Bloodletting

Broken Dreams

Buffy rolled her eyes and stepped up into the city bus. Her head hadn’t even peeked above the level of the front railing before her expression soured. This was a massively bad idea. A really, really, truly horrible idea. It reeks of desiccating wino in here. I’m pretty sure of the bunch of bad ideas in my recent past, this one rates in the top five.

Uh…

She cringed and moved on, dropping coins into the slot as she passed the bus driver. Yeah, umm…no, no it doesn’t. Not even close. Monumentally bad ideas have been a thing with me lately.

After a brief pause to survey the freaks and low life, she slowly made her way down the aisle. L.A., again. Why’d I have to pick L.A.? I mean other than the obvious. She sighed. Yeah, there is the obvious.

Shit.

Whatever. At least it’s almost over.

At the rear of the bus, she chose the one empty seat and slid in. I could always steal another car. The weirdo in the adjacent seat eyed her. Because that went so well last time. A snarl welled up, but she choked it down, flashing him a threatening glare after regaining her composure. Almost as well as this.

She mumbled, “God, I miss that car.” Some doctor’s mid-life cliché-mobile. A snicker nearly bubbled to the surface. She brought her hand to her mouth to cover it and rubbed her chin nonchalantly. I would’ve loved to abuse it for a few more miles. But it was just too hot and way too obvious. I had to put it down.

She combed her fingers through her hair. Story of my life. Anything I like usually dies.

Propping her arm on the window ledge, she rested her head in her hand and peered blankly outside. Course I couldn’t just ditch it like a good little girl. I had to put it somewhere where they’d appreciate it. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she stifled another giggle. Lawyers—worst sorta vermin. At least it was a guilt-free explosion. What was the name of that place? Wolfroms, or—

As the bus began to move, she stared at the sidewalk, ignoring movement from across the aisle. I must really hate myself. I could’ve taken a cab, but no, why would I do that? It makes too damned much sense. A harsh scowl gave her soft features an abrasive edge. This is a fucking nightmare. I took a shower today, so I’m an instant target. It’ll be amusing if someone does—

They’ve got no clue. I bite. Baring her teeth, she released a deep breath that resonated into a soft, cat-like growl. But if they’re stricken with a major case of the stupids, we’ll just skip past that. I could go for a little gratuitous violence. A few compound fractures might even make me smile. Besides, limiting the body count’s better for what’s left of my soul.

“Soul,” she hissed in a barely audible voice. I’d totally sell the damned thing, but seems there’s no shortage of immature, superficial, drama-queen souls. Or at least that’s what the demon said before I eviscerated him. Bit insulting to find out you can’t even give your soul away. To a demon no less. He just needed to die.

“Do it and lose an arm,” she growled at the man who started to sit next to her. Looking up, she met his gaze. As she did, she forced her eyes to flash golden, snarling softly for effect.

His complexion went pallid. He turned, tripping all over himself as he ran down the aisle. Slipping off the bus, he disappeared into the night within seconds. Stupid cattle. He’ll probably just dismiss that as a ‘trick of the light’ in a few.

With the threat past, she peered out the window, watching the monotonous cityscape whisk past.

Mistakes, bad judgment, bad ideas, good ideas gone bad. I’ve seen it all. All in the past couple weeks. To think, I had a handle on my life once.

And my hand around the throats of anyone else who mattered.

Then came the realization, I was fucking a cellar dweller. He was such a stud. Twentyish-years-old and still wearing his high school letterman’s jacket.

Loser.

That should’ve been a revelation. I should’ve seen that my life was gonna go straight to shit. Like an idiot, I went on.

No problem. I had it all under control.

Yeah, oodles of control here.

Spiraling can be a controlled thing, right?

But then, it wasn’t just me. Will and Tara were totally snowed too. Like that makes it all better.

And look at me now. One week later, I’m saddled with a worthless spark and on the run. But the real feature is the company I keep. She’s a bit—well, she’s interesting, challenging, intriguing even.

Actually, she scares the fuck out of me.

Wish I could think of something else. Some other way. This is—

I don’t think there’s a fix short of this for her. Best idea I’ve got. Anytime she’s even a little bit lucid, she acts like I’m the special of the day. Scratch that—like chocolate and not that Hershey’s shit. That stuff’s okay in a pinch, but…

There’s just something about being raped that—

I’m so not going there.

Not again.

Giving the street sign a quick glance, she rose from her seat. Thank God!

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a cigarette as she moved down the aisle. When she stepped onto the sidewalk, it was lit. Nasty habit. Talk about mistakes. She took a drag. Really, this one’s really kinda tiny. Inconsequential when you consider the rest.

Nerves.

Slowly releasing the smoke, she set off down the street. A wispy cloud trailed behind her. It helps a little. Not much.

Turning down an alley, Buffy made her way to the back of a building. Her attention fixed on a fire escape. She jumped to grab the ladder, climbing effortlessly onto the landing. Crouching outside a window, she hammered on the glass and called out, “Look, Mr. Kalderash, I know you’re in there. I just need a minute of your time.” Old bastard has to be part of the same clan. Stupid gypsies. Like ‘Kalderash’ is a common name. Little magic shop below the apartment, it’s the same crowd.

Thudding sounded from inside the shabby little apartment. “Go avay!” barked a man inside.

“Not gonna,” Buffy replied. She cleared her throat in a vain effort to keep her tone amiable. “Call the cops and—let’s just say—not the smartest move you’ll ever make. I just wanna talk.”

An old man finally came to the window with a cross in hand. Jeez, this guy makes Mr. Heckles look sexy. What trash pile did he dig that robe out of? I’ve seen homeless people with more fashion sense. Rolling her eyes, she said dismissively, “Look at me, Mr. Kalderash. I’m about as cursed as they come. All chock full of soul. ’Sides, if I wanted you dead, I sure wouldn’t do it this way. Now open up.”

He stared at her through the glass for several moments. Finally, he slid the window sash up, asking in an irritated manner, “Vhat do you vant?”

“Gotta problem and I’m paying well if you can fix it. Simple. Easy money. But it has to be done tonight,” Buffy responded bluntly.

After a few moments of consideration, he reached for the window. Pushing down while he grumbled, “I do not feex ze eessues of ze dead.” The window fell. He righted himself and turned, shouting, “Deis? Deis is no concern of mine! Now be gone!” as he tromped away.

She caught the falling window with the very tips of her fingers. Hastily, she called out, “Five hundred down and five hundred on completion. Does that change your mind, Mr. Kalderash?” The old man froze in his tracks. She lifted the window back up. “Look, it’s even in your best interest to help.” Her tone wasn’t quite pleading. Dammit! Just say ‘yes’ you old freak!

He slowly turned toward the open window. Folding his arms, he said, “I’m leesenink.”

“It’s pretty simple,” she explained by ticking off dispassionately, “I’ve got this friend—recently vamped—majorly powerful witch. It’s a really bad combo. She needs a soul stat.”

His brow furrowed.

Sensing the question, she went on, “I’ve been keeping her too medicated to function, but I’m running out of drugs. When I’m totally out, you’ll know it, even if you’re stupid enough to turn me down. My guess…she’s gonna wanna turn this part of town into a beach park.” Like I give a rat’s ass, but he should. L.A.’d be a much nicer place at the bottom of the Pacific. Well, okay so…it’d be a great loss in fashion and retail, not to mention film, but—

The furrows in his face deepened. Buffy had to restrain a giggle. Poor old guy looks completely lost.

“But ve are thirty miles from ze ocean.”

A giggle slipped out and she snarked, “Now you’re firming up,” through an impish grin. Pulling a wad of cash out of her pocket, she waved the money. “If you’re in, meet me out front in ten. If not…move.” Not giving him a chance to answer, she sprung backwards over the rail. Turning a graceful somersault in midair, she landed on her feet below the fire escape.

After shoving the cash back into her pocket, she took out a smoke and fumbled for her lighter. An exasperated gasp passed her lips as she made the walk around the building, lighting the cigarette. Nasty things…but I think they help.

Clutching her stomach, Faith stumbled in the doorway of her motel room. Her head lolled forward. She stared down at her blood soaked shirt. A droplet fell from her left sleeve cuff. It splashed onto the floor as she kicked the door closed.

Summoning her last ounce of strength, she staggered toward the bed. When she fell forward onto it, the mattress bounced and she bit back a cry. This could start to heal anytime now. That’d be—

An eternity passed as she lay there drifting in and out of consciousness. Eventually, a knock at the door stirred her back to life. It was all she could do to pull herself up and cross the room. She threw the door open without a word, hoping the act wouldn’t be her last.

When she saw Amy, her legs turned to Jell-O. She slumped forward into her friend’s arms and everything went blurry. Faith closed her eyes, only vaguely aware that she was being dragged. It was impossible to stifle a whimper when she dropped onto the bed this time. Floundering onto her side, she curled into a ball, clutching her shins.

Amy’s soft voice broke through the haze. “What the hell did you get yourself into?” Her tone was chiding, but at the same time terrified.

Faith struggled to answer, choking instead. Gently, the witch coaxed her onto her back. As the slayer rolled and sprawled out, Amy lifted her shirt. Then she left the room. Faith winced when, moments later, something was pressed to her wound.

“This is way beyond anything—” Amy mumbled, distress causing her to fall flat.

The pressure on Faith’s stomach lifted just a little, accompanying the rattle of the telephone handset. Amy’s crisp, anxious voice rang out, “Yes, there’s been an accident…” It faded as the room went hazy and dark.

“You can’t seriously expect me to get in that thing?” Buffy asked, hoping the old man was kidding. Thick oily smoke billowed out of the exhaust pipe of the ancient Buick.

Mr. Kalderash leaned over and threw the passenger door open. “You vould prefer ve valk?”

Raising an eyebrow, she climbed in and slumped into the seat, mumbling to herself, “May anyway, but whatever.” Guess it beats the damned bus. But it’s not like that’s hard. Caning may beat the damned bus. When she slammed her door, she could have sworn she heard something fall off the car. Sure hope that wasn’t something we needed. “So, you have everything?”

“I have vat ve need, yies,” he replied thoughtfully.

As the old car chugged onto the street, she remarked dully, “Place is just off the two-ten in Pasadena.” Propping her elbow against the glass, she took her head in her hand and stared sullenly into the world outside.

Fuck.

Her eyes drifted shut.

I’ve been over this a hundred times this week. I’m still clueless what the hell went wrong. I said my lines. I did everything I should’ve. It wasn’t me. I mean, it couldn’t’ve been, right?

Everything went right up to a point. But when the blood met in the middle of the scythe…wow! There was this blinding light. I thought I was gonna burst into flames on the spot.

I didn’t expect it to feel good, but…

Well, maybe I did.

I think that’s when it happened—the soul. But I have no idea why. I mean, so not a part of the expected programming.

Faith was on her feet before me. Somehow, the tricky bitch managed to get—

The sharp turn onto the two-ten shifted Buffy in her seat. Her eyes snapped open for a moment. She glanced to make sure everything was okay, then propped her head up and closed her eyes.

At first, it was all about Faith owning me. But as the spell worked, I got stronger. I got what I deserved. What was stolen.

Of course, there was this annoying little gift with purchase, but I’ll—

Fuck, I dunno…I guess I’ll live. Surviving’s sorta what I do.

There were these awful, head splitting visions. Girls getting turned. Some of them—well, the ones in daylight—they didn’t make it. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. One thing at a time. I immolated a ton of little girls.

Before the soul, it was the ‘cost of doing business.’ Now, I just feel like shit.

Not that it makes a huge diff. I’m still a mass murderer. This is all about the frosting.

Faith was getting torn up by the visions. She doubled over each time. No clue why she wasn’t turned. But I’m not so much sweating the small shit. I was getting faster, stronger, more powerful, but I was terrified. I can’t remember being that afraid since—

I ran.

Second time in my whole life, I panicked.

Pain always just pissed me off. Hurting me to make me weaker never went well for the other guy. I always processed it backwards, even as a little girl. But what I saw in that room. Something told me that getting outta there would make it stop.

I’m not even sure what really stopped it. I guess it was Faith. Or maybe it stopped on its own.

Nah…it was Faith. It had to be. Anything else is too good to be true.

When I poked my head through the trapdoor, what I saw made me freeze. Me! I just stood there like an idiot. I heard the gunshot, but I didn’t get it. It wasn’t till I saw…

Actually, it happened right as our blood met in the middle of the scythe. Sort of ironic. I get hit with a soul and Will gets hit with a—

I stared into her eyes for a few seconds before I could move. I watched a tear trickle down her cheek. It was the weirdest thing. She looked exactly like she did the day we met, red hair falling down over her face and bright greenish-hazel eyes. It was like I’d stumbled back in time. Her eyes and hair had been black for so long I had sorta forgotten.

So, I pulled myself outta the hole I was in and snatched her from the Superfriends. I think those morons were actually trying to help her. She was way too far gone for any of Amy’s pathetic tricks.

I kept running until my gut told me it was okay. As I went, I took a bath in Willow. Her blood was all over both of us.

I remember thinking, ‘Did I rescue her?’ Me rescue someone?

But I hadn’t just taken her for road munchies. So what was the point?

I told myself I took her because she was familiar. Because I needed something stable in the chaos.

Thing is, I think now I took her because I felt compassion. Crazy. I didn’t know how to deal. That’s a totally alien emotion for me.

I laid her down in the woods and just stared. It was the weirdest thing. She was so close to death, but something in her eyes told me the truth. There was some part of her, something I didn’t manage to kill. A piece of her actually loved me. That’s why she stuck around. It was never about being a good minion, or anything she might gain. She actually loved me.

Total mind fuck for a vamp. Hard to even get your head around.

It was my soul. At least I think it was. I doubt I would’ve seen that without it.

Blood bubbled from the wound in her chest. She wasn’t gonna last much longer. I’d made her so much worse. She had a few minutes max. So I did the only thing I could. I made her a real monster—really mine in every way. I held her as she died. I combed my fingers through her hair, felt her go limp and carried her with me as I ran.

I have no idea whether it was the right choice, but it was the choice I made.

Now this.

“You vill ’ave to tiell me vich exit.”

The sound of old man’s voice caused Buffy to jerk. She blinked and watched the sign for the first Pasadena exit rush by.

“Vich exeit, Miess?” he stressed.

Still trying to get her bearings, Buffy gasped, “Oh.” Her attention fixed on the next sign. She squinted to read it before remarking, “It’s the next one up.” Despite the interruption, the effects of her daydream lingered. Regret, now?

What’s next, humility? Maybe I can try on a little temperance and see how it fits?

Yeah, this fucking sucks!

A breeze rustled the pages of the magazine Amy was idly flipping through in a feeble attempt to calm her nerves. She looked up just in time to see Jonathan run in the door with Giles on his tail. They came to a stop together in front of her.

Giles was seriously winded and struggling to catch his breath. When he stooped to brace his upper body against his thighs using his arms, Amy almost cracked a grin. Giles may be having a heart attack. I’m gonna hold off on the panic for a few. He’ll probably snap out of it.

Despite the fatigue, they both gave her an expectant glare, but it was Jonathan who puffed, “How is she?”

Casting the magazine aside, she commented dryly, “They took her up to surgery a little while ago. No clue, but they were doing their best to shine me on.” Anxiety pulled at her features.

It took Giles another moment to recover. Righting himself, he nodded and offered in his usual genial tone, “Perhaps I might be able to get some answers.” A warm, reassuring smile passed over his face. He placed a hand on Amy’s shoulder before strolling over to the intake desk.

Jonathan sat in the chair next to hers. His brow drew with concern as he asked, “So what happened? Last I checked, we were doing okay. I mean, we did stop Buffy, right?”

“Faith said there were visions of a bunch of girls,” she responded pensively. “We have no idea how far it went. I hoped when she grabbed the scythe, Faith stopped the whole thing. Y’know, reset it.” That’s probably wishful thinking. If even one of them survived, it might explain this.

Intentionally skipping over part of the story, she pressed on. “Buffy got away and took Willow with her. No telling what those two are up to. But yeah…we stopped them. We’re big damned heroes.” We’ve discussed this to death. But Jonathan always shies away from commenting about the gun. That shocked the hell outta me. I have no clue where he even got it. I suppose, if it’s possible for a gun to be a good thing, it was. But I’m not sure it’s possible.

“So it might’ve been them?” Jonathan asked, casting nervous glances around the room.

Amy shook her head. “No idea. She was trying to turn every potential on the planet into slayer-vampires. If she turned even one, our problems just got a whole lot worse. Faith said she was trying to control them too. We’re dead if she is.”

Jonathan replied, “Yeah, I heard that. I thought the spell flopped too. I mean, Faith’s still human and you’d think—” His attention turned to his laced fingers. He peered thoughtfully down at them for a moment before he remarked, “You don’t suppose if Buffy was the starting point for the magic…” He paused to rub his chin.

She picked the thought up and declared, “That makes sense.” Her eyes lit with understanding. “If Buffy was the Alpha and Faith was the Omega, she didn’t turn because the magick never made it to her. But that means—”

Intentionally taking the wind from the witch’s sails, he interrupted, “It means nothing. It suggests stuff, but it’s really nothing new.” After looking her over for a moment, he asked, “Amy, why don’t you go home for a bit? Giles and I can take it—”

Her mood instantly snapped angry. Before she could think better of it she spat, “What makes you think I’d even consider—?”

As she glared, he sheepishly motioned for her to look down.

“Oh shit!” she gasped, staring in horror at her blood soaked shirt and jeans. Something inside her finally broke and Amy began to sob.

Getting up to offer her a hug, he gently coaxed, “We got it. Go get a shower and come back. If she’s in surgery, there isn’t anything we can do now. It’ll be hours before she’s out of recovery.”

She craned into the embrace, conscious she might pass her predicament on. It took her several moments to calm enough to speak. Finally, she said in a thick voice, “I don’t know if I can do this, Jonathan.”

“You can,” he replied confidently. After gently coaxing her to meet his eyes, he added, “Go home and get cleaned up. We’ll be here when you get back. It won’t take that long. Okay?”

Breaking the hug, she rubbed her eyes and nodded.

Buffy slid the keycard into the lock, opening the door. “It’s been a pain keeping the maids outta here,” she remarked offhandedly as she ushered the old man inside.

Mr. Kalderash wandered into the room, glancing at Willow. She was still strapped to a hospital backboard with ratcheting tie-downs. “And she vill be unconscious for ’ow long?” he inquired.

She responded, “Umm…we may have another hour.” Quickly counting back in her head, she amended, “Maybe two.”

He nodded before painfully kneeling. As he began to unpack his bag, he asked, “If you could steip outzide, Meiss?”

“Not a chance,” Buffy replied, settling down into one of two chairs on the edge of the room. She extracted her cigarettes and placed them on the table next to her. Taking one from the pack, she put it between her lips and slouched.

She patted her clothing, looking for her lighter as she drawled around the cigarette. “Sorry, clueless why, but staking her isn’t an option. If it was, I’d be over this already.” She located her lighter and fished it from her pocket. Sitting up, she lit the cigarette and commented through the smoke. “I can’t let you do it. I’d have to kill you. And—well, I’ve been trying to turn over a new leaf. You wouldn’t wanna ruin that for me, would ya?” Yeah…so much for my nerves. They’re as shot as Mr. Heckles’ hat.

Eyeing the old man, she took a sharp drag off her cigarette. He’s wigged. And not just the usual ‘I’m in a room with two vamps kinda wig.’ There’s something else. Exhaling slowly, she drew the smoke back into her lungs via an extended French inhale before asking, “Have you ever done this?”

“Deis eis not ze sort of ting a man eis normally called upon to do amongst my people,” the old man admitted. Glancing up at the vampire, he offered, “I vill do eit…or I vill call on one who kien.”

Buffy nodded, holding eye contact to establish an understanding. “You will get it done, or we will have a problem.” Her eyes flashed golden for a brief moment. When their natural color restored, she winked. “No pressure. Do your thing. I’ll be right here.” She stifled a giggle as she spoke.

“Eif you vould not do deese.” He motioned to the cigarette.

“Christ! Now I can’t smoke!” Buffy snarled, violently stamping the cigarette out in the ashtray beside her.

The old man was shaking hard enough to rattle the various items he was pulling from his bag. “Ee-eit eis just dat dere aire speecifeec tings vee burn for deis ritual. I am uncerteen vhat effect ze tobacco vill ’ave,” he offered sheepishly.

“Oh! Okay…I can totally see that,” Buffy submitted. Sighing deeply, she added a muted, “Sorry.” Her eyes fixed on a blank patch of wall.

Wow!

What’s my damage?

Now I’m apologizing to some stupid human?

What’s next? I’ll probably end up in a confessional. I can see it now. ‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been twenty-two years since—’kay, so…I know I look like I’m twelve. Trust me, it’s a really long story. And keep that holy water to yourself. Exfoliating’s good and all, but not so much.’

Yeah.

Lets not.

She listened to the old man when he started chanting, trying to make sense of the gibberish. Quickly giving up, she leaned back in the chair, tossing her leg over the arm. I’m not even sure why I’m bothering with this. After all the shit I put her through, what’s a soul really gonna mean? Will sorta rewrote the definition of ‘loose morality.’

I think she was worse than me in some respects and, up till last week, I was soulless. But I always did stuff for a reason. I always had a plan. She never seemed to need one or, if she did, it was totally lost in the Willow-logic.

It’s a mystery to me.

But she did what I asked—well, mostly. Now, I can’t do some of the stuff she’ll take for granted. Finding a middle—if we can—it may be fun.

Bottom line…I can dust a vamp in a tenth of a second—give, take—if they’re in reach. No weapon, just me. Gotta love the new tricks.

I’d better. They were pricey enough.

Will can immolate a vamp with an absent thought. It won’t come to that. But, realistically, if it did, flip a coin. Before it’s back in hand, one of us is ash.

Thing is, I think she’ll be as puzzled as I am about the big rescue. She’ll wanna know what the hell’s wrong with me. And if I knew…I might even consider sharing. My ass has always been way more important to me than just about—no, in all fairness—than anything else. That’s how I survive. No one else gives a shit about me. Okay—fair again—’cept maybe Will.

And look at that…the logic train just made a full lap. No wrecks or anything.

The orb in front of Mr. Kalderash began to shimmer with a soft, golden light. Buffy watched the show with mixed interest. Looks promising. Go, go Mr. Heckles. It’d be a shame to have to hurt such a nice old man.

Gah!

I need help!

While she was wigging over her newfound benevolence, Willow’s eyes glowed with a brief purple radiance. Buffy caught the lightshow and stood up. Digging into her pocket, she counted out another five hundred dollars and asked, “We done?”

When he nodded, she held the money within reach. “Yies, yies…I believe so,” he replied weakly. Gratefully taking the cash, he rushed dizzily to pack his things.

Buffy flopped into her chair and grabbed a cigarette. Lighting up, she watched as the old man staggered out the door.

And now things get interesting.

Approaching the lad with a smile on his face, Giles took a seat next to him and offered, “I’m told Faith will make a full recovery. More rapidly than anyone here presumes, I suspect.” His tone was even, yet it carried with it a sense of relief.

“Wow! Really? I need to call Amy,” Jonathan responded.

“Yes, indeed you should. She’ll be quite pleased by the news,” Giles remarked thoughtfully. “At any rate, Faith will be out of the recovery room inside the hour. I’ve been instructed that we may visit her briefly, one at a time.”

Jonathan had already risen to make his way to the phone. He called over his shoulder in a subdued tone, “I’ll let her know.”

The sound of sprinkling water lulled Willow. Floating on the edge of sleep, she drifted in and out of a dream. It was summer in her mind. The smells of a fresh rain after months of drought permeated her senses. Cool water splashed over her warm skin. She remembered the sensation, almost reliving it as she woke.

Her eyes fluttered open. As she peered groggily around the room, taking in the strange place, the sound conjured another image, Buffy in the shower. That’s almost as good.

The water shut off. She shut her eyes, listening to movement in the bathroom. It’s Buffy, right? I mean, I—

She strained to remember. There was—it hurt. It hurt so bad that it didn’t hurt anymore. Her hands reflexively went to her chest. She felt the thin, ragged fabric of her dress. Her fingers caught on a hole in the material under her right breast. She caressed the scar. As the understanding that her delusion wasn’t a dream took hold, a knot formed in her stomach.

The bathroom door swung open. Ignoring the discomfort, she lay still, tracking Buffy’s progress. There was the faint, crackley thump of a refrigerator door opening. Next was the rustle of a plastic bag. But not just any kind of bag, this was the heavy plastic of sterile IV bag. Bagged blood? But Buffy hates that shit. Liquid poured into a glass. Finally, a microwave touch pad beeped a tinny little ditty. All familiar sounds and with them came the realization that she wasn’t wrong, it was Buffy. But why?

Willow murmured, “Buffy?” The weak, scratchy sound of her voice caused her to cringe. She opened her eyes and scanned the room, locating the vampire. Blinking furiously to focus, she had trouble understanding what she saw. “What happened? Did you get into a fight?”

“Huh?” Buffy gasped without looking up. After removing the glass from the microwave, she walked over to the bed. “You’re gonna want that,” she stated matter-of-factly and set the glass on the bedside table.

Willow stared at the glass. Huh? But she was way too interested in the little blonde vampire for the question to last. Carefully tracking her progress around the room, Willow mentally inventoried the scars. I would’ve noticed those.

Buffy snatched up a shopping bag en route and vanished into the bathroom.

Alone again, Willow thought back, trying to recall whether she’d ever seen Buffy’s chest or back before. The answer she came up with was somehow not ‘yes’. Never more than you’d see with a standard v-neck top. That’s so weird. I always thought it—well, I’m not sure I thought much at all. I just wanted to see more. Uh…

She groaned. Fuck, I hurt! The sweet, metallic smell of the blood caused her stomach to clench. Big surprise, holding her breath wasn’t an issue. So, she finally did it. Somehow I’m not really shocked. I knew it’d happen eventually, or—

An image consumed Willow’s thoughts. Buffy craned over her prone form. She wore the face of a demon, but her eyes…

What in the frilly fuck?

Their clothing was soaked in blood. Now putrid blood that she realized still covered her. How’d she sleep? I smell like a morgue drain and I’m only seeing one bed. Her nose wrinkled with disgust. There’s no way we’ve been here long.

Another memory came back, one of an innocent conversation that led to a wish. Oh, God! A wish made in anger. Her mind reeled at the possibilities. Tara, you fucking cunt!

No, it can’t be. It’s all good. Closing her eyes, she studied the first image. It’s just my imagination.

Noises coming from the bathroom disturbed her again, but she fixated on what she could remember, trying to glean more. If it’s my fucking imagination, then what’s the deal with—? She held me. She stroked my hair and whispered to me. And not mean stuff. Sweet stuff.

She asked, “Why?” when the bathroom door swung open.

Striding across the room, Buffy muttered, “Why what?” Her attention was fixed on something else.

Willow sat up. Grabbing the pillows from the head of the bed, she propped herself up as she seethed, “What do you mean ‘why what’? Isn’t it obvious?”

Buffy took a seat, casually crossing her legs.

When the only answer offered was her ‘sire’ lighting a cigarette, Willow went off. “Why the fuck am I here? What the fuck happened? Where the fuck are we? How the fuck did we get here? What the fuck’s wrong with you? And what’s the deal with all those scars? You get what I mean. It’s not fucking hard, Buffy.”

Rising to her feet, Buffy replied, “Look, Will, let’s start small.” She scooped up the ashtray and murmured, “Like with your first question,” as she slowly closed the distance between them. “I didn’t get into a fight. As a vampire, you get to keep all those little mementos of your past.” She paused at the foot of the bed to take a drag off her cigarette. “They never go away. My past isn’t good dinner conversation.” Gesturing toward the glass, she prodded, “Now drink up like a good girl.” She rounded the bed, tugging at the zipper on her tight black leather jacket. It closed another tick or two more, scrunching her breasts.

Willow stared shamelessly at Buffy’s cleavage. But strangely, her mind wasn’t on sex. Her brow furrowed. She was trying to fill in the blanks. What she wasn’t being told. Mementos of her past? Like Jim Caviezel in the wake of a Mel Gibson production. There are scars that just won’t fade. Yeah, umm…that can’t seriously be the only answer I’m gonna get.

When Buffy’s eyes narrowed, she dutifully picked up the glass and took a small sip. It was all Willow could do not to spit the blood out. Her body folded in agony. She let go of the glass.

It wasn’t until Buffy slid in behind her and whispered, “It’ll only get worse if you don’t drink,” that she calmed. Buffy wrapped her arms around the witch and helped her to steady the glass. As she drained it without protest, Buffy whispered, “Next on the list is a shower. Sorry, Will, but you look like hell. Once you’re done, we can talk.”

Willow stood up and without a hint of modesty peeled her little black dress away. She glanced down at the caked blood on her chest. Shaking her head, she made her way to the bathroom.

“Like I said…exactly—every last mark at the moment of your death.”

The words resonated. Willow stewed over them, allowing them to sink in. She didn’t even look up. Instead, she mechanically stepped into the shower, turned it on and carefully began scrubbing the blood away. She washed her hair twice when she noticed the water flowing down the drain was a brownish color.

When she finished bathing, she stood with her head bowed. The water swirled into the drain. It felt good. She let it flow over her face, something that just wouldn’t work for a person. It made the change even more real in her mind. ’Kay so…total brain fuck. A nice Buffy? It has distinct possibilities. But the smoking? It’s gotta go.

How long was I out? I’m all caught up with the ‘been vamped’ part. I can’t say I’m really sorry. It sure beats the hell outta dying. And honestly, I don’t feel all that different. A little colder, but the water helps.

I still don’t get why she saved me?

Why would she bother?

It has to be Tara. She did this to screw with me. But I don’t remember exactly what I wished. I was so pissed off.

She racked her brain, trying to come up with the exact words she’d used. Every little word counts. That’s how wishes are. If they can be twisted—

‘I wish Buffy could feel for me what I feel for her.’

No, that’s not it. Not quite. It’s close.

‘I wish Buffy had the capacity to feel for me the way I feel for her.’

Yeah, that was it. But I was just talking about the naughty parts. I thought she was just frigid or too damned straight for her own good.

Oh fuck!

Tara! You gave her a soul! Talk about a radical interpretation of the text! You nasty, cunty, jealous, unbelievable bitch! I should’ve known better than to take her offer.

Wishes!

But—well, still alive, so I guess I’ll start adapting. I bet Buffy’s confused as hell. There’s no way I’m ever gonna let her know I did this.

Oh, and Tara, she looked damned good as a rat. I need to find her power center. Destroying it would reset the mojo, but there’s no way Buffy would stop for me without it. I need to hide it and keep it safe, otherwise…no more Willow. As choices go…

Turning off the shower, she stepped out and grabbed a towel. After patting her face dry and rubbing her hair with it, she wrapped it around herself. A quick glance in the mirror finished cementing the truth in her mind. She’s still got some serious explaining to do. Without pause, she left the bathroom and walked right up to Buffy. “It’s your turn.”

“What part?” Buffy replied, meeting Willow’s gaze.

“You first. What the hell happened to you?” Willow asked tactlessly. Taking a seat on the bed, she began to go through the shopping bags. Well, Buffy’s still got expensive taste. Another huge surprise.

“We’re not gonna talk about that…ever, so give it up.” Buffy replied in a low, dangerous voice.

Willow muttered, “Yeah,” but in truth, she was only half listening. The contents of the package were far more interesting than some sob story. I’m kinda glad she doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s already told me everything I need to know. A bundle of black leather caught her eye. She pulled it out and unrolled it. The corners of her mouth twisted, forming a wicked smile. It’s just like the one I have back home. She must’ve liked it. Holding the bustier up, she purred, “For me?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t for me,” Buffy replied snarkily. Taking the last drag off her smoke, she crushed it into the ashtray. “I thought you’d like it.”

Willow removed the towel. Unhooking the front of the bustier, she wrapped it around herself, refastening it. “So, you were saying?” She got up and walked over to Buffy, turning her back. “Oh, and lace me, please?”

Buffy stood up and started to cinch the laces down as she remarked, “Look, I’ve said all I’m gonna. If you can’t listen, it’s not my fault.”

Ignoring the prickle of annoyance, Willow waited patiently for Buffy to finish tying her laces. When the job was done, she pushed her bottom out and rubbed it against Buffy’s hips.

Buffy took a step back and collided with the chair. Grace won out, but Willow ended up right where she envisioned. They were wrapped in a front to back embrace. Quickly shoving her away, Buffy spat, “Would you stop fucking around?”

After casting an innocent glance over her shoulder, Willow strode to the bed. Who needs a pet? Making her squeak—so much more satisfying than kicking a puppy. She bent over to retrieve the next item. When she turned around, Buffy was smoking yet another cigarette while she studied the carpet at her feet.

As Willow put on the leather miniskirt, she got back to business. “’Kay, so…how long was I out?” Stooping to remove the shoebox from the final bag, she turned on heel and took a seat on the edge of the bed. That’s all I really need. The rest isn’t important. I sorta got the ‘where’ from the sound of traffic at—what is it—two a.m. We’re in L.A. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The ‘how’ doesn’t matter. That she did is—

The answer, when it finally came, was delivered bluntly. “About a week.”

Willow glanced up. Uh, wow…I was totally wrong about that. She placed her forearms over the box lid, crossing her wrists casually as she studied the little blonde vampire. The look was back. It’s really fucked up that after all this time—

After taking a drag off her cigarette, Buffy exhaled. The air between them clouded.

Willow wrinkled her nose and waved away the smoke. When she looked up, Buffy was stamping her cigarette out. Turning her interest back to the box, Willow took out a pair of black stiletto-heeled thigh-high boots and began to remove the packing material. This is just too funny. The clothes are good. The latest in high-end hooker wear.

She slipped on the first boot and zipped it up. No, she’s not interested. Not at all. She never has been. All those times I caught her sneaking a peek—I was imagining it.

As she put on the second boot, Buffy’s voice drew her attention, “You know I did buy—”

Willow looked up in time to catch the intent. Buffy averted her eyes and went straight for another cigarette. A giggle bubbled up. The witch didn’t even try to contain it. She was seriously looking at my crotch. That’s just too funny. I bet if she could blush…

“I noticed. I never wear those things,” she replied impatiently, “Not unless I’m wearing pants. I don’t know if you managed to get this figured yet or not…” rising to her feet, she strutted over to Buffy “…but here’s a clue. I like to fuck. Underwear’s just a complication.” Extending a hand down, she demanded, “Now let’s go.” And here’s the rest of the story. The only ‘rest’ that really matters. She’s scared of me. She wouldn’t have kept me out so long if she wasn’t. I can totally work with that. She probably did something dumb like having me ensouled and expected it to make some huge difference. Yeah.

Raising an eyebrow, Buffy looked up, giving the witch an incredulous glare. She took her sweet time replying. “Where? It’ll be light in a couple of hours.”

Willow noted the rigid posture and sharp expression on the younger woman’s face. It’s ironic. All we’ve seen and it turns out that the one person she cares about besides her own ass is also the one that scares the hell out of her. Fear doesn’t suit her at all. And the truly funny part, I don’t think she gets it. An impish grin infected her features. Let’s see what she does with this. “Well, unless you want to fuck me, I’m gonna go get boned and have a snack.”

Buffy stated resolutely, “Will, I’ve stopped feeding on humans. And I can’t let you.” Standing up, she placed herself between the witch and the door.

“You think you can stop me?” Willow snarled. Rage boiled to the surface. Another funny, you trained me well. I can find hate without even trying. Now love…love’s a bitch.

She looked Buffy up and down before seizing her magickally and splaying her out.

The panic gripping Buffy was plain to see. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Please don’t,” she croaked through clenched jaws.

Lifting her off the ground, Willow pulled until she heard a series of pops. “Blame yourself when the monster you’ve created bites,” she spat and spun around, stomping off into the bathroom.

Once inside, she released her victim and slammed the door. A reflexive glance in the mirror revealed a view of the shower wall. It didn’t come as a shock. But it made her feel foolish. She shrugged it off, picking up a hair brush and pulling it through her short locks.

Willow made her way purposefully to the door. Buffy was simply an obstacle to be stepped around. She watched the witch leave, helpless to do anything about it. The pain was horrible. She gritted her teeth, struggling to bite back the tears.

Well, that went about as well as expected.

Fuck this sucks!

I’ve never felt more useless in my life! Like I can do crap with that! I was in control. When did I—?

Fuck!

If I were actually half as smart as I’d like to think I am, I would’ve killed her when I had a chance. Hell, I would’ve just let her die!

I couldn’t do it.

And I can’t just let her leave. Like she would.

Now, stupid me, I gotta try… At the very least, I may be able to lessen the impact. Maybe I keep her down to about a five on the Richter Scale.

Whatever.

When she was finally healed enough to move, she grabbed her smokes and the keycard. This is gonna suck. Tearing off after the witch, she tracked her scent to the street. It took her no time at all to round on her quarry.

She met Willow’s gaze. The black hair, eyes and the general level of badness were easy enough to shrug off. She held her hands up in a halting gesture and demanded, “Will, seriously, don’t.” Yeah, so what happened to that whole ‘sire’ thing? I thought I was supposed to get a little control for my effort.

The expression on Willow’s face suggested that she might be watching a particularly interesting show. She placed her hands on her hips and snarked, “When did you go get all noble? Protecting them. Seriously? Louis much?” She marched past Buffy, pushing her out of the way. “You’re boring me.”

Buffy didn’t back down. She outpaced the witch and stopped right in her path. This is getting old quick. I suppose I could—

“I’m hungry. Move or I’ll move you,” Willow hissed furiously.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the threat and grumbled, “Then move me,” folding her arms across her chest. “Look, Will, here’s the sitch. You’ll move me. It’ll hurt like hell. But that doesn’t matter. I’ll still come after you.”

It amused Buffy that simply hearing the truth made a little of the witch’s anger fade. She reinforced the idea. “Sensing a pattern?” Unfolding her arms, she held them out in an inviting gesture. When nothing immediately came of the offer, she prodded, “Better hurry. Time’s a wasting. It’ll be daylight soon.”

Willow quirked an eyebrow, giving Buffy a look that suggested she might be obtuse. A few seconds ticked by before the witch rolled her eyes and shoved past again. Shaking her head, she marched off down the street.

Or not.

Fuck!

Okay…this isn’t exactly working out like I hoped.

Buffy ran to catch up, but she didn’t make it far. Once she got within ten feet of the witch, she found herself flying. The concrete wall she hit cracked on impact. She slid to the ground, landing in a heap. “Ouch. Not at all like I hoped,” she groaned. Nothing like trying to do the right thing and getting swatted like a bug for your trouble. It took her a moment to shake off the pain and spring to her feet.

Shit.

Nope. Here I go being noble…like an idiot.

She brushed the concrete dust off her leather.

Obstinately, she tore off after Willow, calling out as she sprinted. “Let me simple this up for you, Will. Either kill me or don’t. I’m not backing down.” Yeah, look at me go. The smiting should start any second now.

Spinning to face the charging vampire, Willow placed a hand on her hip and pointed out. “There’s a fine line between stubbornness and stupidity. And you’re seriously pushing it, Buffy.”

Buffy skidded to a halt. Tilting her head, she considered their situation. She’s right. This is just dumb. There has to be a middle ground, something we can both live with. Uh…

Willow met her eyes and glowered. Buffy had no clue why she didn’t just turn away, but she wasn’t gonna question it either. Instead, she held the witch’s gaze. She right. She’s totally right. I’m fucking pathetic. All the shit I’ve done and I suddenly grow a conscience?

Yeah, that’s sensey.

Like, somehow I’m gonna make up for my Elizabeth Báthory M.O. with a miraculous streak of kindness. I’m running with a serious deficit in the plus column. Actually, I could mutilate a bus load of nuns just for kicks and it wouldn’t change much.

Damned is damned.

And now I’m acting like some sort of pathetic cliché. Like Angel, the brooding vampire. Yeah…he was fun. All thirty seconds of him. Or worse—like she said—Louis.

Shit!

“You may be onto something,” she admitted. Her posture relaxed as a plan took form. Something she could live with. “This is gonna sound way too Anne Ricey—as you so sweetly pointed out—but there are a couple of crack dealers that hang in a parking garage up here. One of them’s even kinda cute. Compromise?”

“And they don’t use?” Willow asked pensively.

As Buffy firmed up to the progress, a smile took hold. “I’d smell it. Remember me?” she remarked and brushed past the witch, setting off purposefully toward their goal. Killing the evil-doer. Gotta love a good cliché. The good news is, these guys are seriously bad news, so it’s not like I’ll be murdering the next Albert Schweitzer, whoever he is.

Willow matched pace with Buffy and started to coo, “Yeah, you used to love to hunt. It was what you lived for. Inflicting terror and pain.” Her words or, more specifically, the tone of her voice made Buffy grin. The witch gave her a sidelong glance and purred, “That’s my girl,” trailing off into an amused snicker.

Turning into the garage, Buffy asserted, “Only the bad guys from here on. We kill to thin out the other predators,” as she made her way up the ramp.

“Works for me. It’s really doesn’t matter much so long as they’re cute,” Willow replied, placing a hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “Wait for me. Don’t come till I do.” When Buffy gave her a nod, she strutted away.

Buffy shadowed the witch, circling silently around behind the dealers. Going through all the motions, it took the witch under a minute to press the cute one against his car.

The other dealer tried to appear bored. It wasn’t working for him. He kept sneaking glances. When Willow put her arms around his friend’s neck and pulled herself up, wrapping her legs around his waist, the second mark’s attempts at nonchalance utterly failed. He was thoroughly engrossed in the spectacle as she positioned herself. The cute one groaned. Willow’s body drifted down, settling into place.

Buffy used their preoccupation to her advantage. She slipped in behind her victim. Her right hand closed over his mouth, stifling the impending scream, while her left wrapped around his torso and arms. She towed him to the other side of the car before sinking her fangs into his neck. Shifting her bite, she opened up the wound. Blood poured into her mouth.

Her victim tried to gasp, but her grip on his chest was too tight for him to breathe. Flailing his arms and legs, he fought frantically, trying to break her hold. His life or death struggle was no more than a minor annoyance. Thankfully, it dwindled as he weakened.

She closed her eyes, greedily drinking in the warm pulses of thick, sweet fluid. Weird, this is the one thing that really brings me any peace at all. And I thought I could throw it away? Will’s right, I’m an idiot. She wished with all her might it would last. But at the same time, understood, like everything else, this was fleeting.

The panting sounds coming from the two lovers grew more desperate as her victim’s heart rate slowed. They blended into a sort of strange chorus. It doesn’t matter. Not of this shit matters. All that matters is this one little sound. Ignoring the other two, she focused intently on the one. The frail pitter-pat of a single human heart. Wrenching hard at her victim’s head, she crushed across his chest, trying to milk every last drop from him. His heart stuttered and fell still. She quietly lowered him to the ground.

Her head bowed in concentration. She forced her human mask to return. When she looked up, only her eyes betrayed her true nature. She licked her lips clean before striding around the car. Moments later, her eyes tingled. The sensation was very subtle and easy to miss. But it was important to her. It told her the mask was complete.

Taking position a few feet from Willow, she leaned casually against the car to wait. She cast a sidelong glance at the two enthusiastic lovers. The witch’s head was craned back. Her body moved in a rhythmic cadence against the man’s.

Y’know, I just don’t get it.

In spite of her feelings, Buffy found herself drawn to studying them. I mean I totally get the being horny. Who doesn’t? It’s annoying as hell. What I can’t see is why you’d ever want some random stranger to touch you like that. I don’t even want that from people I know. Panting and crying, Willow’s back arched. She hung from the stranger’s neck. He cupped her ass, guiding her thrusts and keeping her in place.

It’s supposed to feel good. Looks like it does, but…

It never did for me. Of course, the list—it’s less than stellar. The first and last guy I was with—

The muscles in Willow’s neck and shoulders corded. She made noises that caused Buffy to wonder if she was in pain. That’s more like what I’m used to. Pain. Lots of pain and creepy-crawly stuff, like there are ants swarming all over my skin.

Xander got off on torturing me. He loved to make me squirm. And boy did I work for the wish fulfillment.

A detail caught her eye that caused her pause. This is totally weird. Her hair color’s returning to normal. Really slowly. It’s subtle.

That’s just messed up. Is this somehow good for her? I mean, it just looks gross.

Finally, the part she could actually relate to arrived. Willow’s face transformed. She seized the man’s head and wrenched it to the side. The writhing didn’t stop when she buried her fangs in his neck. He didn’t even notice. The only sign that something might be wrong was that he gradually weakened. Eventually, his knees buckled. As he slid down the side of the car, he took Willow with him for the ride.

Buffy smiled as the witch dismount her victim. “Quite a show. I’m not sure whether I should applaud or not.” Funny, she never kissed him. She used to kiss Tara. And she’s tried to kiss me more than once. I guess if she kisses you, it means she loves you.

Willow curtsied gracefully and replied in a husky voice, “Thank you,” as she tugged her skirt down.

“Get his money and ditch the drugs,” Buffy instructed dryly. Rounding the car, she threw her victim across her shoulders and walked off toward the dumpster in the far corner of the garage.

Moments later, Willow came into view, appearing perfectly human except for one large detail. It was funny to watch her manhandle the limp man into the dumpster. She slammed the lid and remarked, “Nice take…they were quite the enterprising fellows.” She held out her hand, smiling when Buffy took it.

“Let’s get home,” Buffy said, towing the witch along with her. “I can smell the sun.”

“Yeah, I always wondered about that. Now I know what you mean,” Willow replied. Wiping the trace of blood from her lips, she licked her fingers. “Don’t you miss it?” she asked, giving Buffy a quick glance.

“Miss what?” Buffy responded, not quite certain which ‘it’ Willow might mean. Do I miss the sun? Yes. Did I miss the kill? Absolutely. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. I guess that can get shoved onto the pile with all the other shit—

“Sex,” Willow redirected emotionlessly.

Buffy almost fell over. “You’re kidding, right?” Busting up, she laughed hysterically when Willow shot her an ‘I’m dead serious’ look. She choked through her giggles, struggling to find control. Oh yeah…I miss it, like I miss sunlight exposure, or a nice face full of holy water. I miss it lots. Rushing a little to catch up, she was a bit surprised as the witch took her hand again.

Giving Buffy another thoughtful glance, Willow stated, “I don’t think I am.”

“No. There’s nothing to miss,” Buffy responded, fixing her eyes on the ground directly in front of her. “Look, Will, I’ll leave the fucking to you. Let me handle the planning.”

Taking the pack out of her jacket pocket, she pulled out a smoke and began to pat her clothing. A small bulge in the hip pocket of her leather pants caused her to pause. She placed the cigarette between her lips and replaced the pack, fishing out her lighter. Click, flip, puff, and the tension seemed to magically bleed away. Yup…they help…

Amy tugged at the hem of her shirt, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. Absently brushing her hair back, she pushed the door open, putting on her best fake smile. She made her way to the bed, leaning in to kiss the slayer lightly on the forehead. When Amy withdrew, her false smile returned. She whispered, “How you holding up?” meeting Faith’s eyes.

“Not bad,” Faith replied, but it was plain that she was lying.

Amy reached out to gently clasp the slayer’s hand. It was hard for the witch to remain calm. Seeing her like this is—I need to focus and keep my stupid head in the game. She cleared her throat. Intent on keeping the conversation flowing, she asked the obvious question, “What happened?”

Faith’s brow crinkled and she grumbled, “No crying over me,” entirely ignoring the question.

Amy felt the tears welling up. She was damned to stop them. Seeing Faith like this simply broke her heart. She’s the strong one. How can this happen? It’s bullshit! Amy’s resolve crumbled. She rasped, “Can’t help it,” as one dribbled down her cheek.

Faith pulled the witch carefully over the bed rail into a gentle hug. “Give me a few hours. I’ll be up and around, being a pain in your ass again. It’s really not that big a deal,” she whispered.

“Not a big deal?” Amy replied, “Is there something I missed? Giles told me they had to take one of your kidneys.” Pulling out of the embrace, she backed up, settling into one of the hard hospital recliners.

Amy met the vacant stare the slayer gave her and grumbled, “So, quit stalling.” She took a deep breath and angrily wiped her face with her hands. Her back ached already from the horrible chair. The pain gave her something else to dwell on, but she scooted around anyway, trying to get comfortable. These chairs need to be more miserable. It’d totally help set the mood.

After ruefully shaking her head, Faith recounted the events. “I was at The Bronze and this vamp left with a meal ticket in tow. So I did my thing. Y’know, the one they pay me so well for.” She sighed and tried to stifle the wince that followed. “I get out back and the vamp has him pinned, so I decked her. And that was it. End of show. She moved like nothing I’ve ever seen. Sloppy…” she combed away the strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes “…all over the place. No style at all. But you don’t need style when you’re that fast. I’m just lucky her aim wasn’t better. It was total amateur night, with a wicked new twist.”

“Slayer-Vamp?” Amy remarked, already knowing the answer.

Faith grumbled, “She had to be,” wincing again as she tried to adjust the pillow behind her head. “She moved like the queen bitch herself.” Amy got up and tried to help. As she fussed with the pillows, Faith continued to speak. “I have no clue why she’s here—” she paused to lean forward “—and her highness has dropped off the radar. But I’m sorta glad for that last bit.”

Amy leaned back to meet Faith’s eyes and stated the obvious, “We’ve got trouble.” Worried isn’t a good look for her. I’m so used to her silly confidence and pride.

Faith snarked, “Ya think?” Shifting slightly, she clutched her side.

Moving to leave, Amy said, “I’ll let the others know, so—” Yeah, we’re seriously screwed.

“Thanks,” Faith replied, turning to face the window.

Moving around the room, Buffy made sure the door was chained and the drapes were tightly drawn. She went to the bathroom to change and brush her teeth. When she got back, Willow was already in bed.

“All I could get with a fridge was a single queen,” Buffy commented. As she slipped under the covers, the naked little witch tucked up against her. Buffy rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the intrusion. I should’ve saved the board. Getting her onto it would’ve been a party, but worth every single bruise.

“No skin off my back.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at the tactless remark and grumbled, “Look, if you just have to touch me…” reaching over to switch off the lamp “…don’t do it light. None of that gentle shit. It makes my skin crawl.” If she doesn’t knock it off…

Willow snickered and purred into her bedfellow’s ear. “I think I can handle that.”

“Oh, and don’t get used to this. We’re leaving tomorrow,” Buffy growled softly, trying to settle for sleep. She was grateful that the witch seemed to have taken the hint and firmed up her grip.

Brushing Buffy’s hair away, Willow gently kissed her neck. “Where we headed?”

Buffy flinched. The kiss sent chills ups her spine and not the good kind. Like they’re ever the good kind. The only time I ever get that is when I do something I know is monumentally stupid and live to not talk about it. Reaching back to rub her neck, Buffy replied in an arid voice, “Back to Sunnyhell.” The shit I put up with.

Just when she recovered from the last round, more movement caused her to almost leap out of bed. As the witch craned over her, appearing totally aghast, Buffy gave her a furious glare.

Completely at ease, Willow met her gaze and asked, “Why the hell would you want to go back there?”

Buffy shook her head. When the annoying little witch finally settled in behind her, she answered the question. “Some friends of mine from outta town are visiting. I need to give them a warm welcome.”

“Friends?”

Buffy pressed against the witch to increase contact so her skin would stop tingling. “Yeah, you know, the slayerettes,” she responded through a sigh. “I have no clue why, but I can feel them moving. They’re headed for the ’Dale and so are we. I need to get to them before they get to me. It’s only a matter of time. If you really do love me, you’ll help.”

“Oh boy,” Willow mumbled and kissed the nape of Buffy’s neck again. The witch threaded her hand under the tank top Buffy wore and, pressing firmly, began to survey the damage.

The touching wasn’t as awful as Buffy remembered. She allowed it without protest. It concerned her that she found it strangely comforting. She actively decided to push the potential musings aside. Sleep now, questions later.

After a few moments of careful scrutiny, Willow whispered sleepily, “I do, you know.”

“I know, Will.”

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