The Lateralus Duet - 2 - Reflection
by Valyssia
Two Ways
[reviews]
And in my darkest moment, fetal and weeping, the moon tells me a secret—my confidant—as full and bright as I am.
Cutting through the forest as I leave campus, I start to run. I want to run far, far away, but instead I head for the old cemetery on the outskirts of town. She's meeting me there. It's one of my favorite spots. Kids go near there to park, which naturally attracts predators. Otherwise, it's pretty low key. I can be myself without much fear of ending up in the paper...or worse, on the Internet.
Light shining through the trees slows my pace. After cutting between two houses, I leap a picket fence. Attentive to traffic, I cross the street, slipping through a heavily shadowed side yard. It darkens more when I reenter the forest and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Impatient, I hasten. I need so bad I ache. I need the pain. I need to focus. That doesn't make much sense...I guess, but it's been a horrible night—eight hours of just me in my head. Nothing but campus trails and drunk college students to distract me.
I weave between the trees. I could almost do this blindfolded. I'm where I belong. My skin prickles as I run past the tree—our tree. I can still feel it. Maybe it's me imagining things, but I swear I can still smell her. Wetness, tacky skin, sticky clothes, I want them off now! Stupid uniform is—
I have to wait. She needs to— I need to know, after all the badness, that she's okay. I don't wanna upset her. Bit late...she's scared of this, of me. Funny, I get that, but I do. Scaring her makes me nervous. I hope she still accepts it. More than anything, I want her to accept it. Thing is, I don't think she gets that this happened before her. This is a relapse...me going back to an old behavior, not knowing, not thinking, not understanding the 'why.' I dunno if that's worse or better, but it's different. Probably worse...
I leap and grab the spikes at the top of the cemetery wall, hurtling myself over. Seeing myself bleeding in our bed through her eyes—it was pretty sobering. I get the wig. I suppose she's right, it was a 'suicidal' thing. I was clueless. I'm not so much for the introspection. That's her job. It felt right at the time, or at least it seemed to. It felt...I dunno, it was an 'instinctive' thing.
I smell her now. She smells like flowers...and...and something I really can't describe...and Willow. My mouth waters and I swallow it back. The obstacles annoy me. She's waiting just like she promised. Leaping row after row of grave markers that block my path, I pour on the last little bit of speed. I need her. Now it's different. It feels totally sexual...well, not totally...'cause the vamps are usually really nasty, but it makes me...it makes me—
I've got a nasty case of the tinglies. I'm not sure whether it's her, or... Not knowing is a bit wig-worthy. She's smiling. I love her smile. Sliding to a halt in front of her, I tilt my head, looking but not looking her in the eye. She told me to stop, but that's...I dunno, it's still hard. It feels weird.
She reaches out to unbutton my shirt and my heart leaps. I tremble as her hands work their way down my chest. My brain's still spinning. I'm still trying to catch up when she slips my shirt off.
Heat rises up in my cheeks. I'm ashamed I can't meet her eyes. My bra hits the ground. She stands still, just watching, looking at me. I still don't meet her gaze, but I know the look on her face isn't right. I thought she was happy. Did I do something bad?
"We need to go. I'm sorry but, well," she explains, "I sorta made it easy for you because I knew...and I promised." She unbuckles my belt and unbuttons my pants while she's speaking. Go? Huh? She slides my underwear and pants down as she stoops and continues, "I sorta herded them. Crypt behind me is full of vamps. That's why—" Oh! She finishes striping me when I lift my feet. I fold my clothes, setting them on a tombstone.
"Just lemme know when you want them," she offers. Striding back over to the tombstone, she casually takes a seat next to my clothes. This is like room service, only better. I'm ready. Crouching, I nod and the door swings open. Four really pissed off vamps come flying out. Well, not exactly flying 'cause they're just vamps.
I tuck and roll as three of them come at me, sweeping one of them off his feet. The other goes for her. I feel bad for him. Not smart. I sorta need a weapon, she doesn't. Nothing handy either. This is where this whole thing gets kinda messy. I don't wanna be messy, that'll upset her. I spring to my feet and spin into a low kick that puts number two off balance. Then I jump, catching the lip of the crypt roof and I'm gone. Landing, I bolt, heading for the nearest tree. Hopefully she'll save something for me.
I spring off a tombstone and grab a lower branch of the tree. Flipping up, I tuck, spin, and grab the next higher branch. One of them followed. He's standing below me getting a really good view, no doubt. I find a limb to break and snap it off, I have a weapon. It's blunt, but I'm not so much for a vamp's right to a swift and painless death. I jump and spin through the air, landing on another tombstone just out of his reach. He tries to grab and I tow him back with me.
Will's playing with the other three. Go figure. They're hanging upside-down. She drops them on their heads when I arrive. I snicker. The one who's on my tail doesn't stop with me. I clothesline him and stake him before he hits the ground. There's this nifty 'dust cloud' thing that happens when they're moving. I watch it 'cause the other three are still in a state of no-fun. I cross my arms and wait for them to stand.
"Could you guys hurry up? I sorta have things to do," I prod impatiently and turn my attention to what I want to 'do.' She's swinging her legs and blushing. Looking up, she leers at me. Just a little too cute. She gets this wicked smile when she's...umm...yeah.
One of my playmates rolls to his feet. He has something cute to say. I could care less. They always have something cute to say, especially when I'm naked. Normally I listen and banter. This isn't normal. Ignoring his snarky remark, I let him come at me.
Sidestepping, I grab his arm, bring it around my chest and snap it at the elbow. I think she wants to see, but I shouldn't let her. It'd scare her. This has always been ugly. I never hold back. It's never cute or witty.
He levels on me again as a second one rises. I feel number two coming up behind me. He reaches out and grabs. A back-handed stake puts an end to the grab. He was new and really dumb...and now he's really, really dead.
The one with the broken arm is older. He spins into a low kick and I jump. When I come down it's on the back of his neck with my elbow. I want to hurt this one. I dunno why.
As I spring to my feet, the third one rises. He was the one that went after Will. No clue what she did to him, but he was pretty out of it. Now he's not. He's begging to be hurt too. He swings and I let the punch through. The side of my face stings as I exact my price. The punch has left him open and off balance. I fold his knee backwards with my foot. The bones splinter and crack. She cringes. That worries me. She covers her eyes as he falls. I need to be more careful.
My friend with the headache's back up and behind me. I spin. He's not ready. Why do they always think I can't feel them? He's ash. Now I have one vamp with a broken leg. I really, really want to—but she's here. She wouldn't like it, so I just end it.
My entire body's shaking. I want more, but she's stooped down behind the tombstone. Is she looking for something? I drop my 'stake' and walk over to look. When I reach her, she stands up. With her left hand she passes me a gathered, flowing piece of deep-plum-colored gauze. Her right hand cracks across my bottom hard as I accept the sheer piece of material. Gasping, I shudder. She says, "Get dressed."
I'm so turned on I can barely stand, but I try to follow her command. I'm not even sure what the material is at first. I hold the thin garment up and appreciate her fashion sense by reading the tombstone in front of me through it. Janet Butler, totally sorry, this might be decent in someone's reality, probably not yours.
I slip the dress over my head. It sticks to my wet skin, officially covering nothing, but it's comfortable and I think that's the point. I tug at the skirt to get it to stop clinging to my legs. Pulling the elastic top of the dress over my shoulders, I straighten the waist. Now I look—it's actually sorta pretty, gathered lots and flowy, with an asymmetrically cut skirt. With the right stuff under it, I could actually wear it in public. Well, okay...sorta in public now...not really, though.
***********
We pull the rough cowl over our face to shield the marks from view. The marks, and the sight he gives us, are both perfect, like our master. He shows us the world as it is. Our eyes would only corrupt the perfection of his view.
We pass a young nun in the corridor. She is dirty, but she thinks we are a monk and pays us no heed. We wear the simple robes and sandals of a monk because our master wishes it. They think us pious and we are.
Another nun passes as we slip into the dorm. This one is beautiful. She is very old and tempered, just like our master. She pays us no mind, just like the first. We slip down the passage that separates all of the sleeping girls. They smell foul. We could rid the world of them all. Our master tells us, 'Just one.' Yes, master, only the one.
We open the door. There are two beds. Our master tells us, 'The one on the left,' and we go, drawing our knife. We watch her sleep for only a moment. She is ugly like the first nun. We can see the corruption of sanctimony clinging to her like a muddy haze. Our master shows us how it stains her.
We clamp our hand over her mouth and she stirs. As she struggles, we plunge the blade into her heart. Her eyes fill with perfect terror. She is beautiful now. When nothing is left but a cleansed shell, we open the window and slip away.
Our master is pleased.
***********
It's just us...and Willow's studying me again. It's a thing with her. I can almost hear the naughty thoughts. The hesitation is tangible as she looks away and begins to put my uniform up. She picks up her pack. I don't think I need to ask where we're going. I silently follow her.
I had eight hours—eight full hours to do nothing but wander around and think about this. I'm still no closer to being okay with it. Eight really annoying hours. The whole thing's more than a little creepy. Sharing surreal, 'bed making' dreams with Faith—even as creeptastic as Faith is—is nothing compared to this.
She puts her arm around me as we walk, caressing my bottom. She's driving me nuts, but I think that's the point. After last night, she'd have to—she'd have to not be Willow to not get it. I guess she's trying to distract me too. I'm not sure if she gets what I saw—what I felt—but she knows it was bad. It took me a couple of floors to calm enough to let her catch me. I was scared she'd be mad, but she didn't punish me. It surprised me. I deserved to be punished, but she just held me. I hope she understands.
After we cross the street, she opens the car door for me. It's pretty unusual for us to drive anywhere. I know now exactly where we're going. Fastening my seatbelt first, I pull it away from my tummy and slump in the seat. She starts the car and we drive away. I'm a little afraid, having no clue what to expect.
I roll the window down and shut my eyes. The gentle motion and the soft breeze are actually soothing, but my mind still snaps onto the question I've been asking all night: what if I don't want to lead an army? Can we skip the whole 'slayer army' drama? I want to move on to 'Buffy getting her head back on straight.' I mean, I need a little slack here. Slayer teams. How weird is that?
I bite my lip. I'm worried about my old memories—the ones Will wants me to have back. Now I'm having new ones forced on me. Everyone seems to have memories for me. It's a thing. I'm afraid my brain's gonna fill up and there'll be no room left for anything important. The new summer fashions are coming out too. It'd be a shame if I didn't know what shoes I want to wear with my favorite skirt 'cause my brain is packed full of other people's junk.
I feel the car accelerate as we leave town. Without opening my eyes, I push the skirt aside. Just the wind feels good. The memories are some really wigged shit. This girl 'Nina' was trained to copy me—to be a body double. I hope her memories are bullshit. They might be a trick. I mean, if I buy this—if I really accept it—that means she's from the future—my future. As futures go—what I saw—it's not a beautiful future.
There's one way to figure it out. That's what we're doing.
I don't even realize that I've been playing with myself until she cups her hand over mine. I remove my hand and gladly give her control. My muscles twitch as the spell takes hold. I'm not sure how she sees this. I know I love it. I love it as long as she doesn't take it too far. But just her teasing me for a few hours is, well...umm...wow...
The car's slowing. I hope this is all bullshit. I hope it's all just some sick delusion. I'm too jaded to think it is, but I try to hold on to the hope. I hope this is just a wasted trip and we make it up—make it worthwhile by making love in an old vineyard.
***********
I've been standing in this ugly little room for hours. It stinks in here. The passed out junkie on the couch reeks of booze...and—well, I'd rather not think about it. He's badly in need of a shower. It's gross in new and horrible ways. And to think I actually sat there last week. Never again. Standing's just fine.
The door cracks, swinging open, and a pretty little dark-haired girl struts out. She brushes past me like I'm insignificant and disappears as Rack leans out the door and motions me inside.
I enter the room. It's thick with magick. My skin tingles and the hairs on my body bristle.
Taking a seat on the couch, he casually spreads his arms across the back before asking, "When are you gonna bring Strawberry around? I miss her. We had such good times."
His glare is contemptuous. I don't need to answer, but I do, "I did what you said. I did everything you told me to do."
He crosses his legs and pats the cushion next to him. It sort of scares me but I take a seat anyway. Putting his arm around me, he chides, "And you failed. Y'know, word is that she and the slayer have been getting pretty cozy—"
I fold my hands in my lap and hope he's gonna arrive at a point soon.
He remarks with a chuckle, "Pretty cozy. Could be bad for us" — I shrug as he keeps talking — "but there's an up-side to this little tryst. One of my less reputable customers shared something entertaining. Seems he saw Goldilocks and Strawberry playing some very naughty games. Wanna see?" Eww! No! Without pause, he adds, "There's a video. It's quite a show. I may sell it—might be worth a pretty penny."
He rubs my back and I suppress a flinch. Laughing, his tone is thick with amusement when he continues, "So you want something from me?" He turns to face me, forcing eye contact. I can't suppress the leap of hopefulness. He flicks his wrist and a torn piece of paper appears between his fingers. I accept the paper and he explains, "Go there tomorrow night, eleven o'clock. Don't be seen, don't get eaten, don't disappoint me, and I might have something for you."
My heart flutters with excitement. I stand up and turn to him, smiling.
The question's been the same for—well, forever...now this. I have a chance. I won't fail. It hurts. I need him so bad it hurts.
Wait! Did he say 'get eaten'? As I turn my back and start for the door, I unfold the paper and glance. My jaw falls open.
A wicked chuckle fills the air and snaps quiet, then he growls, "A friend of mine's coming to town. She had to leave—family problems—you know how annoying those can be. Make her feel welcome." Without pause, his tone snaps venomous, "Fail me again, Amy...well, just don't. There are worse fates than being a rat."
***********
She guides me upright and, from behind, wraps her arms around me. My mind reels, but my body feels so—it feels so intense. What she does next surprises me more. I'm totally floored. I was stunned by the spanking. I didn't expect it. She normally tells me to count.
The...well, that last thing—she was so rough. I think we hit flabbergasted there. I thought she was punishing me, but now I'm not sure why she stopped. My brain's running laps to catch up. Did I do something wrong? She was just fucking me. There's no a nice way of putting it. I want one, but the word isn't there.
Now she turns me to face her. There's a little cracking noise when we part, nothing changes. I'm still—there's still something inside me. It's not a small something. As I gaze just below her face, the connection comes back to life. The moist skin between my legs quivers and I think I'm gonna fall. I tremble and cling to her. She catches me and I don't fall. My knees are weak, but I'm still standing.
Somehow I'm still griping the axe...oh yeah...it's a scythe. It hangs at the small of her back. Moving it away, I peer into her eyes. She looks—there's this impish grin she gets when she knows she's 'being naughty.' She lifts me up by my aching bottom and I wrap my legs around her waist.
Once I'm where she wants me, she makes love to me. Gentle, slow, tender...all the sharpness is gone. She pushes this—this new thing—is it an extension of her—is it a spell—whatever it is—she drives it into me and I moan. It's soothing, intensely erotic, and deeply intimate. It's not rubber or plastic but it does the same thing—it connects us. It feels...umm...er, warm...and maybe alive? Well, not quite—but fluid and it makes my skin tingle.
She has my attention. I can't seem to look away, in fact. I'm in awe. I feel so strong—so alive. My body—I'm not even sure—it's like I'm laying bathed in sunlight, but everything is dark and cold, earthy smells surround us. My Willow warms me—keeps me safe—keeps me grounded. I kiss her.
I'm aware—completely aware of it all, but all I want to smell, all I want to feel is her. She fills my senses. She fills me. We're moving. I don't care. Kissing her is way more important. We're sinking—or I guess that'd be 'she's lowering us.' I still don't care. Willow-kisses: way more important.
When we umm...land? When we settle to earth? Whatever...she breaks the kiss and slowly lifts my dress, pulling it away. I move where she wants me to. I even release the scythe just long enough to let her have what she wants. I want it too.
She lies back, pulling me with her. Carefully turning the scythe, I take it in both hands and rest it behind her neck. After releasing my legs, I let her to go wherever it is she wants. There's a sleeping bag. Where the hell did that come from? Oh well, I have no clue how she got naked so fast either. Not questioning. Questions are bad. They lead to answers and I'm somehow never impressed by answers. Musings are much better 'cause with just musings I don't need anything. It's like magick.
Pressing my palms into the scythe, I move my knees between her thighs and she wraps her legs around my waist. I gently rock my hips forward and close my eyes. As we make love, joined by her—by her magick, she's searching. She's very careful—very gentle. She's looking at the memories. I feel her touch them and submit. She wants to know. I want her to understand. Despite the flow of alarming memories, I find her touch soothing.
Long, slow strokes. Gentle, tender, they steal my breath. The scythe feels good. It's not as good as her, but it adds to the whole. I can tell it's mine. I can feel it—just like I can feel that I'm hers. There's a rightness to it. They're both more real than this 'future' she looks at.
When she's had her fill, the memories recede. I drive my hips forward and peer timidly into her eyes. I should want to look away, but I don't. While I make love to her, the magick responds. I gasp when she clenches and the muscle movement is mirrored inside me. Echoing the action, I tense my pelvic floor muscles, and thrust into her. Dr. Kegel would be proud... And see? All those women's magazines? So not a waste. Gulping in a sharp, shaky breath, she cries out. Her eyes snap shut and her body bends into an arch.
Seizing the supple skin of her throat in my teeth, I plunge the magick into her again. Her nails dig into my shoulders. I don't want this to end—I never want it to end—but it is. I can't stop it. I feel the orgasm surge through her. As she surrenders, the tensing of her muscles is transmitted—it trembles inside me. I can't hold on. I have to hold on. I wrap my arms around her and desperately cling. Crying my name, she sweeps me away.
Complete bliss.
When the barrage of warm sensation fades, I realize I'm weeping. It's over. The connection dissolves, leaving us separate again. I mourn the loss. I want it back. She's in my arms, trembling. I don't want to go back to that life. I want this.
I need her. Slumping on top of her, I feel the metal handle press against my forehead, cool and comforting. She caresses my back, working her way down. Her hands close, cupping my bottom. I feel the swats she gave me earlier as she massages my tender flesh. I want more.
***********
How I ended up on Revello Drive—I have no clue. Leaning against a tree, I stare at the house. In a weird way, I used to live there, but not really. It wasn't really me. Three years with them in a cage—three years as a pet, a rat. I lost my life. Everything I knew went away. I don't know anyone but them now. Everyone moved on without me.
I stand for minutes, hours, I'm not sure. My mind drifts hazily. I haven't been able to focus since Rack cut me off. There are things I can do on my own, but nothing as powerful. I need the magick. I need him to function—to help me get back some of what I lost. I have to get it back and magick's the only way.
Someone's coming. I slide into the shadows to watch. It's the girl—that girl from Rack's. What the hell is she doing here and why is she going up to their house? I thought Little Miss Perfect was through with anything 'dangerous,' that she was 'getting her focus back.' Choking back a laugh, I watch the door open.
Oh, now this is rich! I really need to make a point of getting to know this girl.
***********
There's a sense of urgency to everything we do now. I'm not sure what changed, I just know something's wrong. We drop the car off at her parent's house and rush home. Tonight has been above-average-weird, even for us.
My bottom stings with every step I take, reminding me of the last few hours. A warm, gentle breeze blows right through my thin dress. It's getting light. The horizon is hued with faint golden tones. It's beautiful. Her arm's around me as we stride down the sidewalk together. Everything feels so erotic—so intense. Still hungry, I want more, but I need to let her rest.
We tread up the stairs onto the porch and she places her key in the lock. The door swings open and we step inside.
The light on the answering machine is flashing. I walk over and press the button as she closes the door. The machine announces, "First message, recorded at 4:23 a.m." I glance at the clock. That was about an hour ago. Giles' anxious voice rings out, "Girls, I need to see you both. There's a matter of some urgency that I would rather discuss in person. The hour is of no concern. Please call to confirm, the moment you receive this."
'Kay, so...can I have a shower first? I'm sufficiently wigged. I dunno why I think that, but I'm filthy, starved, and horny. That's what I care about. Seeing Giles? So not on my list of things to do. It's selfish, I know.
I'm just starting to feel bad when she swats my bottom to move me and picks up the phone. I almost squeak, but I stifle the sound, choking it back by clearing my throat. She taps the buttons while she prompts, "Go get ready."
Hanging my head, I obediently start for the stairs. I want to peek in on Dawn. I haven't seen her since the wedding and I need to know she's okay. Giles has been keeping her busy at the Magic Box. With Anya gone, he's needed the help. It's a good thing. She's earning some money and—
When I crack the door to her room, my mouth drops open.
Y'know, my parents weren't really big on punishing us when we were growing up. There were very, very few instances of swatting and Mom always got mad at Dad for it. She thought you could teach by showing. She didn't like the idea of hitting. Makes me wonder what happened with the 'spanking' thing even more...but not the point. There were a couple of times that my father washed my mouth out with soap. It was awful—really, really horrible—but right now I wish someone would wash my eyes out with soap.
This is a train wreck and I can't seem to look away. Will comes up behind me, peering over my shoulder. My sister's in front of me, obviously naked. Between us is a petite, dark-haired girl. My sister is spooned against her sleeping peacefully. The blankets are pushed down around their waists, exposing their upper halves. I've seen way, way...like, lots more than I want to, but I still can't tear my gaze away.
I'm standing there, like a statue, wondering how old the girl is—fourteen maybe—praying that Willow will find the strength to close the door when the girl snaps awake. She locks eyes with me. There's no shame, she doesn't move to cover her breasts. Instead she smiles. It's a knowing smile. It wigs me out even more. I didn't think it was possible.
The girl arches her back, rubbing her butt against my little sister and I cringe. My brain may explode. I want to gouge out my eyes, but I can't move. When Dawn sleepily responds by wrapping her arm tighter around the girl and hunching her hips forward, the girl moans and presses against her.
Willow snaps the door closed. Oh! Thank! God! Scratch the 'fourteen' thing. That little slut's older than me. I can't do that. She has to be older.
Finally, I manage to snap my mouth closed as Willow guides me down the hall to the bathroom.
***********
Focusing is almost impossible. I take a sip of the tea Giles made to 'wake up' and close my eyes. The girl's smiling face—Mary's smiling face greets me. Will told me her name is Mary and when I was a—well, it wasn't me! I'm so confused. She knows me 'cause she screwed me. That's the bottom line. Now she's screwing Dawn. Or, from the look of things this morning—more accurately—Dawn's screwing her.
"Buffy, is something wrong?" Giles asks.
At some point in the last few moments my head dropped into my hands. I don't remember it happening. I wipe my eyes and clamp the bridge of my nose between my fingers. Looking up at him, my hands fall into my lap and I say, "I'm fine, Giles. What's the sitch?"
He looks worried and hesitant to speak, but he answers my question anyway, "The hospital called this morning. It seems the young woman you found has passed away in her sleep. She had no formal contact information, so I gave them mine. It was my understanding she was doing quite well. No reason was given for her sudden turn."
My mouth's open again. Mom used to warn me that I'd swallow a bug and I'm certain...this needs to stop. It needs to stop now! I clamp my mouth closed.
Willow takes over. I'm not sure I'd know what to do without her. I numbly stare into the corner as she says, "She was a slayer, Giles."
It's Giles' turn to develop fish-face. He's way more dignified about it than I am. At least, I think he is. He quickly regains the better part of his 'British' and asks, "That would mean that something—is everything well with Faith?"
"Faith's fine. She was from the future," Willow responds frankly.
I grin. More Giles fish-face. At least I'm not the only completely clueless one.
Rising, she gently gestures for the bag and asks, "May I please, sweetie?" I hand it to her and nod. She crosses the room and opens the bag at Giles' feet. She lifts out the scythe. Giles is totally dumbstruck now. She ignores it and explains, "We need to know what this is...and we need to know now."
The amusement wears off. Giles is done squirming. I kick back on the couch, dully listening to them talk about the future—our future. Willow knows everything I do now. They don't need me. It's time for 'serious research mode.' Thank God I'm terrible at it.
Strange thing? None of that bugs me now. There'll either be two-thousand slayers, or there won't. I'll either lead them, or I won't. No big, right?
I shut my eyes and Mary's smiling face returns. I want to punch her. What's actually eating at me is Dawn. How could I let—? But then it's not 'letting.' If someone had told me not to have sex—not to love Cass—I would've told them to go to hell. If I was that dumb, Dawn would tell me the same and I'd have to back down. She'd be totally right.
Thing is, this girl's bad news. Anyone that'd screw a soulless vampire... 'Kay, so...that's me too! This is badness! I don't have a leg to stand on! I can't say crap and Dawn's gonna get hurt. That girl's using her to mess with me. I have no idea where she's headed with it. There has to be a motive. I need to get it figured so I can at least play damage control.
***********
I'm so relaxed and comfy, I don't want to move. Fuzzy, warm, snuggly...and a name, Willow says a name, "Marina Sawyer." The name, the tone of her voice, they make me stir.
When did I—? She put a quilt over me. How? As I slide my fingers out and pull my panties back where they should be, I'm grateful. What did Giles see? I straighten my skirt under the quilt. How much? My face turns hot. Memo to myself: no more short skirts around Giles. At least I'm on my side. If she did, then he probably didn't, and—well, that'd be nice. I'm enough of a freak without—
I crack my eyes and peer across the room. Giles is standing next to the breakfast counter with his hand on his hip. She's staring at her computer and pointing. I can't see the screen, but she says, "This has to be her. She was murdered last night in West London at an orphanage. It was weird how her accent kept changing. She was obviously English. The other was learned. I mean trained. She'd have to be trained to pass."
Having trouble catching up, but I know they must be talking about Nina. She sounded like a BBC announcer one minute, then she'd say something else and sound—well, she sounded just like me. Nina was murdered. I run the words over again, slower this time, just to get a grip. Nina was murdered; she was murdered for trying to help me—for helping us.
I'm so worried about Dawn, I didn't even think. My stomach lurches. No food. We didn't eat and I'm not sure if I'm glad or not. I just feel sick. The heat in my cheeks rises. I look like a tomato. I know I do.
"Yes, well, you're quite right, it makes perfect sense. Kill her younger self to eliminate the elder. The question remains: who is responsible? One might actually ask the question twice: once, in regard to the murder; and yet again, regarding her existence in our time," Giles replies in a painfully calm voice. I hate that he can do that. I want to scream.
"Well, the 'time' thing is easy. It's a little strange, but only something super—like really, ancient powerful could do the magick—and it would have to be good—something that wanted to warn us." She's all babbley and sort of excitable. It's kinda cute when she does that. It helps. It's funny how sometimes it seems like her brain outruns her mouth. I still feel like the lowest form of life on the planet, but she helps.
After pausing for only an instant, she switches tracks, "Y'know, if we could get fingerprints, or— Oh! There'd be proof you could take to the council. We don't know what, but they might—well, they're not exactly helpful. I can be hopeful though, right? That's not—?" Yay! Feel my enthusiasm? I can feel hers even though it did derail a bit there at the end. The council has a gift for the 'derailing.' So, another midnight run to the morgue to look at the body of someone I failed to save. This day's looking better already. Can I be excused now? Please?
Sounding pensive, he responds, "If we could prove that her existence here was a paradox, then yes, we do have some hope of getting them involved. The thing that will most concern them is the part of the vision that directly relates to them. A threat to the organization is never taken lightly." Of course not, there's only one thing more selfish on the planet than me: The Watchers' Council.
He begins to pace. I'm surprised he doesn't notice me. Playing possum, I close my eyes and he continues, "You are quite certain the watcher's name was Andrew Wells?"
"Yeah, Giles...I wish I wasn't, but I saw his face. It's the same Andrew Wells. If they—if you—if the council is desperate enough to use Andrew—I mean, look at him—he's not exactly a good guy—he's not even a competent guy—that either means that the council's a goner, or desperate, or maybe a bit of both." She so doesn't sound happy and I can see why. I hadn't put that together. In fact, being avoidy is about all I've been doing well. I didn't want to think about it. More guilt...that's just great. I needed more.
"Sweetie?" she says and I groan. Possum never works with her. Without missing a beat, she adds, "You ready to go? Giles needs to open the shop and we should skedaddle." She's shutting her computer down. It's time for me to face the music. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. I've got to look Giles in the eye before I leave. That's gonna be fun.
"Yeah," I reply. After pushing the quilt aside, I stand and begin to fold it. Once I'm done, I look down at myself. Not too much of a nightmare. I sorta look like I took a nap in my clothes, but well, I did. I smooth my skirt down and glance up at Giles. He looks concerned. It's a thing. He's always concerned about me—at least lately. "Giles, would you keep an eye on Dawn? She's sorta—" I fall flat, uncertain how to say what's on my mind. Instead of facing the pain, I scoop up the bag with the scythe.
As we move to the door, Willow picks the thought up and helps by adding, "She's sorta seeing someone that worries us. Not really sure much can be done, but while she's with you—"
Still appearing worried, he answers, "Certainly," adding thoughtfully moments later, "May I ask—?"
I remain silent. She's got this and I really know less than either of them. She replies, "Remember Mary?"
"Ah yes, the young lady who—" he mutters. When he catches up, adds an, "Oh dear."
"Yeah, that'd be the worry," she responds as I open the door. I want to leave. This is making me less and way less comfortable. I started out pretty much blushy, I'm afraid of what I look like now. Actually, one more revelation and I might get to enjoy another relaxing psychotic episode. Those are fun.
He reaches for the door when I try to slip through and offers a clipped, "Indeed." Good ol' Giles, still British. He's as good at talking about this stuff as I am—actually a bit worse.
Turning to leave, she pats her laptop case and says, "I'll continue with the research."
I wave. I'm almost out to the courtyard when she catches me and puts her arm around my waist. Leaning into whisper, she says, "I covered you up...umm...before."
I almost wilt with the relief. At least that's one less thing. Caressing her back, I reply, "Thanks."
She steers us toward home and says, "So, how about breakfast?"
Shrugging, I answer, "Sure." I'm so not hungry, but it'd just worry her if I said no.
***********
Walking up the stairs onto the porch, I look around. This is the last place I should be. Doesn't some old man live here? I shrug and ring the bell. I'll just tell Rack there was a mistake if grandpa answers. No big, right? It's a bit late, but he'll be fine. An extra Geritol in the morning and...
Choking back a scream, I stare at the blonde woman who just jerked me inside. She slams the door behind me and...Jesus! That was my favorite— Shit! Reflexively, I cover myself. My back hurts where she tore my bra off. I have no clue—
Hey! I smack her hand and she purrs, "Not that kinda treat?"
I snap, "Not gay," and smack her hands off my jeans again.
Her face shifts. Oh shit! She buries her face in my neck and whispers, "Must be this kinda treat then."
Pain!
Just as her bite shifts, tearing into me more, I look over her shoulder and...and... Buffy! Thank God! Help me, Buffy! She just stands there with her hand on her hip. What the hell is—?
After clearing her throat, she scolds, "Now, Tara," sounding like she's talking to a child.
Releasing me, Tara spins and grows. Wait! Tara? As in 'the girlfriend'? The one Miss Perfect had the meltdown over? What the hell is Barbie doing here? I thought that those two were all pelvic and— I need a scorecard. This is making no sense. Could be the blood loss. Maybe the nudity.
Tara takes two steps so quickly I almost miss it and snatches something off the desk. I see the movement. She throws something. A thumping sound comes from behind Buffy. What the hell? Moving right, I lean over and see a letter opener sticking out of the wall. Alright, so, Buffy can dodge—she didn't move though.
Hell with it. If I'm gonna die I'm gonna die comfortable. I pull the afghan off the back of the old man's chair and drape it over me like a shawl. Taking a seat, I settle in to watch the show.
Wish I had some popcorn. Tara's pissed and... Oh, jeeze! Buffy's naked. Winking, she asks, "Like this better?" No! It's totally not fair. She does nothing but eat and she gets to look like that. I've been on a diet for—well, for a few weeks—being a rat—really not conducive to—
Gesturing to me, she drawls, "Sorta like 'em naked and submissive, don'cha?" Bitch! I'm pissed.
Placing a finger to her chin as Tara continues to throw things. Buffy says, "Maybe this?" and changes into some strange woman I've never seen before. Thankfully, she's clothed. In fact, she's clothed very similarly to Tara. Long skirt, peasant blouse and boots—ren-faire rejects...
This gets the vampire's attention. Tara's eyes go wide and she stammers, "M-mom? N-no...p-please—"
"Not really," the older woman answers dully.
A tear slides down Tara's cheek and she barks, "Change back!"
The older woman says patiently, "Just listen. You could've done that in the first place, but I understand the anger issues, sweetie. You sort of feel like they all abandoned you?"
Tara nods and hangs her head. She's starting to get mad again. 'Anger issues' about sums it up.
"I have something for you," the older woman says and motions her into the kitchen.
I'm comfy...well, as comfy as I can get, topless in a strange man's house. Hey, I wonder—? No need to ask—the little old man's totally dead—probably in the basement. Note to self: stay out of the basement.
When they reenter the room, Tara's carrying a black and white cat. That's weird, I thought cats hated vamps—across the board, no exceptions. Whatever this thing is—she's Buffy again and she's chiding Tara, "You two are gonna have to find a way to get along. You need each other. Not sure I can simple it up much more."
Tara's too busy holding the cat and petting it. She doesn't seem to notice much. I'm just grateful Buffy's dressed. That was totally annoying. She turns her back to me, facing Tara, and chides, "Don't eat the witch. 'Kay, so..." Pausing, she scratches her head and continues, "You can eat the witch just don't eat the witch. Y'know what I mean—no more bloodletting, 'kay?"
Hey now! Don't I get a say in who eats me and how? We are talking about me. Person here with rights and everything! Her attention snaps to me. She marches over to the chair. Sneering contemptuously, she snarls, "You were a rat. You should be used to being treated like a pet. Behave, obey, and I'll let you live. We clear?"
Shit! How'd she hear—? Buffy bends down and forces eye contact with me before she hisses, "There's nothing I don't know. Your darkest fear? I can make it happen, right here...right now. Obey!"
The room is suddenly full of rats, hundreds of them. I rake two or three of them out of my lap. When I manage to nod, they all vanish. I look terrified. I can't help it. I sorta am.
She commands, "You will go see Rack in an hour." As I struggle to nod again, she smiles and purrs silkily, "Until then, you two girls can get to know each other." A bright light flashes and she's gone. I'm alone with the vampire and her cat.
Tara leers at me.
Oh shit! This is gonna be fun.
***********
When I enter our room after work, she's sitting at her desk with her computer. The scythe is next to her, leaning against the desk. She's been studying it. I want to undress and kneel on my mat, but I wait for her. I want her to know I'm trying. It's hard, but I'm trying.
As she crosses the room, I bow my head. I can't help it. I know what she wants, but the impulse is just too strong. I want to know why. It sucks having all of these things—these weird things...and I have no a clue why I do them.
Her hands come to rest in the middle of my chest. She unbuttons my shirt and whispers, "I still just wanna take it off of you." I smile and she does, she takes it all off of me. Relief comes with each piece of clothing she removes.
Once I'm naked, I feel better—I feel normal. This is how I should be with her. I dunno why I feel that but, as weird things go...this one's okay. I can live with needing to be naked when I'm alone with her. She takes my hand and leads me to the bed. Again...not a 'bad.' I lie down and close my eyes and she whispers, "I took care of the—we don't need to leave. We can—if you're ready."
Code...Willow in code. She took care of Nina. She went to the morgue to spare me. A wave of relief washes over me. I can live with not having to see, not having to face another one of my many victims—the people I killed with my selfishness. Doesn't change the fact it happened, but at least she spared me that. The rest of the code is simple. She wants to know if I'm ready. Am I? Can it really make anything worse? Me knowing the truth—will it make it worse?
I feel her moving around the room. She goes to her desk and pauses. I can feel the worry and it makes me nervous. She doesn't need to speak, the question is pointless, but she asks it anyway, "Are you sure you're ready for this?"
Struggling with the unrest, I do my best to sound confident when I reply, "I need to know." And I do. I need to understand the 'why,' but mostly I just wanna know how Mary ties in. I want those memories back so I can protect my sister.
When she goes to the closet, I want to open my eyes. I resist the desire, though it makes me even more nervous. I expect to hear the rattle of chains. Instead, she removes her robe. When the closet door swings closed, I breathe a sigh of relief. She wants to trust.
She places the piece of quartz in my hand and slides in beside me. I sit up. As I peer into the little black shard, she says, "If this is really what you want, break it." She curls around me and caresses my back. There's no pressure. It's all on me. What should I do? I enjoy her touch for a few moments. I need to know about Mary. Closing my hand around the rock, I bear down. It turns to powder. What I feel stuns me. Nothing, I'm shocked by nothing. Now that's pathetic. There's no pain, no blinding flashes, nothing intense. It actually feels good. I feel more whole.
Rising from the bed, I sweep the dust into the trash can and return to her. She asks, "How do you feel?"
I lie down next to her and shrug. "Peachy, I don't see what the 'big' was," I answer honestly. It's weird. Not what I expected at all. I was thinking fireworks and, like, all sorts of huge stuff when she talked about it this morning. Nothing like that happened.
She curls around me again, pulling the covers up, and I close my eyes, remembering. There's a huge difference between her memories and mine. It makes sense that there would be. I mean, all of what I see—all of what I did was pretty passive. I dreamt most of the time. Dreaming and she made love to me. That's it—our big week together.
I look at my face in her memory, laying wounded and bleeding on our bed. It's hard to figure out how the two things line up. They don't match. What was I dreaming then? Is there a memory we share so I can line the two up? This is a mess. I should be seeing something. They're so different. Something should be jumping out. It's sorta pissing me off—all these distant sensations and muddy feelings.
I look at the following week. There's something new here. I started work that week. It was a really normal week, but there's something new. I had a dream about the slayer. Just like the dreams I had—and... Oh my god! This is just wrong. Every time I dreamt about the slayer—every time I saw her...I hunted. The two things—her and me—me getting hurt, they line up. Even when she was being all submissive—they line up. The pieces snap into place and I feel sick. I need to throw up. Fighting to keep it together, I wrench the sick down.
She's caressing me again, trying to soothe me. It takes me a second to figure out why. My muscles are all tensed and I'm sweating. I try to relax, but there's more. I'm not sure if it's a new 'more' or an old 'more.' All I know is it's a disturbing 'more.' A really, really upsetting 'more.' It doesn't make sense. I remember hunting. I was asking for it. Careless, reckless, I didn't care if I got hurt or not. I let it happen. I wanted it. Some part of me wanted to be punished. I wanted the pain...and I'd come home, lay down in our bed...and...
The sickness wins. Springing out of bed, I run for the trashcan and retch. This is all my fault. I set the can aside and reach up to wipe my hair away. I can't face her. Rising to my feet, I go to the closet to get my robe and whisper, "I'm so sorry."
As I turn, I catch a glimpse of her. She looks so sad and I feel so ashamed. I was—I am—I wanted to die—like really wanted to die. I wanted it more than anything. I wanted to go back. I didn't want to be here. She didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I wanted to be at peace...and somehow I thought this would— I'm an idiot. There's nothing noble about this. What it is is desperate—nothing more than feeble desperation.
I leave our room carrying the can. I can't look back. Hanging my head, I mumble, "I need a shower," and shut the door.
***********
I've never felt so naked in my life. Not that I'm not wearing anything. Tara bathed me and dressed me. It was so weird. She and whatever that was must've had an interesting little chat. She didn't hurt me. I expected—well, I expected to be raped, but she was almost gentle. It was really freakish. My neck hurts, but I guess I'll live.
The wino's still here. I'm not sure he's moved since last time. That could be a bad sign. Place doesn't reek any more of death than it did. I look down at myself. The skimpy white dress doesn't leave much to the imagination. I feel like the token virgin in some horror movie, sliding onto the sacrificial altar.
The door swings open, but no one comes to greet me. Since it's just me and the wino, I'm gonna assume he wants me to enter. As I approach the room, my heart pounds in my chest. Colored lights, flashes and sparks fill the room. The floor looks like a rain forest. Rack's lounging on the couch. It's so surreal. I'd forgotten how this place looks when he's working.
He ignores the snake that slithers across his lap while he says, "Lose the dress."
I watch the snake slip over his chest and disappear behind the couch before I move. I can't not. I don't want to, but I stoop to slide off my sandals, pulling the dress over my head as I stand. A flash of energy leaves his hands and flows to the ceiling.
A soft female voice moans overhead. I turn my attention to the ceiling. That girl—the girl that was with Dawn—she's naked. Her milky skin is bathed in a luster of blue light. She looks like a doll—like a miniature exaggeration of perfection. Her breasts and hips are just a little too large, her waist a little too small. Actually, she's worse than Buffy. As her back arches, I watch every muscle move. She peers down at me. Huge black eyes, cloaked by thick dark lashes, meet my gaze. She smiles at me. Unable to help myself, I return the smile. She's so pretty. I want to be annoyed, but I can't.
It takes me a moment to realize that I'm moving. When I finally get my bearings I'm on the ceiling and I feel so alive. I haven't felt this alive in-in—since Willow threw me away like I was so much garbage. I'm not a rat anymore, so I wasn't a good pet.
The girl's lying at my feet. I'm bathed in blue light. I feel so powerful—so intense. I close my eyes and roll onto my back. Soft delicate hands part my thighs. I allow the intrusion, not really sure why. She's kissing me—kissing my legs. It tickles, but it feels so good. My skin tingles with the magick and her kisses. It all feels amazing and...I moan. Her mouth closes over my clit and I squeal. Spots—all I see are spots. I didn't think I could feel better. Wow! The magick—I needed the magick. I need to feel the way it feels, but...
Oh wow...
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