A Journey of a Thousand Miles
by Kirayoshi
She Said, She Said
[reviews]
Chapter Three
She Said She Said
She said, "I know what it's like to be dead,
I know what it is to be sad."
And she's making me feel like I've never been born.
I said, "Who put all those things in your head,
Things that make me feel that I'm mad?
And you're making me feel like I've never been born."
She said, "You don't understand what I said."
I said, "No, no, no, you're wrong."
When I was a boy everything was right
Everything was right
I said, "Even though you know what you know,
I know that I'm ready to leave,
'Cause you're making me feel like I've never been born."
--The Beatles
"She Said She Said"
He sat at his workbench, hunched over, hands grubby with machine oil. He expertly manipulated a jeweler's screwdriver over a circuit board, testing the circuits to insure that nothing had blown. He hadn't had the opportunity to test his new invention for nearly a week, and the possibility that the delicate circuitry could be affected by dust. He couldn't risk that, not with the Black Box being an integral part of his plans for Buffy Summers.
"Hey, Warren," Andrew shouted from the rec room. "You finished in there? The Red Dwarf marathon's gonna start in ten seconds!"
"Just a minute," Warren shouted back from his bench, a jeweler's loupe still fastened to his eye. "Besides, they won't start the show until after ten minutes of pledge drives anyway." He returned his attention to the Black Box, making some slight adjustments to its calibrations.
Six months ago, when he first formed the Troika with his friends Jonathan and Andrew, Warren knew that they would require powerful allies if their plans to take over Sunnydale were to succeed. And when he first learned from hacking into some outdated government files about the Initiative's experiments with mind control over vampires, he started to wonder. If there was a way to locate their 'chipped' vamps, and control them himself, the Troika would have a formidable army at their disposal. He invented the Black Box to gain control of these vampires by controlling their chips.
But he hadn't had any luck in locating any of the Initiative's experimental vamps. A great number of them, he surmised, must have been dusted; Buffy and her posse were good at that. If there were any survivors of the Initiative's experiments, they weren't making themselves known. Eventually, he shelved the Black Box, and concentrated on other projects.
Last week, when Spike first arrived at their doorstep, that changed.
When he first learned of the chip in Spike's head, Warren realized that somehow he must have accidentally affected the chip. The Black Box must have altered the signal the chip was sending to his brain; otherwise why would Spike ask him to examine him?
Warren spent the last few days since then examining the Black Box. If it was working, he needed to regain control of his experiment. And if he could fine-tune the Box's signal booster, he might even be able to 'low-jack' into Spike's head, using the Box to hear what Spike heard.
If he was right, Spike would soon be the servant of the Troika.
He carefully put the Black Box away, hiding it from his allies for the time being, rushed to the bathroom to wash the machine oil off of his hands, and rejoined Andrew in the rec room for six solid hours of Red Dwarf, a well-deserved reward for his hard work.
"Fun, fun, fun," he sang tunelessly to himself, "in the Sun, sun, sun..."
>
"I'm telling you guys," Xander insisted, "there's some demon behind that jewel heist. Someone with some kind of stealth thing going for him."
"I dunno, honey," Anya insisted. "Willow, Tara and I were pouring over all of Giles' old books, and we didn't find any demons that could turn invisible."
"Maybe it was Marcie," Willow suggested. "Or someone like her. She was invisible, and we never did find out where those government types took her." Tara nodded at Willow's suggestion. "You think someone from the Initiative's responsible, Willow?"
"Or some kinda Cigarette Smoking Man's pulling the strings?" Dawn asked.
"Maybe, guys," Xander frowned, "but after the Initiative folded their tents, I doubt the government's gonna try anything screwy in Sunnydale."
"Maybe it was little pixies," a Cockney-accented voice echoed calmly from the darkened store-room. The speaker strolled out almost casually, his face leering in a mockery of a friendly smile. "Yeah, that's right, li'l pixies, just like me ex-girlfriend kept seeing in her fantasies. Pixies, stealing away pretty jewels to hide them from greedy humans."
The others just looked blankly at Spike for a few seconds, before Xander turned to Tara, saying, "You still got that uninvite ritual, and does it work for commercial buildings?"
"Oh, don't worry about that, mate," Spike grabbed the vacant chair next to Xander's, sat down and propped his feet on the table in front of him. "I mean, you got other things to worry about, what with the fact that you lot aren't leaving this room alive and all."
Xander clenched his teeth, abandoning any pretense of civility. "That's it, 'mate'!" he shouted. "Willow, where'd you put the spare stakes? I'm taking down Captain Peroxide once and for all!"
"Oh," Spike mocked, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'm so not scared."
"Forget it, Vamp-boy!" Xander smacked the vamp hard across the face, causing him to lose his balance and fall out of the chair. "You still can't do squat, can you?"
Spike dragged himself off the floor, his face slowly taking on the hideous aspect of his vampiric nature. He glared hard at Xander with yellow hate-filled eyes. Then his face melted into a more human visage, as the hapless vampire laughed at the young man who threatened him. "You're right, Xander," Spike admitted. "As long as I have this soddin' chip in my brain, I can't kill you lot."
Spike stepped back, raising his right hand and snapping his fingers. A thin female figure in a black leather corset stepped forward, her hand lazily combing through her stringy blonde hair, and an evil gleam shining in her charcoal-gray eyes. Her eyes suddenly turned a rancid yellow, as her face morphed into a vampire's. Five faces turned white with shock and terror. Spike simply smiled, as he stepped behind the woman who had once been the enemy of his kind, and wrapped his arm around her waist while nibbling her earlobe lovingly.
"Buffy, my Childe," he purred into her ear, "be a treasure and kill these people."
"Anything you want, babe," Buffy grinned wickedly. Without another word, she launched herself at Xander, knocking him to the floor, pinning him down with clawed hands. Savagely she ripped out his jugular with her teeth and drank his blood greedily.
"Mind you save some for me, pet," Spike chided the newly-turned vampire. "I'm feeling a bit peckish."
"Here's one for you," Buffy growled, leaping from the corpse of her friend and grabbing a hysterical Anya by her hair. She slashed her throat deep enough to kill instantly, before tossing her to Spike, who lapped at the blood that flowed from the wound.
Tara tried to cast a protection spell around herself, Willow and Dawn, but the former Slayer was too fast for her; a crossbow bolt ripped into the witch's heart, stilling it immediately. A second bolt struck Willow in the back as she tried to run from her former friend. Spike and Buffy feasted on the blood of the dead wiccans, sharing a crimson kiss as they drank, before turning their attention toward Dawn.
Buffy stalked toward the trembling teen, who cowered in a corner of the ravaged shop. "Y-y-you w-wouldn't k-k-k-kill me, w-w-would you, B-b-buffy?"
Buffy smiled at her sister, a smile Dawn knew to be a lie. "Oh no, Dawnie," Buffy cooed in a sickly imitation of her familiar loving voice. "Spike and I'll take good care of you, as we always said we would." She roughly grabbed her sister's arm, pulling Dawn toward her, then sunk her teeth into the tender skin of the girl's neck. With her free hand, she clawed a neat incision into her own neck, letting her blood well out of the cut. She pressed her sister's lips to the cut, and gasped in ecstasy as she felt a weakening Dawn drink from her...
>
Buffy bolted upright in her bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering her entire body, causing her pajamas to cling uncomfortably to her skin. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, a hammer on an anvil. Her breath came in terrified gasps.
Ever since she first became the Slayer, she learned to despise dreams. There was a time when she was young that her mother would console her after a nightmare, assuring her that it was only a dream. The terrors of the night were all in her head, the monster under the bed would never get to her and all would be right in the morning. Now, Buffy knew better. All too often since she became the Slayer, her dreams were portents, signs of future events.
The nightmare that she had just suffered was such a dream. She could not doubt it; it was too vivid, and too much remained fresh in her mind. She could still recall every detail; the coppery taste of Xander's blood, the acid thrill of taking the lives of her friends, the pleading in Willow's eyes.
It was not a dream, but a prophecy. A portent of things to come.
She lowered her head in agony, wishing with all her soul that she were still dead, rather than to bring her family to such a state as she saw in her dream. She cursed herself for letting this thing with Spike go so far; now she had placed everyone she still gave a damn about in deadly peril.
She knew now that Spike had plans for her, and they didn't involve love or companionship, despite his protestations to the contrary. She was to be his Childe, to hunt for him, kill for him, provide him with newly-killed victims so he could sate his bloodlust without fear of his chip.
And it was all her fault. She allowed him into her life, into her body. And he would take full advantage of her despair, turning her into the thing she despised most.
He would soon take her. And at his command she would kill her friends.
She would kill Willow.
She would turn her sister.
That thought alone, that she would do violence against her dearest friend and her sister, sent her into a fresh round of pathetic sobs. So lost was Buffy in an abyss of despair that she didn't hear her door open. She wasn't aware of small feet running to her side, or slender arms gently wrapping around her body, or the sweet voice murmuring assurances to her.
Eventually, as Buffy cried herself out, she became aware of the familiar arms that encircled her, the voice that calmly muttered "There, there, Buffy," in her ear, the strands of red hair that drifted across her eyes. "It's gonna be okay, honey. Everything's gonna be okay."
"It's not okay!" the slayer exploded in Willow's arms, nearly causing the red-haired girl to fall back away from her. "You don't know, Willow. You have no idea..." Buffy couldn't speak any more, as fresh sobs wracked her frame. Willow looked at her friend, her hero, and was shocked at how small she seemed, how frail and weak. Dear Goddess forgive me, she thought mournfully, I did this to her. Me and my magic. She chased these thoughts out of her head the moment they formed; she was not about to indulge in her own self-pity, not when her best friend needed her.
"Buffy," Willow guided Buffy's chin with a gentle but firm finger, forcing the blonde to make eye contact with her. "Look at me. If anyone knows about going through hell, it's me. I let my magic get out of control, and I'm paying the price for it. And you and Dawn still accepted me, even when I put Dawn in danger. How can I do any less for you? Whatever it is, whatever trouble you're in, I want to help. I owe you that much, at the very least."
Buffy looked long and hard into her best friend's deep green eyes. For a moment, she felt as though she were staring into Superman's eyes, eyes that could see right through her. She lowered her head, feeling Willow's palm gently resting on her cheek. She leaned into Willow's arms, gratefully accepting a warm and generous hug. For five minutes, she simply allowed herself to take freely of the love and support that Willow offered so selflessly.
Finally, Buffy pulled away from Willow's arms. She simply sat there, still feeling Willow's touch on her arms, collecting her strength, preparing to tell Willow the terrible truth. She had put this off for too long, and she could not lie to Willow, not now when they needed each other so much.
"Willow," she whispered hoarsely. "The night before your accident... I...I made the worst mistake of my life. I did something...something terrible..."
The floodgates had opened. Buffy had dammed the truth of her liaison with Spike until it threatened to poison her soul. Here, with her friend holding her, she had two choices; tell the truth or let it fester within her until it destroyed her.
So she told Willow the truth, how Spike had smacked her around, told her that she came back 'wrong', telling her that she was lower than human, no longer belonging to the living, fit only for the dead. Fit only for Spike. She spoke clinically of their coupling, sparing Willow the grisly details, only telling how she and Spike had managed to demolish a building between them. She recalled how defiled she felt when she emerged from the wreckage. And she spoke in dried-eyed tones of how she feared facing Spike again, how she feared that he was right. That she was only fit for him to use and discard.
Willow let Buffy continue talking, listening intently to every anguished word. When Buffy finally fell silent, Willow sat beside her friend, her arm slowly inching towards Buffy's shoulder, to take her in a friendly hug. When Buffy flinched at her touch, Willow backed away. She simply sat with her friend, offering what solace Buffy would accept.
Now more than ever, Willow realized, she needed to get her head back on straight. Her friend needed her to be strong. She needed to be strong for her, she wanted to be strong. She wanted to give back to Buffy for all the Slayer had done for her. Buffy needed her. And Willow needed to help Buffy. More than she wanted anything, more than Tara's love, more than the power she had enjoyed as a witch, she wanted to be there for Buffy.
She wanted Buffy to be happy. She loved her too much to accept anything less for her friend.
She loved her. There was no other way to say it.
>
"I'm telling you, I saw what I saw!"
Anya huffed at her fiancée, then turned back to inventory the tarot card sets. "It was dark, Xander, and you were what, ten, twenty yards away? Besides, Buffy would just as soon kill him as kiss him."
"I saw her kissing him last night, Ahn," Xander protested. "She's fooling around with that...that thing! And he cut her too. Scratched her on the face."
Anya raised her eyebrows at Xander's statement. "You sure about that? Isn't that chip still stuck in his head?"
"Oh yeah," Xander protested, "government tech, I'm surprised it's lasted this long. All I know right now is that Buffy's lying to us. After all that's been going down lately, I don't know who to trust anymore."
Anya watched silently as the man she loved turned away, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what he had seen. Whatever had happened between Buffy and Spike, it had hurt Xander deeply; like seeing a beloved baseball player confessing to fixing the World Series. Not knowing how else to comfort Xander, she stood up from her crouched position, wrapped her arms around Xander's waist and whispered in his ear, "You can trust me, honey."
Before Xander could succumb to Anya's formidable charms, the front door chime jangled as the door opened. Xander glanced at the door, his features freezing in a hard, condemning stare at the sight of Buffy Summers walking through the door. "Hey, Xander," Buffy quipped before seeing his iron gaze, then shrunk slightly, toning down her forced bravado. She only knew Xander to be this angry at her once before; when Angelus had slaughtered Jenny Calendar, and Xander joined the chorus of blame, real and imagined, being heaped up on Buffy for allowing Angel to lose his soul in the first place.
"What do you want?" Xander asked blandly, but Buffy clearly heard the edge of disgust in his voice. He knows, she found herself thinking, he knows about me and Spike.
"Uh, I just wanted to ask you guys over to my house tonight," Buffy answered quickly. "Willow's councilor, Miss Ramirez, is gonna be there. Willow told me that Miss Ramirez wanted to meet us. Something about helping Willow out with her addiction."
Xander turned away from Buffy, leaving a palpable silence in his wake. Anya glanced between the two, before saying sweetly, "What time do you want us there?" Xander glared at his girlfriend, but said nothing.
"Sevenish?" Buffy answered.
"We'll be there," Anya volunteered brightly.
Xander returned his angry expression toward Buffy. "Is Spike going to be there?" he asked curtly.
Buffy grimaced, knowing from his damning tone that Xander meant the words to hurt her. "No, Xander," she answered plainly. "Spike's been uninvited from my house."
"I'll bet," Xander groused, and started to walk away. Buffy grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around and look at her. "Is there something you want to share with the class, Harris?" she snarled at him.
Harris regarded Buffy coldly, his features fixed in a dark mask. He wanted to scream, to shout, to berate Buffy for betraying all that she ever stood for. He wanted to...
"He's just anxious to help Willow," Anya chimed in. "The same as the rest of us. We'll be there. Won't we, Xander?" She directed her last question toward her fiancée with a knowing look, one that clearly said, 'Say yes, or you sleep on the couch until further notice.'
Xander lowered his head, accepting defeat for the time being. "I'll be there."
Buffy nodded silently, and waved goodbye to Anya. As the Slayer left, Anya scowled angrily at Xander. "What the Hell was that all about?"
"It's about being betrayed, Ahn!" Xander shot back defensively. "It's about her doing the deed with that bastard Spike! It's about not knowing if she's still on the side of the angels anymore!"
Anya threw her hands up in exasperation. "Man, it's situations like this that remind me why I hated men when I was a vengeance demon! So she maybe...that's maybe...got her rocks off with Spike. So far, all she's accused of is bad judgment. And anyway, she's not the issue, Willow is. You remember Willow, right? Your best friend for as long as you remember? She needs her friends right now. And no matter what Buffy may or may not have done, we need to get together to help her."
Xander locked eyes with Anya, whose steady gaze told him that she wasn't going to budge on this issue. After ten seconds, Xander shook his head and regarded Anya with a rueful half-smile. "Did Willow teach you her Resolve Face?"
"I'm a former vengeance demon," Anya stated with a faint tinge of pride. "I invented Resolve Face."
Xander chuckled mirthlessly, as Anya smiled triumphantly. "Okay. We'll be there tonight. For Willow."