|
|
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy or any or her friends/enemies. They all belong to Joss Whedon, the WB and Fox. I do, however, own Annwyl, Jon, Lyrik and Alethea, and you can't take them away from me! They're mine!!!!!!!!! This is not supposed to fit with Becoming (parts 1 or 2) in any way, so don't waste time thinking about it (not that anyone would, I'm sure). And I might be wrong about Angel's age . . . everyone says different things, so I went with my best guess. Also, the story's pretty long and mostly Angel/Buffy relationship stuff, with a few fights thrown in. I'm not the most creative fight writer ever, so forgive me if I repeat a few moves now and again. If you're in it for blood, don't read this story! Dafydd is pronounced Davith, in case anyone cares. Just thought you might want to know . . . Comments on story (felicity_rose@hotmail.com) appreciated (only constructive, please). Enjoy (hopefully). I wasn't entirely sure about some vampire and Slayer facts (like how much sleep vampires need, and can they actually bleed, as well as a lot about how Slayers become Slayers . . . you'll see if you get to the end of the story) so I took some liberties and made it up. Please, don't sue!!!
Part 1
The air shimmered with malice. The night was thick with it—malice, hatred, and desire. Desire for blood, though they would not get any this night.
"Come on out guys. I’m waiting,” Buffy called into the open air. “This is getting boring you know. After fifteen years one would think you could figure out another way to attack than in a dark alley at night.” Fifteen years. It was so strange, Buffy thought. When she had first moved to Sunnydale it was certainly not the place she’d been expecting to spend the rest of her life. And vampires had been the last thing on her mind. Buffy sighed; a lot had changed since then.
She didn’t have time to reminisce though, and she wouldn’t have wanted to either; her memories were mostly painful ones. The vampires she had sensed decided to take her invitation and attack. Too bad, she’d been hoping they’d slink off as they usually did these days. They’d wised up over the years, and when the Slayer directly challenged them, they usually found somewhere else they were needed. There were two of them that night though, so maybe they were being bold in numbers.
The first came at Buffy from the left, and though the second was behind her she knew very well where it was. The first—a tall male—lunged in for an attack on her weak side, but Buffy delivered a quick kick to his shoulder, sending him sprawling back and thrust behind her quickly with a stake. There was a cry and then the second vampire was no more but a cloud of dust, settling slowly to the ground.
The first was up again, and coming at her with evil in his eyes. He was braver than most these days, and it was almost a welcome challenge. Buffy got tired of chasing vampires sometimes. It was nice when they would just stand there and get slaughtered instead.
He sent a kick at her as soon as she was in range, but she ducked and rolled, coming up behind him. Fifteen years had done a good job of honing her combat skills—that and the fact that she taught it “for a living”. He turned with the lightening quick reflexes of most vampires, and she—with the equally quick reflexes of all Slayers—thrust the stake home before he had a chance to even put up a hand. He fell to the ground and disappeared in a puff of dust. Buffy bent to retrieve her stake, and then picked up the other one. She tucked them into her purse and started home, pulling her large leather jacket closer around her as she realized it was starting to get cold. His jacket was long since worn out, but she’d never quite gotten over the feeling of a slightly too large leather jacket, and every time she went shopping for a new coat she ended up getting the same one. Just one more thing to remind her of him.
Buffy clenched her hand, feeling his ring dig into her skin. She didn’t know why she still wore it. After all . . . fifteen years. And he had done the unforgivable. She couldn’t seem to take it off. Ever. And the cross he had given her was good protection, after all, and not just an aging woman grabbing at any shred of her one real relationship. If you could call it that. She forced herself to unclench her hand, and put it up to rub her neck instead. In the last few years she’d been getting back and neck problems, but there wasn’t much she could do except see a chiropractor, which she did regularly. It wasn’t as if she could take it easy . . .
It was a short walk home to her small apartment. After all, this was Sunnydale. It was a short walk anywhere.
She waved at Mrs. Conner, the woman who ran the apartment complexes as she unlocked her door. Mrs. Conner waved back at her cheerfully. Buffy pushed open her door and stepped inside, switching the light on. The message machine beeped and Buffy pushed the play button absentmindedly as she walked through the living room that the door opened into, calling for her cat.
Lilith, the black cat that Buffy had inherited from the last witch in town, sauntered in just as Giles came on the message machine. Buffy scooped Lilith up, half listening to the message.
“You’ve got to come in as soon as possible Buffy. I-I’ve got something you should . . . well something you need to see. It’s very important. You should come tomorrow morning at the latest,” Giles’ voice informed her. Buffy sighed, stroking Lilith as she sank into a chair. Here she was, a grown woman, and her only message was from the aging high school librarian, who happened to be her Watcher. Buffy wondered.
Not all Slayers fell in love with those they were supposed to kill.
“Stop it!” Buffy told herself sharply, standing and dumping Lilith out of her lap. The cat meowed her protest loudly but Buffy ignored her, caught up in the old cycle of pain and memory. “Just stop it. That was a long time ago, and it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a lonely aging woman. Nothing at all.” That was what she told herself every time. Every time she remembered. Which she was not going to do now. She wouldn’t let herself.
When she was a teenager she had had so many plans. Not necessarily the right kind of plans—she hadn’t known exactly what she wanted to do in life, but she had certainly known how many children she was going to have, and what color house she was going to live in. She was going to be arried with her first child by twenty eight, she had decided. Later than that and her life wouldn’t be worth living anymore.
she thought. She lived in a small apartment, taught hand to hand combat and fitness to survive and fought vampires or other kinds of monsters every night. What had happened?
she thought. And Giles had happened, and the Hellmouth had happened. Spike and Drusilla had happened. she thought.
Buffy turned off the main light and wandered into her bedroom. She absentmindedly changed and brushed her teeth, her mind on the past, as it often was. As she tried to keep it from being. She turned off the light and crawled into her double bed. Even a double bed seemed to large for one. But one was all that ever occupied it anymore. Maybe ever, she’d forgotten.
What she hadn’t forgotten, what she could never forget, was the look in his eyes when she sent him away.
“Hey Jon, you weren’t in class on Monday. What’s up?” Buffy called to a young man as she entered the high school the next morning. Jon Richards, one of her students, smiled apologetically as he looked up at her from his seat on the school steps.
“I was sick,” he excused himself. “I really wanted to come, but my mom wouldn’t let me. I was sick the whole weekend!” he exclaimed, annoyed. Buffy smiled fondly. She liked her students—they reminded her of herself when she was young. Well, sort of anyway. Without the vampire slaying.
“Well make sure you practice then. And you should come early next week, ‘cause we learned a new kick,” Buffy told him. He nodded emphatically.
“I will. Thanks Buffy,” he said. She smiled at him and said,
“No problem.”
“You going to see Giles?” Jon asked. Though he wasn’t exactly a Slayerette, he knew who (or what) she was, and he helped with research, and sometimes with actual fighting.
“Yeah, he left me some cryptic message last night. I’ll let you know if it’s anything interesting,” Buffy promised as she walked into the school. It was the same as it had always been. The science wing had been burned down a few years back in a chemistry experiment gone wrong—or at least, that was what was put around—but besides that it was the same good ‘ol school. Or bad ‘ol school, depending on how one thought of it. Buffy was inclined to go for the latter.
The school was mostly deserted this time of the morning. Jon was the only student she’d seen, and he always came super early, because he lived on the other side of town and his mom needed the family’s only car in the early morning. Buffy had trouble sleeping the night before, and had woken up really early that morning, not able to get back to sleep. Giles always arrived super early in the mornings, so she thought she’d stop by, having nothing better to do (and seeing as he had asked her to come as soon as possible).
Just as she’d thought, the library doors were unlocked and the lights were all on. Buffy peeked in through the doors, then came the rest of the way, not seeing anyone.
“Giles?” she called. He was probably looking for some book. She called his name again, then walked farther in when there was no answer.
“Hello? Anyone home? Giles?” More silence. Giles would have answered by now if he had heard her. And he could have heard her from anywhere in the library. Which meant he was unable to answer for some reason. Careful now, Buffy drew a stake from her purse, her measuring look taking in the whole library. Nothing seemed out of place. There were a few books laying out on the table—the normal sort, ancient texts about vampires or monsters or something. Besides that, everything was in its place. There was no evidence of a struggle of any kind.
Buffy moved carefully around the library, then spotted the door to Giles’ office. The door was closed, and the shades were down, but the light was on inside. Giles never closed the door to his office. Buffy moved forward silently. On the one hand, Giles wouldn’t have heard her from his office if the door was closed . . . but he never closed the door, not once she could remember in the fifteen years she had known him. Not with the light on.
“Here goes,” she murmured under her breath, then kicked the door open, ready for whatever might leap out at her.
Giles looked up from his desk, startled. Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. Which was instantly turned
into a gasp of something else . . . not horror, but something like it. Because something did leap out
at her after all. It’s name was love and it came in the form of an Angel.