded forced, "You should keep wearing that for a bit. Even if—I know it can't be comfortable."
After letting go of her friend's hand again, Buffy knocked on the hard plastic brace and whispered, "Not taking it off," reclaiming the hand, "Well, just to dry it. The numbness—it's a bad sign." What's worse, I totally get the wig. I wasn't worried about it then, but now—it'd be good if it never happened again.
Willow gently pulled on the arm around her waist, forcing the blonde closer as she whispered, "'Kay. Be careful. I want you all better."
Yielding to the demand for more contact, Buffy tucked her good knee in behind her friend's. Awareness that her hand was between Willow's breasts made her slightly uneasy. Well, so much for the right messages. So much for—I can't exactly pull away. Well, I could, but she probably doesn't realize and it'd wig her out worse. Struggling to keep her tone neutral, she answered, "I'll be careful. Promise," and forced a sleepy yawn. Sleep's a good. I'll be able to get my hand back.
"You better," Willow mumbled drowsily.
***********
Faith dimly focused on her surroundings, barely aware of her own shrill, agonized shrieking. Not opening her eyes, she curled into a tight ball. The entire surface of her skin felt like it was being grated away as she moved. Pain shot from her hands and she raised them to eyelevel. Her eyes snapped open. Another terrified scream poured out as she recognized they were gone.
Praying that the nightmare would end, Faith blinked. When she opened her eyes again nothing had changed. After several moments of grappling with what she saw, her gaze traveled up the surface of her arms. The weave of black wires that covered the stumps of her wrists coated her entire form. She forced herself to a sitting position, feeling the anguish intensify. It was like she was wearing a body suit that was three sizes too small. Every time she shifted around, thousands of fine wires ground into her skin.
As she moved, a matted clump of blood-soaked hair stuck to her face, partially covering one eye. Without thinking, Faith tried to sweep it away. The stump at the end of her arm contacted the mesh covering her face and she screamed again.
"Faith! Stop moving!"
The words repeated over and over. Faith couldn't make sense of them. Peering down at herself in a state of panic, she finally understood why Angel was screaming at her. She was sitting in a puddle of blood. With every movement the puddle grew. Raising her arm, she watched blood drip from her elbow.
Her senses dimmed. She was barely aware she was falling until she struck the floor. Then everything went mercifully black.
***********
Willow lingered behind the young porter who was carrying their luggage to their rooms to wait for her friend. Stairs and Buffy—they just don't mix well yet. She understood that part of the slowness was simply the blonde's nature. She was dawdling to take in the almost two-hundred-year-old manor. At least we're finally here. Getting lost didn't help. I'm beat. I could sleep for a week.
"Are you sure this isn't a bit much?" Buffy whispered into her friend's ear.
Willow shrugged before replying in a muted tone, "I booked in advance and it's an off-season. It wasn't that bad. Really, it was only a little more than a hotel."
Buffy smiled cheerfully and continued to look around as they made their way up the stairs.
The porter passed them on the winding staircase as he went to get the rest of their luggage, tipping his hat politely.
When they eventually made it past all of the crystal chandeliers and beautiful antiques to their rooms, Willow remarked, "Pick which room you want. I really don't care," struggling to suppress a smile when the blonde's face sagged with confusion.
"I thought—I mean, on the road we sorta—I thought it'd be the—"
Smiling on the inside, Willow said, "I thought you'd want your own room, Buffy. I guess we could change it if you wanted. I dunno with the advanced booking. Want me to go ask?" I stopped getting rooms with two beds 'cause she kept just crawling in bed with me. It seemed like a waste. She stood in the hallway patiently waiting for the blonde to decide which room she liked better. She's either really, really clingy 'cause of the homesickness, or really, really confused. Probably a little of both, and not feeling good because of her leg. What I read about that said one thing to me: unpleasant. Letting her decide what she wants is best.
Buffy poked her head out of the room on the right long enough to say, "I like this one," and disappeared back inside.
Following dutifully, Willow looked around at the large four-poster bed and the sitting area with two Victorian style chairs. "So are we keeping both?" she asked patiently.
After taking a seat in a chair next to the marble fireplace, Buffy replied, "I dunno, Will. I sort of got used to you, but if you want your own room I totally understand."
Moving the crutch aside, Willow sat in the chair next to the blonde and offered honestly, "It wasn't for me. I just didn't want to be pushy...what with the weirdness."
Buffy's gaze fixed on the painting above the mantel as she said sullenly, "I get it."
Willow got up, speaking as she moved to the door, "I'll go talk with the nice man at the front desk. You have the porter move all the bags in here." Turning to smile and wink before she left the room, she added, "It's no big."
"'Kay," Buffy replied with a distant expression on her face.
***********
Angel pulled his knees up to his chest, dropping his head in his hands. He could still smell the blood. Though her skin had slowly grown back over the mesh of wire, Faith still reeked of it. It was in her hair, caked on her lips, even the soft tissues of her groin smelled rich with the life giving stuff. He listened to the sounds of her whimpering from the next cell.
Angel glanced up just long enough to make eye contact with the strange man, taking in the fresh bruises forming on his chest and jaw. I wonder if she realizes how many days she was actually in his cell before he touched her. He's barely spoken a word, but the few he's said sounded like Scandinavian. Once we figured out that communication wasn't going to be possible, he clammed up. It's like he's watching and listening—waiting for something.
Suddenly, as if in answer to a prayer, water began to rain from the ceiling, purging the smells. Angel looked up into the fine, chilly mist and began to tremble.
Turning his attention to the slayer, Angel watched her shiver and weep. She probably doesn't remember much. How do I even begin to tell her about that thing replacing her implant? Once was bad enough. Would it be better if all that just stayed in the realm of nightmare? Probably. If she asks, I'll tell her; if she doesn't, I won't.
When the water stopped falling, Faith sprang to her feet and screamed, "What am I?"
The sudden movement caused Angel to flinch. Then he looked up in disbelief as the slayer struck the rough bars between their cells. The skin on her forearms ripped away. A charge coursed through the remaining water. He jumped to his feet, but it did little good. He was knocked to his knees again before she struck the bars a second time. "Faith! Sto—" he tried to say before she hit the bars again.
Faith grabbed the bars with her boney, black hands and asked again, "What am I?"
Doubling over in agony, Angel couldn't answer. When the slayer finally backed away from the bars, he scrambled to the other side of his cell and looked up. She was staring at him expectantly. The smell of fresh blood made him cringe. He cupped the cracking skin of his hand over his mouth before he answered, "Faith: the vampire slayer." It was the only thing he knew to say. He blinked as the torn, charred skin on her arms sealed over the gore-drenched black mesh right before his eyes.
"No," Faith screamed, "What am I?" tearing the skin from her upper arm with a boney finger as she raged.
Angel peered up into her frightened face and replied, "I don't know, Faith." As he studied the slayer, she fell to the ground again, starting to sob and sway back and forth. Frightening—frightening is what you are.
***********
Giles took in the crestfallen appearance of the younger Englishman as he exited the office. This promises to be terrible news. He needn't say a word.
"Toby extends his condolences," Wesley muttered en route to the counter where Giles was cataloging the final few returned texts before replacing them on their shelves.
Dropping the book he had in hand, Giles choked "He what—?"
Wesley leaned against the counter, meeting the gaze of his senior before he explained, "Apparently a new slayer was called several days ago and the council, in its infinite wisdom, did not see fit to inform us."
Without further comment, Giles took off in a mad dash towards the door.
***********
Leaning forward in the chair, Buffy dropped her face in her hands and peered gloomily at the oriental area rug. I dunno what I was thinking. Night before last, I'm freaking—'kay, so...that's a bit overstated—I'm uncomfortable because my hand ended up somewhere—umm...uncomfortable. I wish I could ask Mom if this brain damage runs in the family, 'cause it's seriously unflattering. It'd be nice to have someone to blame.
Buffy groaned and swept her hand through her hair, appearing completely annoyed. We get here and I start feeling abandoned. Abandoned? And just 'cause she got two rooms? I need to get this figured 'cause I'm seriously making it worse.
Slouching forward again with her forearms on her thighs, Buffy peered down at the bracelet Willow had given her. Funny thing, I've been a complete nightmare and I know it. Through the whole thing, she's been nothing but sweet. It's not like I didn't see it or— No huge revelations—just people telling me the obvious—even Mom, which was totally wiggy. She's in love. Completely one-hundred percent hooked... A wistful sigh slipped out. On me. Buffy bit her lower lip. The watching makes it different. She's even—she showed me—she keeps showing me. It's really subtle, too—gentle.
Not really focusing on anything, Buffy began to play with the bracelet, watching the light reflect off the silver and tiny gem stones. It had everything to do with that night...and yet nothing at all. The hard part—the confusing and painful part—I love her too. I always have. But I'm not sure what that means. I need to figure it out...and fast. Hurting her—it's so not in the plan.
The bathroom door cracked open and Buffy stirred from her reverie. When she caught sight of her friend, shock caused her face to sag with uncertainty. What'd—?
Willow entered the room smiling deviously.
The grin did nothing to calm Buffy as she looked over the black, strapped corset with a deep-crimson, plaid appliqué on the front and leather belts at the waist. Her gaze traveled down to the black, lacy, ruffled mini skirt and ripped fishnet stockings, resting on the black, high-heeled platform boots laced through a series of silver o-rings. Finally she looked up at the heavy, black eye makeup and deep-red lipstick her friend wore. The red streaks in her shaggy, rumpled, black hair were the final touch.
Where'd she put my Willow? I know I keep asking that, but— What the hell? I get the goth, but...umm...wow! Hearing and seeing— Again with the totally different. I guess there sorta was that once, but that wasn't my Willow. You don't suppose she got turned in the bathroom? She was gone a long time. Nah...probably took her at least half an hour to stuff herself into that corset. Wardrobe should seriously start sending out memos 'cause the freaking...it's not flattering. Recovering enough to speak, Buffy snarked, "So, the blue tinge—is that makeup or are you having trouble breathing?" and started to giggle.
Willow rolled her eyes and commented dryly, "Your clothes are in the bathroom."
Uh-boy...this should be funny. Buffy rose to her feet and limped gingerly across the room, winking before she disappeared through the doorway. Whoa! That was different. Let's see what sort of punishment I earned. More of the funny, Will actually looks good in whatever she wears. Me? A blonde goth chick? This should be... Her gaze came to rest on a very plain pair of black leather pants that looked like they'd fit her tight at the hips but flared just enough at the leg to allow her to wear the brace underneath. Hanging on top of them was a corset, in a similar crimson plaid to the one Willow wore, that looked very much like a men's suit vest. She examined it and decided that the brace from the hospital could go provided she was careful. Rounding out the ensemble was a pair of practical looking, black Doc Martens boots and black nylons to keep the brace away from her skin.
Buffy removed her robe and began to dress while she listened to Willow speak from the bedroom.
"You should get the 'why,' Buffy."
Buffy called out as she sat and slipped on the nylons, "I do. Doesn't make it— It's just different, Will. You look—well...umm...you look amazing—" she sighed and lowered her voice "—but it's just weird." When no comment was returned, she asked, "When did you go shopping?" She put the leg brace on next, then struggled a little to get the leather pants on over it while her friend responded.
"Back in Sunnydale. I actually stumbled across this, surfing months ago. I thought I gave you the details?"
"You did." Buffy winced as she recalled the one memory that would probably never fade: a police evidence photograph of a mangled, half-eaten female torso, partly buried in silt and tangled with debris, that had washed up in the Mississippi bayou. They were vacationing in New Orleans for Mardi Gras two years ago. Janet Williams was identified by a birthmark and distinctive tattoo. The case was never solved. Her partner, Alison Rouche, went missing at the same time. When Janet's body was identified, Alison was presumed dead too. They were the one mistake—the two people that were actually missed.
"What, with all that happened, it just seemed like the thing to do—a way to do some good. I don't think this is mystical. I think it's a human predator. I could be wrong, but it just doesn't seem right. Vamps sort of feed on whatever; this thing's smart. It preys on a group of people that won't be missed. In fact, kids like this are sort of expected to come up missing."
"Yeah...I get it." After putting the corset over her head, Buffy removed the hospital brace and cinched the corset down as best she could without twisting.
"Thing is, 'cause the disappearances are happening in a few different towns—Mobile, Houston, and here—the cops haven't clued to them being linked. But they're all the same. All these women had three distinguishing features: young, lesbian, and riot grrl or goth—the sorta people that most of Middle America doesn't care much about. Most of them are just labeled 'missing' because of the not caring." After a short pause, Willow added, "Well, that and the whole lack of physical evidence."
"Will, would you come help me out for a sec?" Buffy asked as she stood and zipped up the leather pants.
Willow entered the bathroom and, without prompting, began to tighten the corset.
When her friend was done, she winked and walked out of the room, leaving Buffy to finish. After taking a seat on the bench again to try and put on her shoes, Buffy found that she couldn't reach her feet. Oops! I should've put the shoes on before the corset, 'cause touching my toes—it's not gonna happen. Oh well, I'll get Will to help once I'm done. A snicker slipped out and she stood to do her hair and makeup.
Several minutes of silence passed, trying to make conversation, Buffy called out, "So, do you just spend your time looking for stuff like this? Is there some sorta twisted hobby I should clue into?"
A bit perplexed by the lack of response, Buffy poked her head out the door to see Willow on the emergency cell phone. Oh shit! Her mind raced. That was supposed to be—are we being called home? She gave her friend a questioning glare and received the phone for her effort. "Mom?" This so can't be good. She's wouldn't call just to check in, would she? Buffy tensed at the thought. Doesn't she trust us? I mean she knows this is—we've only got so many minutes before we have to give Topp Telecom a credit card number. Then these things are totally useless—we may as well hang a neon sign.
"Buffy? Oh god, it's good to hear your voice," Joyce replied, her tone thick with worry.
"Is everything alright? Do we need to come back?" Buffy asked anxiously.
"No, dear," Joyce replied simply. A nervous intake of air caused the phone to hiss and she continued, "I'm not sure how to tell you this, but Mr. Giles is here and he says that Wesley discovered through a council contact that a new..." Unable to complete the statement, she trailed off.
Buffy puzzled for only a moment and prompted, "A new slayer?"
"Yes."
Struggling to catch up, Buffy fell silent for a short time, finally remarking, "You know that doesn't—" she sighed "—it doesn't mean she's dead. I mean she could've—" Her voice failed mid-thought.
"I know, dear," Joyce responded, "It's good to hear your voice, but we should—"
"It's good to hear yours too. Mom, I miss you," Buffy offered, making eye contact with an expectant-looking Willow. "We miss you," she amended, "And Giles...and Xander. I'm not quite to the point of missing Wesley or Cordelia yet, but give it time...and give the first two our love."
"I will. I love you." Joyce's voice sounded choked with emotion.
"I love you too, Mom," Buffy replied, struggling to keep her tone more reserved. The desire for contact won out and she offered, "We're fine—actually, a little better than. I'm walking again. Well, limping, but— Not perfect, but good—better than I expected," trying to reassure her mother.
"That's wonderful news, honey."
Buffy glanced up to see her friend looking at her watch. "Mom, y'know I don't want to, but—" Saying goodbye—? I can't—I can't let myself think this is the end, but we've only got so much and this is gone. I don't want to be pushy. Mom's got the facts, same as me.
"You take care of Willow. Her parents are beside themselves with worry."
"I will." Buffy didn't want to press the disconnect button, but she finally forced herself to. It took them long enough to notice. Stupid people.
"Faith died?"
Buffy didn't take her eyes off the cell phone for several moments. She wasn't sure what to make of the news, or even the tone of her friend's voice. There was something strange about it she couldn't place. More confusion—like I needed more. When she finally tore her gaze from the phone, Willow was observing her keenly again. She handed the phone back and replied, "Yeah," in a monotone voice, turning back to finish her makeup. She was standing in front of the mirror minutes later putting on a thick layer of eyeliner, when she sensed her friend approaching. "I can't tell you why, but I don't think she's dead," Buffy offered reassuringly.
Willow confirmed, "I know," with a light, habitual tap on the door. After stepping inside, she remarked offhandedly, "Probably bad timing—in fact, definitely bad timing and I'm gonna have to stop doing this 'cause you're gonna get more impossible than you already are, but here—" she handed Buffy an elegant, slender, hawthorn cane with a turned knob handle and a silver tip and collar "—I thought it might be useful."
"Thank you, Will. It's beautiful." Buffy accepted the cane and examined it before leaning it against the wall. Smiling, she pulled her friend into an embrace. Leaning back to make eye contact, she prompted, "Okay, so...you plan to explain?"
Willow asked, "The gift?" looking puzzled, "You needed one...or you were going to—"
Buffy rolled her eyes and made a hand gesture to indicate her friend should 'try again.'
Withdrawing from the hug, Willow shrugged and replied in an almost disinterested fashion, "Oh, Faith? I tagged her. Well, sorta. I put a protection spell on her. If she died for more than a few minutes I'd feel it." She paused to tease her hair in the mirror and added, "Anyway, I half expected the call," then turned to leave the room.
Snickering, Buffy went back to applying makeup. That's my Will.
***********
Angel glared at their demon captor as he entered the hallway, towing the slayer along by her wrist. I thought I knew evil. This thing makes me look like an amateur. I was just playing the role. This creature actually is evil. No hope of redemption—it is what it is.
As the demon reached out to open the Scandinavian man's cell, the man pressed himself tight into the back corner.
Angel watched with dismayed interest as Faith was thrown once more into the other man's cell. The slayer sprawled unmoving onto her back. What's it been doing to Faith? I wish I knew, but she's still gone more than she's here and, when she's here, I'd prefer she was gone. That's terrible to even think, but she's starting to scare the hell out of me.
The demon lingered at the mouth of the cell, clutching something similar to a polished glass rod in one of its four, very human-looking hands.
Angel observed this new behavior with concern. I wonder what this thing's got in mind. The sound of Scandinavian man's tortured screams didn't surprise him in the least, but he still winced.
There was no change in the appearance of the glass rod as the demon used it to herd the stranger over to Faith. Then the demon simply pointed. His meaning couldn't have been plainer.
Dread filled Angel and he wanted to avert his gaze, but found he couldn't. He's been studying her. He's figured it out. He's trying to breed them. More humans to torture—a never-ending supply.
Suddenly the demon turned, fixing its empty, black eyes on Angel. It moved with startling grace and speed, closing the Scandinavian man's cell and making its way over to Angel.
Angel peered up into the black, wolfish face of the demon. The matte, felt-like surface of the demon's form seemed to absorb the light around it. In a world where brightness was the standard, the effect—which, anywhere else, would've hidden him—screamed for attention. When the pain came, Angel doubled over, fighting not to cry out. I will not give this piece of shit the satisfaction of hearing me scream!
***********
After removing the paper umbrella, Willow took a sip of the fruity concoction the bartender'd handed her and mocked a cheerful smile. We're having fun, remember? Yup, darn tootin'! Fun I say.
Doesn't matter that Buffy's been in a funk since her mom called. I can't really blame her. I miss them too, Xander especially. We haven't been apart this much, well...ever. Swiveling on the bar stool, Willow glanced around the large dance floor, taking in the movement and the flashing colored lights. The enthusiastic rhythm of the overly-loud music was almost annoying. Fun! Yay!
Leaning in to speak over the racket, "Not really sure this is—" Buffy grumbled, "Would you mind if we moved on?"
Willow rose from her seat, abandoning the overly sweet cocktail without regret, and replied, "Lead the way." She followed the blonde as she pushed through the crowd, emerging onto the sidewalk in front of the club. The night air was so warm and humid it felt like it clung to her skin. She looked down the narrow street at all the brightly lit signs and colorful awnings.
Buffy stepped around to her friend's right, leaning her weight against the cane as she moved. "So where to?"
Willow smiled when the blonde took her hand and reflected, "I'm willing to follow your instincts. You lead." She never fails to surprise me. I should just clue up and quit. It's just—she adapts so quickly. Yesterday she was using crutches; today I can barely tell she'd been hurt.
As they set off at a relaxed pace together, taking in the neon lights and rush of music that poured out onto the busy street, Buffy's gaze fixed on something down a narrow side-street. After crossing onto the sidewalk on the other side of the intersection, she commented wryly, "You sure that's what you want?"
Willow shrugged. "Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it." She glanced at the blonde and peered down the side-street to see what had caught her eye. Her gaze fixed on a sign with a skull and skeletal torso draped in cloth announcing the club name 'Ye Olde Original Dungeon.'
"Goth connection, meet goth bar," Buffy muttered under her breath and started down the cross-street toward the sign with Willow at her side. "As much of this stuff as we've seen that's real, the fake—it gets all the more funny." They were soon crossing the bridge that led to the heavy, wrought-iron-banded, wooden door of the club.
Willow glanced over to see an amused grin warming the blonde's features when the entry opened up into a mock torture chamber. At least she seems happier. This place is pretty funny. Sorta like a really campy horror film set. As they passed under a stone arch into a large, black-walled room lit in red light, the beat of the music sent vibrations through her body.
It was Friday night and the club was packed as they moved past the throng of patrons to explore. The remainder of the place was a veritable cornucopia of haunted house clichés. They wound their way through wrought-iron gates; up narrow, creaky staircases; past creepy-looking, fake monsters; and through mazes made from bookshelves. Beyond each obstacle they passed, they discovered more large rooms full of party goers, each one with a similar theme: black walls with red accent bricks painted in, red strobe lights, and fog machines.
Buffy let out an amused giggle that was nearly lost in the flood of sound from the P.A. when her gaze fixed on the ceiling.
As they passed into what appeared to be the third and final main room of their journey, Willow glanced back to see what had been so amusing. An orate sarcophagus hung, suspended by chains, near the ceiling of the previous room. Yuppers, serious camp. She shrugged, quickly turning her attention forward to take in the next room. It was a little smaller than The Bronze back home and much more comfortable, except that is was lined floor-to-ceiling with fake human skulls. They made their way to the bar in the middle of the room and each took a seat. Despite the décor, it was quieter and Buffy began to visibly relax.
"Anything prickly?" Willow leaned in and asked, already knowing the answer.
"Nada. No self-respecting vamp would be caught dead—" Buffy snickered at the poor choice of words "—in a cliché like this. But vamps're not what we're after, so..."
When the bartender came around to offer them the club standards—dragon's blood or witch's brew—Buffy ordered an orange and grapefruit juice and Willow ordered a diet cola.
Yup, fun! Willow mused as she glanced over at her friend. I'm not sure how to drag us outta the dumps. Regardless what Faith did, the news was still upsetting. Suppose I should've warned Buffy, but it honestly didn't cross my mind. It's not like the spell sets off flashing lights and sirens in your head. It's way more subtle—more instinctual.
Willow suppressed the urge to sweep a clump of hair from the blonde's face, considering the action too forward in the moment. Instead she searched through her purse, locating money to pay the bartender. Then you've got the extra goodness of Buffy's mom calling to make sure we weren't... That had to be painful for her. I should've probably suggested we stay in and watch a movie. But with the dressing up—I don't think she would've. She'd've wanted to make me happy.
Accepting her cola, Willow passed the bartender a bill and took a sip. This place really isn't— I'd try to get her to dance to cheer up, but I know walking—it has to be hard. Doesn't matter how well she's doing—I can still feel the stress. That, and the kind of dancing—I mean, that transy, weird dancing they do in these places—it doesn't even look fun. Dancing should be fun, or snuggly...one of the two. This doesn't look like either, which—it's pretty pointless.
After taking a drink of her juice, Buffy casually put her arm around her friend's waist and asked, "What's wrong, Will?"
"Honestly?" Willow chuckled "I'm worried about you." She shut out all the movement and noise around them and focused her attention on her friend. When the admission was answered with a giggle, Willow began to unwind.
"Y'know, I probably shouldn't like this place, but I do," Buffy reflected, "It's almost like a bad parody" — absently stirring her juice with a swizzle stick — "might be wrong—I dunno."
Willow took a sip of her soda before she responded, "Could be just 'cause of what you said before: any self-respecting vampire wouldn't be caught dead here. Sorta takes the pressure off." She giggled, glancing over her shoulder before she added, "Plus the people watching potential—it's just like the place, every bad parody known to monster-kind. There's enough black velvet and white pancake makeup in here to supply the set of the next Anne Rice film."
"Yup, pretty much," Buffy agreed and took a drink of her juice.
Willow found herself getting caught up in simply enjoying the company. It was nice. "So what do you wanna do tomorrow? There's lots of stuff to see if you wanna get all touristy."
"Has potential. Do you have something in mind?"
"Well, there's Jackson Square. I sorta wanna go there. It looks really pretty from the pictures and there's lots of local artisans that come to—" Willow offered, breaking off when a hand closed over her shoulder.
A soft, breathy, female voice whispered in her ear, "You should ditch the pathetic Barbie doll and come home with me."
Willow was just about to remark about how rude it was to interrupt a private conversation when Buffy leapt to her feet. By the time she got turned around, Buffy was in the other woman's face. She watched, slack-jawed, as the slayer stared malevolently at the much larger woman.
"'Kay, so...I'm gonna keep this really simple 'cause you don't look all that bright," Buffy snarked.
Wow! Buffy's been really short-fused since she got hurt. Willow looked the other woman over. Like the other club-goers, she was dressed in black with a pallid complexion made more striking with makeup. She was actually very pretty and Willow found this somehow even more flattering. There was an air about the woman that said, 'capable,' but Willow knew that made little difference, given her friend's abilities. She also got the distinct impression that this woman dabbled in magick.
Leveling on Buffy, the woman snarled, "Not bright? Somehow that just doesn't mean much coming from you."
Ignoring the retort, Buffy continued, "Three things." She raised a finger on her right hand, "First: private conversation—get a clue." Another finger rose, "Second: I've only been pathetic a couple times in my life. Last time" — she gestured to Willow — "she was the one that clued me up."
"The message, it must not have stuck," the woman growled.
Completely unaffected—raising the third finger—Buffy resumed, "Last thing—and you might wanna listen 'cause this is the most important of the bunch—" her tone turned low and dangerous "—she's mine."
Willow's mouth fell open. 'Kay, so...this—this is completely unflattering. Clamping her mouth shut, she watched helplessly as the slayer used her cane to effortlessly sweep the larger woman off her feet. No, Buffy! We're here to find— The woman hit the ground and sprang deftly back to her feet. The first nibble and you go all defendy. The next thing she knew, they were being escorted from the club by security.
As they passed into the humid night air, the woman turned to Willow and said, "Offer still stands."
Willow couldn't keep from smiling when she felt the slayer tense. "I'll pass tonight." Wow! Buffy's always been protective, but—
The woman winked at Willow and turned, pushing Buffy aside to make her way down the sidewalk.
***********
Faith's eyes fluttered open. This is getting a little old. Ignoring the men, she touched her chest, starting just under her collarbones and ran her partially formed hands roughly over her skin. She couldn't tell very well but her skin felt wrong, like it was too rigid. The inspection halted when she reached her hips. Why can't I feel? It's freaking me out. She brought her hands to her face to examine them. They're a lot closer to mine, but not. I can see the bones through the skin. Turning her hands over to examine the back, she cupped one over the other, hoping again she might feel something. No fingernails...and no sense of touch. Nothing! They aren't really mine—just cheap imitations.
As Faith rolled onto her side to face Angel's cage, a strange sensation caused her to flinch. I can feel. She put her hand between her legs shamelessly, ignoring Angel. He looks like shit. She looked over the cracked skin on the vampire's face and met the bleary unfocused gaze. Drawing back her hand, she was stunned not to see blood. What? Not that I'm not thrilled—hungry vamp and that would suck, but if it's not—then what the hell?
Hoping he would hear her, Faith prompted, "Angel," and continued to repeat the name until he snapped out of the daze. When the vampire appeared to be listening, she crawled over to the very edge of her cell and tore away the skin of her wrist, then carefully threaded her arm through the bars. I gotta feed him. He's useless like this. Besides what's the worst that can happen? I die? I'm already pretty much dead.
Angel shied away, cowering in the corner of his cell.
"Angel, look, you gotta eat."
"I can't," Angel replied weakly.
Faith rolled her eyes and remarked, "You're totally useless like this." Snapping cold and commanding, she ordered, "Eat." When Angel finally emerged from his corner the wound had healed. "I'll just let you handle it, Boss. Just don't leave any scars." She snickered. Scaring's one of the things I lost. I can peel half the skin off my arm and—nothin'. Not a mark. That'd be too human...and I'm not. Glancing over, she watched the vampire feed. I didn't even feel him bite down. "Take what you need. It's not like I can bleed to death. I've tried," she commented distantly.
When Angel withdrew, he slid way, turning his back to the slayer.
Faith went back to lying on her side, facing the vampire's cell. "What happened to me, Angel?"
"The demon put something in you," Angel croaked.
As if brought by Angel's words, a flash of memory returned. The anguish Faith could no longer feel came back in a vision as hooks ripped into her, flaying her skin. Knives cut into her chest, coring her like an apple. There was a sharp cracking sound and the hallucination faded into murky blackness. She clamped her eyes shut, struggling to steady herself. Eventually she focused enough to rasp, "Not that. I got that much figured. The other—what happened to me last time he took me?" A thick frustrated sigh poured out and she prompted, "Lemme guess, you were too out of it to notice?"
"No," Angel whispered as he slid further away from the bars.
Growing markedly less patient, Faith asked, "What then?" He knows. And if he doesn't tell me this is gonna end badly.
"H-he," Angel began, but his voice cracked. Swallowing hard, he tried again, "The demon put you in the cell with" — pointing over his shoulder to indicated the other prisoner — "and tortured him until—"
"Until what, Angel?" Faith growled. I wanna hear it. I wanna know. If it's what I think I'm gonna kill 'em all. I'll get outta here and they'll die, startin' with the fucker who raped me.
Angel winced at the slayer's tone. Moving to the other side of his cell before he answered, "The demon made him."
Faith shot to her feet and snarled, "Made him what?" smashing her body against the bars. She continued to bludgeon them until the vampire spoke again. When she failed to hear, she snapped, "What?"
"Until he had sex with you."
Faith looked down at the blood on her arms and shoulder before she answered in a low dangerous voice, "They call that rape, Angel." Something I swore— Her thoughts surfaced in a violent outburst, "I'm in control," she stabbed at her chest, "Me! I decide who touches me!" Self-control returned and she fell silent. I use them!
"There was nothing he could do. If anyone raped you it was the demon."
"Bullshit!" Faith screamed, "No excuses, no lies. It is what it is." Whirling around, she threw herself against the bars between her cell and the rapist's. "When I get through these you're gonna die! You get me? I'm gonna rip your fucking heart out!" She pounded on the bars with all her strength, hammering over and over.
***********
Accepting Willow's help, Buffy climbed carefully into the white, mule-drawn carriage. A bright smile lit her face as her friend climbed in beside her. She's been acting really weird since last night. Wish I knew what was up. It's like she's forgotten that she's Willow. She usually makes a dozen cute observations before breakfast. Today: nada. She's acting like she's mad, all except for the stomping around and the mean looks. Maybe she is mad and she's just forgetting to stomp around?
Glancing over to take in the very neutral expression on her friend's face, Buffy furrowed her brow. Totally par for the course: we're in paradise and she's miserable. Briefly shutting her eyes, she took a deep breath and sighed. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and freshly cut grass. Looking around at the green lawns and perfectly manicured shrubs of Jackson Square Park, her gaze fixed on the tall spires of the cathedral. That church is just amazing. At least I can look away without more of the awkward.
The driver said something, but Buffy filtered it out, allowing her friend to answer. She's fine with talking to other people—just not me. They started to move and she leaned back in her seat, enjoying the sunlight and scenery. Finally, she managed to strengthen her resolve enough to ask again, "What's wrong, Will?"
"Nothing's wrong, Buffy," Willow returned without pause.
Buffy examined the expression on her friend's face. Nothing's right. Her expression: nothing—not happy or sad, just there. She could feel disbelief and concern tugging at her features. Unable to mute the shortness from her tone, she demanded, "It's not selling. There's something. Now spill."
Willow rolled her eyes and replied in a painfully unaffected manner, "Nothing's wrong, I swear. I'm just thinking."
Buffy lost control and snarked, "'Kay, well...maybe if I had a clue what you're thinking about, I'd be less worried that aliens broke in last night and sucked out your brain."
A sigh slipped out and Willow responded patiently, "No aliens, I swear—just me in here working some stuff out."
The cranky won out and Buffy grumbled, "And if I got what this top secret stuff was" — going back to observing the scenery — "I probably wouldn't be worried, but..." Her voice trailed off.
"You really wanna know?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "No, Will, I want you to continue being mystery-girl. I like not knowing why you're acting weird."
"It's pretty simple: you've changed and I'm trying to figure out how I feel about it."
Buffy swung around to look at her friend so quickly it made her jump. "Huh?"
After dropping the hand in her lap that had reflexively leapt to her chest, Willow exhaled a deep calming sigh and replied, "This isn't just about you, Buffy. I have stuff, big stuff that I'm dealing with. And last night—it made some of that stuff more real."
Quirking an eyebrow, Buffy gestured for her friend to continue.
"I'm used to you protecting me," Willow offered patiently, "That's expected, but last night you were possessive. It was like you owned me."
The shock didn't wear off with more details and Buffy responded defensively, "I didn't mean—I-I just wanted her to leave." I so wasn't.
Willow turned away to look at the scenery on her side of the road. "That's not gonna work, Buffy. I know you too well."
Several moments of thick silence passed between them and Buffy started to feel guilty and confused. I was just protecting her. Possessive means jealous. Am I jealous? That chick was pretty, but did I really feel threatened? Mad? Yes—she was a total bitch. But threatened? Not so much. I'd have to be worried that Will might leave me and I know she won't. Stifling the guilt, she commented aridly as a means to test the theory, "Look, Will, I don't want to make things any harder for you than I already have. Maybe I should just do this on my own." The rage that reflected on Willow's features when she suddenly turned to make eye contact almost caused Buffy to wince.
"Don't you dare talk about running away. You've done it once and it broke my heart."
Searching her friend's face for answers, Buffy took a couple of deep breaths to calm her nerves and asked, "Then what, Will? What do you want?"
The anger faded and Willow replied honestly, "Time—same as you—and some slack to figure stuff out."
"Okay, but I want a couple things too," Buffy countered fairly; "We need to talk. It freaks me out when you get all broody, so you gotta talk at least some." More silence hung between them, but this time Buffy used it to examine Willow's expression. She's back to nothing—thinking.
Willow finally broke the stalemate by prompting, "That was one thing."
"Yeah...I never was good with numbers," Buffy quipped amusedly and leaned in to give her friend a gentle kiss. When Willow's tongue grazed the surface of her lips, insisting the kiss deepen, Buffy yielded to the demand without a moment's hesitation or thought. All of the confusion slipped away in that instant. It was just them and it was good. She pulled her friend into a tender embrace, sensing nothing but the softness of her form and the warmth of the sunlight that shone down on them.
***********
Angel peered blearily up from where he lay on the floor. His body trembled and he uselessly willed it to stop. The pain still coursed through him. He looked around to find the slayer still lying in an unconscious lump on the floor of his cell. Guess it was my turn. That thing probably figured, since he could make me, if he left her, I'd either do what he wanted, or— A thick sense of dread came over him. Or she'd wake up.
Allowing his head to flop to the side, Angel fixed his gaze on the bars of her cell. It's not like she was all that sane when we got here, but I'm pretty sure the capacity to beat herself unconscious is a new thing. The cracks in the bars were gone and so was the Scandinavian man. His hands were fully developed. He'll no doubt return without them.
Angel shut his eyes, blocking out the harsh light. So now I wait.
***********
The babbling sound of the fountain was soothing, but it also had an annoying side effect. Crossing her legs, Willow looked around the tiny, private garden behind the boarding house, taking in all the tropical plants. I'll go inside in a few minutes. It's so nice out here.
Willow turned her attention back to the paper. Huh, systems analyst position, twenty-five bucks an hour. I could totally do that. Grabbed a pen from the table beside her, she circled the ad in the paper. It might not be the life I envisioned, but it can still be a good one. At least, it will be if she ever comes back.
Willow lowered the paper enough to glance over the top. Buffy was still sitting in the lawn chair, staring at her lap. I don't think she's moved since we got back. Guess it's her turn. I suppose I should've been nicer—just let her give me another one of those friendly little pecks she keeps giving me, but—darn it—I'm tired of beating around the bush. She treated me one way last night. If it wigs her out when I behave that way—it's totally not my fault.
'Kay, so...three job leads. Now: apartments. Willow turned the pages of the newspaper until she found the 'for rent' section. I can look online too after we get back from the club tonight. That is, if she snaps out of it before then. I'm not gonna push. I totally get the confusion. It's like I told her: I've got my own. I think she thinks that I've already got it all figured—that I know exactly what I want. That's sorta true, but then there's another part of me that's worried. What I know is that I love her. The other stuff—all the complicated stuff—I have no idea what to expect.
Willow circled an ad for a two bedroom apartment in the French Quarter and peered over the paper again. "Would you like something to eat?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, "I'll go get something if you'll eat."
Not looking up, Buffy replied aridly, "I dunno, Will, I guess."
After folding the paper setting it aside, Willow queried, "What would you eat?"
"Doesn't matter. Anything, really."
Ice cream...there's a store just down the street. It's a physical impossibility to sulk with an ice cream cone in your hand. "'Kay. I'll be back in a few minutes," Willow remarked as she rose to her feet.
Looked up to meet her friend's gaze, Buffy responded, "Okay, I'll be here."
Willow wanted to hug the blonde, but thought better of it. Instead she offered a small, sad smile as she took in her friend's tear-stained face. I'm an evil, terrible, awful person. I didn't mean— She turned her back and started to slowly walk away. I'm the bad. I promised her I'd give her time to figure it out. But she pushed and I—I pushed back.
Buffy's voice carried from behind the thicket of taro plants, "Will, don't wig out. I'll be okay. I promise."
***********
The light shone in her eyes again, but Faith fought anyway, even knowing how hopeless it was. Soon she found herself clamped to the table anyway. I wonder what the fucker's gonna do to me this time? I don't think I have anymore orifices to probe. Maybe he's found a new game.
The pressure on Faith's wrists increased and with it an overwhelming sense of fear came too. I was kidding! As pain shot from her wrists, her body began to spasm and beat wildly against the slab she was bound to. Her mind reeled with the certainty that she was about to lose her hands.
Then suddenly a cracking noise issued from the table. She was certain her hands were gone. Instead her left arm pulled free.
Reflexively, Faith brought her limp, injured hand to her face, guarding her eyes against the light. Despite the minor amount of control, her body continued to flail against the table. Soon another cracking noise issued signaling the freeing of her other hand. Both hands were ruined. She tried to make a fist and found the fingers wouldn't move.
The demon was on her before Faith could sit up. Intense agony ripped through her. It felt like every remaining nerve ending had been commanded to cause pain. Her brain was still telling her to curl into a ball and make it stop when her body demonstrated that it had other plans. The table cracked as she swung an elbow into the demon's chest. Before she knew exactly what was happening, she was on her feet facing the staggering demon.
Somehow, through all the strain, Faith understood that she wasn't in control. She relaxed and just let it happen. Her foot crashed through the demon's chest and he slumped to the floor. As he fell, she lashed out again, connecting under his chin and sending him over backwards. When he came to a rest, she jumped, landing on the center of his head. The sound of splintering shell echoed through the huge room.