Bloodletting

To Save Your Soul

Willow sat on the edge of the bed, staring at a patchwork of colors, none of them pretty. There were blues and greens and purples and yellows and even black. The right side of Buffy’s ribs, her shoulder, arm and both of her legs were a variable rainbow of hues that the body just shouldn’t be.

Willow blinked. I don’t even know where to begin.

“Y’know that thing that keeps us from entering someone’s home?”

I’ve got to stop wallowing and do something.

Willow opened the first aid kit.

“Will?”

If I don’t, I’m not seeing a happy ending. Not for any of us.

Willow pulled out the top tray of the kit and set it aside. Sorting through the bottom, she found a wide elastic bandage.

“Will?”

There has to be something. Some magical solution to this nightmare.

Willow sighed and mumbled, “Yeah,” as she unrolled the first few inches of the bandage.

Buffy said, “You know that thing?”

Boy, she sounds miffed.

Willow nodded and motioned Buffy to sit up. When the request appeared difficult to answer, Willow offered a hand. Buffy brushed it off and got up with a groan. She turned around and sat cross-legged on the bed with her back to Willow.

“If I rented rooms to our guests, could we do that thing?” Buffy asked.

Willow ran her fingertips over the edge of one of the bruises on Buffy’s ribs. There was a knot under the skin. She explored a little more until Buffy snapped, “Stop it.”

Another sigh slipped out. Willow started to apply the bandage. “I don’t see why we can’t just call it a night,” she whispered.

Yeah, way to be proactive.

Buffy replied, “None of this can wait, Will.”

She’s right.

“No,” Willow said as Buffy laced her fingers behind her neck.

Looking over her shoulder, Buffy snipped, “What do you mean ‘no’? ‘No’ what? ‘No’ I’m not right?”

The glare made Willow cringe. “No, that thing won’t work,” she clarified, reaching around to smooth the puckered fabric below Buffy’s breasts. She gently added tension to the bandage, causing Buffy to wince. As Willow unrolled another layer, she mumbled, “Sorry, this has to be tight.”

Some of the anger faded. Buffy turned away and asked, “Why?”

Willow took a guess at which ‘why’, answering, “Because you can’t bless something that belongs to a vampire, Buffy. It’s impossible. We’re damned, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She couldn’t give a cuss about the stupid bandage. She’s totally wrapped up in the problem.

The instant she hooked the little metal spiky things into the fabric to secure the bandage Buffy huffed and tried to get up. Willow held Buffy by her good shoulder and whispered, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Leaving Buffy on the bed to stew, Willow got up and crossed the room. As she opened the drawers of Buffy’s dresser, searching for comfy clothing, Willow grumbled, “Look, I get it, y’know. You’re pissed. You’ve had a bad night.” She located the underwear drawer and removed a pair, placing them on the dresser with a thump. “Well, I’m really sorry. I’m sorry you’re in pain. And I’m sorry you feel crappy.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.

Moving on, she slammed the first drawer closed and found the one with the undershirts. She grabbed the first tank top off the pile. It was a really pretty shade of blue. Swinging around, she seethed, “But I’m not gonna let you take it out on me.” She waggled her finger and the pretty blue shirt as she gave Buffy a reproachful stare.

When Buffy looked away, Willow turned back to the dresser to resume her search and her rant. “I’ve had a bad night too.” She put the blue shirt on top of the underwear with an equally thumpy gesture. “Actually, I’ve had a bad night that just sort of blends into an ongoing chain of unpleasant events since you woke me up. It’s been awful. Horribly, amazingly, wonderfully awful.”

Willow grinned in spite of herself and stooped to open the right lower drawer. A pair of black sweats caught her eye. She grabbed them and stood. Kicking the drawer closed, she added the sweats to the pile as Buffy tried to interrupt, “Yeah, I know—”

“No!” Willow snapped and spun around. “You’re going to listen to me for a change.”

Buffy appeared positively stricken. Willow didn’t look away until she was peering at the floor again. Returning her attention to the contents of Buffy’s dresser, Willow grumbled, “I don’t think this is about that. I’d be willing to bet this has nothing to do with you getting your ass kicked. Or sticking your stupid foot in your mouth. Or any of the other shit that’s happened tonight.”

Willow opened the middle drawer, locating a black hoodie that looked like it’d work. After removing it and adding it to the pile, she said, “Faith’s still here by the way. Amy talked her down. They’re getting cleaned up in the room across the hall.”

“Thanks,” Buffy whispered. It was really strange to see her so mousy and withdrawn.

Willow picked up the pile of clothing and approached the bed. “Here’s the thing. You don’t get to choose,” she said.

When Buffy moved to the edge of the bed and tried to reach for the pile of clothes, Willow swatted her hand away. “It’s like the smile, Buffy,” she whispered and picked up the underwear.

Letting her skirt fan out around her, she kneeled at Buffy’s feet. The bruises still worried Willow. As she stared at them, some of her anger faded. She gently lifted each of Buffy’s feet to slip the panties on. Willow pulled them up to her thighs, explaining, “I know it makes you crazy when someone fawns over you. It makes you think they feel sorry for you. But this so isn’t that.”

Willow picked up the sweat pants and gently did the same. Then she stood and helped Buffy up. As she pulled her underwear and sweats up, Willow grabbed the undershirt and bunched the sides, stretching it to hold the arm holes and neck open.

Unable to bite back a wince, Buffy raised her arms. Willow threaded the shirt over Buffy’s arms and head, then pulled it down as she said, “It’s part of the package. I worry when you’re hurt. I can’t help wanting to, umm…” Willow shrugged “…help if I can make it any better. I need you to let me.” She looked away, reaching for the hoodie. “It hurts that you won’t.”

Willow slipped Buffy’s arm through the right sleeve, whispering, “There’s always good and bad. You can’t just accept one and ignore the other. It doesn’t work that way.”

She finished dressing Buffy and led her to the couch, helping her sit. “It’s okay, though. You don’t have to worry. I won’t embarrass you in front of the others,” she said, going to the bathroom to get the blow dryer and a brush.

Another sheepish, “Thanks,” came from the bedroom.

Reentering the room, Willow located an outlet and, leaning down, plugged the blow dryer in. She strode over to Buffy, saying, “But for now…” I don’t wanna hear another word.

Willow cut herself off by turning the dryer on and got right to the task at hand. As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over. The fact that she’d had to say anything at all left her feeling wounded. She struggled to control her distress while she worked the dampness and tangles from Buffy’s hair.

I deserve a cookie for not using the word ‘selfish’ or ‘brat’ in that little lecture. Like I want one.

Willow finished by putting Buffy’s hair up in a French braid.

Buffy didn’t try to speak. She sat still with her head bowed.

After hastily cleaning up her mess, Willow made her way to the door, pausing at the dresser to smell her roses. She said, “I’ll meet you downstairs in half an hour,” as she pulled the door shut.

Buffy sat on the couch, staring at her feet, brooding, wondering how else she could possibly screw up. Doesn’t really matter. Gimme half a chance and I will. Just a fact.

And I don’t even have to try. Now that’s true talent.

When she couldn’t stomach any more, Buffy went to her closet and emptied the pockets of her leather jacket. Cigarettes and lighter were high on her list of wants. Like I can smoke. She paused to look at the lipstick Willow had given her, shook her head and pocketed it too.

Whatever.

Slipping on a pair of flip flops, Buffy grabbed her card and left her room. As she trudged down the hallway toward the elevator, her body was a mass of grumbles and complaints. She wished it would just shut the hell up.

She half hoped to run into Willow so they could talk, but that wasn’t in the plan. Buffy was completely alone. Fits the day. She pressed the down arrow button.

It’d be kinda naïve to hope for a better one tomorrow, wouldn’t it?

The doors slid open and she stepped in, tapping the number one as she settled against the wall.

Yeah, pretty much.

When the elevator doors opened, she made a beeline to the first conference room. Go figure, the gang was all there. All except Willow. Ignoring them, she went straight for the booze.

This keeps up, alcoholism’s gonna be the least of my problems.

Buffy didn’t acknowledge anyone until she had a drink in hand. She turned around and took a sip. Giles was already pretty much planted in her spot at the head of the table, reading a book. It was funny seeing the Watcher in a sweatshirt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him tweedless. He must feel naked. Maybe there’s hope.

Faith and Amy sat across from where she stood at the sideboard that served as a bar. Faith stared at the floor, spinning in her chair and looking supremely bored. Amy read. Jonathan sat across from her, doing the same. Whoa…’kay, well, this is gonna be a tough room.

Buffy took the seat on Giles’ left, next to Jonathan, and cleared her throat to get their attention. She said, “I don’t know if Will said anything, but you’re free to whatever…” gesturing over her shoulder to the bar “…wherever. Make yourselves at home.” I don’t think there’s a single one of us that couldn’t use a drink. It’s been one extremely messed up night. “All I ask is that you stay out of the basement.”

Giles looked up from his book with a wry grin on his face. “Keeping the ‘Three Sisters’ down there, I suppose?” he asked.

Buffy snorted and took another stiff drink before answering, “Nah, nothing so entertaining. But I could see about hiring them on if it’d make you happy, Giles.”

He didn’t look impressed, so she went on to explain. “It’s just this vamp-geek named Dalton. He’s a research nerd. I just don’t want to have to dust him. He’s occasionally useful.” The alcohol was beginning to almost take the edge off. She finished her drink in a single swallow and rose to mix another. Taking in the puzzled looks around her, she added, “I told him not to talk to anyone but me. The more people, the more chance he’ll get stupid. Trust me, you’re not missing much.”

As Buffy stooped to reach into the small refrigerator concealed in the cabinets of the sideboard, Willow entered the room, announcing, “Coffee?”

Buffy glanced over her shoulder. Willow had changed out of the pink dress into an emerald green, light cotton dress and a black suit jacket. Black stockings and sandals with ankle straps finished off the look. It was cute, dressy, but not.

Grabbing her juice, Buffy returned to her quest for numbness. She set it down and picked up the vodka, pouring half a glass. It’s gonna be a long night.

The urge to look again struck her, so she did. Willow was serving coffee. Poor Jonathan looked mortified. His nose was planted so firmly in his book, it made Buffy suspicious, but she blew it off.

Whatever. It’s not like embarrassing Jonathan is all that hard.

She turned back to the sideboard and topped her drink off with juice, taking an experimental sip. There was just enough juice to cut the edge, but not enough to stop the burn. She swallowed back the cough that threatened to come. The drink warmed the pit of her stomach. Pretty much perfect.

When she turned around, Willow was seated in what had been her chair. Buffy gave up. There was another chair opposite Giles, but she was just as happy standing. She took another sip of her citrus colored lighter fluid and said, “I’m not even sure how to begin. I get that you guys have no reason to trust us. The only thing keeping you here is a serious lack of options.”

Giles stood and approached her. Buffy moved down so he could browse the selection as he spoke, “I would agree. Perhaps we should concentrate on the matter at hand. The sooner this is resolved, the sooner we may part company.”

Buffy wasn’t sure why his words stung, but they did. She shot him a defensive, “Oh, trust me, Giles…you can’t make that too soon for me. But the fact is, you’re safer here.” Her opinion changed. She wanted to be far away from him as possible. Moving to the table, she took the only open chair and another healthy gulp of her drink. She set her glass down and glanced bitterly at him.

Seemingly oblivious to her offense, he poured himself a snifter of cognac. That’s it Giles. Make yourself at home. Fucker has good taste. Figures he’d go straight for the Hennessy.

Cutting into her snit, Willow said, “Hold up, guys. I don’t see any reason why we can’t work together.”

Buffy turned toward her, but Willow didn’t seem a bit interested. She was peering thoughtfully across the table at Amy.

Of course, Faith just had to snark, “Yeah, none at all, unless you count us being mortal enemies.”

Buffy ignored her in favor of studying Willow. It was the better option. The v-neck dress she wore was skintight on top. Between the parted lapels of her jacket Buffy could make out a little too much. Well, I get what wigged Jonathan now. That’s uh…

Typical Willow.

In the few seconds that passed, it became clear that she was being watched. Buffy turned her interest to the most likely suspect. Faith was regarding her with one eyebrow cocked.

Great.

Well, isn’t this fun?

Buffy growled under her breath, “This is going nowhere fast.” She took another sip of her drink. She’s totally right. No reason except the obvious.

“What happened to you, Buffy?” Jonathan asked in a voice just above a whisper. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from his thoughtful examination of his coffee cup.

Buffy wondered if she was hearing things. She turned her attention to the shy young man and asked, “Whatcha mean, Jonathan?” just to be sure. She was slightly thrown when he looked up to meet her gaze.

Y’know, I never thought I’d ever, ever like this guy, but—

Someone needs to find the nerve…or the brains to ask the right questions. Go figure, it’d be the mouse that roared.

Jonathan maintained eye contact in spite of his obvious fear. “The last I saw, you were running out the door of the vineyard carrying—” he nodded at Willow “—then you show back up after a week and Amy says you have a soul? She’s a vampire, obviously ensouled too,” he said, nodding again at Willow. “Now you two are trying to play good-guys?”

Fill in the blanks.

Buffy briefly met Willow’s gaze. A slight tip of her witch’s chin was all the permission Buffy needed to go on.

Three fingers in fifteen minutes usually does the trick. Another finger every fifteen should keep me in good shape.

Downing the last of her drink, she got up to mix another. “Umm…the Cliff Notes version,” she said, taking the juice from the fridge. She poured half a glass and just left it out. “One of my own double-crossed me during the spell. And as you know, I got my soul back.” She topped her glass off with vodka and turned around. “I took Will to L.A. and found a gypsy to ensoul her.” After sampling her drink, she added another splash of vodka, snagged an ashtray and returned to her seat. “We came back to Sunnydale to try and fix things. Not even sure that’s possible, but I’m trying.”

Buffy put her drink down and reached into the pocket of her hoodie, removing her cigarettes and lighter. She lit up, inhaling a long, slow drag. The smoke burned all the way down. She took a drink before continuing. “We had a visit this morning from a demon. Greasy little bastard. He said that something called ‘The Powers’ sent him.” She paused to clear her scratchy throat. “Will did the vague gesture at the ceiling bit, so I’m gonna guess she meant ‘God’.” Flicking her ash, she snickered. “If I believed in God, I sure wouldn’t give a shit about him, or her, or it, or them…whatever. I’ll say ‘them’ because of the plural. Fact is, they’ve never done me any favors.”

Buffy had everyone’s attention now and half of them didn’t look impressed. Focusing on the rainbow of light reflecting off her cut crystal tumbler, she cut to the chase. “Whatever. I don’t care who sent him. Point is, he gave us a head’s up.” She shrugged and took a light hit off her cigarette, commenting through the smoke, “I’m totally clueless. But I got nothin’ better. And these girls are my problem. So I figure we start with the obvious…saving Faith.”

Faith gave Buffy a cold glare and smirked as she said, “So you got your soul back during the spell? Damn, B. No wonder you were fallin’ all over yourself. I thought I might actually take ya.”

Buffy picked up her glass and goaded, “It’s nice to dream, isn’t it F.?” After returning the smirk, she went back to studying the tumbler in her hands. “Any of you grab an old book at the vineyard?” Taking in the chorus of ‘no’s and shaking heads, she said, “We got trouble.”

Giles inquired, “What was this book?”

Buffy took another drag off her smoke. It only burned a lot. This is so not fair. She gave the Watcher a glance. He looked concerned. Time to return the favor and really trash his night.

Fixing her full attention on her glass, Buffy mumbled, “We got our hands on an old Watchers’ diary, basically Slayer one-oh-one. It was what we used to figure out the spell.”

“How on earth did you manage that?” Giles asked.

Buffy snickered and took a hit off her cigarette. This time she nearly choked to death. Blinking back the tears, she crushed her cigarette out. So much for the artificial kind. The real thing’s gonna have to do for now. I should feel bad for them. But I really don’t. Refusing to drop the act over a trivial thing like pain, she replied, “eBay.”

Her voice sounded like a hundred miles of bad road, but the word itself had the desired effect. Poor Giles looked aghast.

Buffy took another sip of her drink and licked her lips. “See, thing is…slayers aren’t just randomly picked. The original spell goes for the top of the food chain first. So what we got, before you stopped it, were pretty much the potentials with the most potential.”

Jonathan said, “And if the book ended up in the hands of…” His voice dropped to a mumble. “Oh shit, I was right.”

Buffy turned her attention to Faith and asked, “How many girls you see turned? You had the visions too.”

It took Faith a moment to answer. “I dunno…maybe twenty-five or thirty tops…the ones that didn’t turn to dust.”

“Sounds about right,” Buffy agreed. “The spell didn’t run that long.” Well, it’s bad, but it’s not that bad. We can deal if there aren’t any more like Morticia. And you can pretty much bet they sent their best for that little snatch and dash. It was just too important. They had one shot. And they—

“They already have what they need.”

It was Willow who had spoken. Her voice was soft, but calm, flat and decisive, like she already knew. Buffy looked up. The expression on Willow’s face said it all.

“When exactly did you plan on sharing this little revelation with me?” Buffy asked.

Glancing up, Willow rebuffed, “I’m sharing it with you now.” Her attention came to rest on her coffee cup. Running her finger over the rim, she whispered, “To restart the spell they’d need the slayer, a vampire, and a potential, all together, the blood of each.” She sighed. “But it doesn’t really matter how you mix them. Any of them can represent the vampire and slayer elements now. There’d be a minor wording change. But if they have the power to do the magic, they’d have what they need to figure that out. The only other thing they need is a potential and there’s locator spell in the book.”

Anger welled up as Willow spoke, Buffy came within inches of cutting her off. She was just about to say something when Willow added, “This spell is bound to the lunar cycle, Buffy. If they restarted it tonight, control would default to you. Any witch or warlock smart enough to rewrite the spell will see that. They can’t act until the beginning of the next lunar cycle.”

Amy snickered and spoke up. “You mean tomorrow night?”

Willow turned to Amy and grinned, replying, “Exactly.”

Buffy took a healthy sip from her glass. Y’know, I’d have the biggest headache ever if it wasn’t for…

Amy looked around the table before speaking. “I think I know where we can start looking.”

Willow asked, “Where?”

“Rack,” Amy replied. “He’ll do anything for the right price.”

Oh brother…here we go. Buffy sat back, observing the ease with which the two witches spoke. Huh. Cool. They’ve already got it figured.

“Yeah…that might be a slight problem,” Willow said.

The ‘huh’ was written all over Amy’s face.

“You’ll need a shovel,” Willow said, wearing one of those cute little grins. It made Buffy roll her eyes.

Interrupting the conversation, Buffy explained, “He was getting too close to you. I ordered him to stop. When he didn’t, I ordered he be stopped.”

Willow looked up, briefly meeting Buffy’s gaze. There was a ‘thank you’ in her expression. Buffy gave her the slightest of nods.

Returning her interest to her cup, Willow whispered, “There are other options. In a town like this, there would be. I have a pretty good idea where to look.”

Regarding Buffy with a waspish glower, Faith snapped, “Is there anything you two didn’t—?”

Buffy was laughing before Faith got half of her half-thought out. Instantly sobering, she cut the slayer off with a sharp, decisive, “No.”

Faith felt herself rising from her chair.

Two words.

Buffy’s cold, gray eyes were locked on her. Merciless and unyielding, they burned.

‘Come here.’ Her lips were easy enough to read. I’m screwed.

Faith crossed the room, feeling like an obedient hound. Two more words broke the stunned silence of the room. “Hit me.”

Every eye was on them. Faith couldn’t figure out why she was so nervous. It didn’t make any sense. I don’t care what they think. And hitting B.? It’d be my pleasure.

“I know you wanna,” Buffy purred.

Amy stood and stomped right out the door, taking Willow with her. Faith didn’t so much see this as feel it. The two witches were pissed. They didn’t want any part of this ‘pissing match.’ Or that’s what they’d say if they had bothered to say anything at all. It was all in the subtext.

Well, Amy will just have to forgive me. She always does.

Faith swung. Her fist struck Buffy right under the chin. Bitch didn’t even try to block. Faith’s hand throbbed. It was perfect. A big ol’ grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Buffy reeled and staggered backwards, shaking her head. Her eyes were piss-yellow now. “Again,” she snarled through gritted teeth.

Giles was on his feet, but he stayed put.

Drawing back, Faith hit Buffy again. This time it was her right cheek. Her head whipped around.

Buffy shook off the blow. Heavy ridges lined the vampire’s brow. But she didn’t make a move. Wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, she smiled and asked, “Feel better?”

Two more words. We need to work on your vocabulary, B.

Faith didn’t answer, but the first thing that entered her mind was ‘no.’ I should but I don’t. Kinda sucks.

Buffy picked up her drink and took a sip. A little bit of blood washed back into the glass.

Faith watched the wispy red cloud disperse. I seriously wanna throw down with her. Why I’m not…I dunno. Maybe—

Buffy grabbed a smoke and whispered, “Here’s the thing, F…” holding out the pack “…I think I get why you’re so pissed.” Faith took one. “But you’ve got it all wrong.” Buffy clicked her lighter. Faith leaned in, dipping the tip of her cigarette into the fire as Buffy purred, “You’re not pissed at the right thing.” Faith took a puff and let it go.

Buffy lit her own cigarette. It was really weird to watch a vamp smoke. Faith grinned. This whole thing was just too bizarre not to.

Oh, do share, B. This should be good.

After taking another drink, Buffy went on. “When you first got here, I was living in some rat infested hole on the bad side of town.” She set her glass down and put her hand on her hip. “All you had to do was burn it down. That’s it. It wasn’t rocket science.”

A smiling vamp was the most disgusting thing Faith had ever seen. This wasn’t anything new, but Buffy did a fine job of bringing up an old point. When her smile turned into a sneer, it got worse. She said, “I didn’t give a shit. I wanted you to.” There was something bitter about the tone of her voice, something almost like regret. “But you didn’t and I got stronger.”

Taking another hit off her cigarette, Buffy asked through the smoke, “And what did you do with your time?” Her face shifted back to human. Or what excused for human. “Bottom line…” She thrust a finger at Faith’s chest. “It’s not me you should be pissed at.”

Faith opened her mouth to speak, not even sure what to say. B.’s right about one thing, I’m pissed. Yelling sounds more like a plan.

She never got a chance. Turning on heel, Buffy grabbed up her drink and left the room.

Getting up to leave, Jonathan mumbled, “Nice job, Faith.”

Faith couldn’t believe her ears. She watched, stunned as he stormed out of the room.

That’s just beautiful.

Faith swiped the pack of cigarettes Buffy left behind and headed out the door.

A fire in the fireplace, good cognac, leather chair, old book…it’s like a scene from Masterpiece Theater. Pity Giles is out of costume.

Unnoticed by her human guests, Buffy slipped through the library door. She leaned against a bookshelf and watched them. I really should finish dinner before I do this.

Timing just sucks. Alcohol and blood loss aren’t exactly the best mix. It was eat or pass out…

And I can’t afford to pass out.

Her face twisted with revulsion when she took another sip of the cold blood. Disgusting, but it tastes more, umm…

It’s not so much like gravy.

The thought was less than helpful. She reached for a cigarette to kill the taste. When she lit her smoke, the Watcher and his boy looked up. “We need to talk,” she said.

There was one good. The smoke didn’t burn half as much. We might actually make it through this.

Jonathan started to leave.

Focusing on him, she said, “You first.” She took another sip of the blood. The sooner I finish, the better.

To her surprise, Jonathan approached. He briefly made eye contact and said, “Yeah?”

Buffy shook her head and walked over to the nearest of three round, central tables. Taking a seat, she motioned for Jonathan to join her.

Giles left his chair by the rear stacks, making his way to the table. Buffy gave a slight tip of her chin and he seated himself across from her.

Jonathan eyed her curiously. As she took another drink, he asked, “Reflex?” He made a vague gesture to indicate he meant her eyes. When she nodded, he said, “I wondered about the sunglasses.”

My god. Is he actually making small talk? That’s too funny.

Smiling, Buffy replied, “Yeah…we had to sorta eat and run today. Whistler said move, so—”

“Ever thought about using contacts?” he asked. His attitude changed when she met his eyes and took another sip. The foolish calm went away, but he refused to back down.

Buffy snickered. That’s actually not a terrible idea.

After pausing to consider him, she whispered, “You guys don’t like me much, do ya?” Pretty pointless question. Like asking the lamb if it likes the wolf.

No answer was required, but Jonathan replied anyway, “We don’t trust you.”

Giles faded into the background. He sat very still just observing the exchange.

Buffy ignored him. Concentrating on Jonathan, she said, “I can smell fear.” The funny thing…the Watcher’s more frightened than his boy. She smiled and took another drink.

Setting the wineglass down, she took another hit off her smoke and scanned the room for something that might work as an ashtray. There wasn’t anything. She rose, held up a finger and walked across the hall to the conference room.

Returning with an ashtray, Buffy spoke as she reentered the room, “Here’s the thing. You’re right to be scared. I could snap your neck before your next heartbeat…” approaching the table, she met his eyes “…drain you before you could scream.” She took a seat. “Following your instincts is good.”

Buffy sipped the blood and eyed him. He wasn’t backing down. She grinned, offering an admission, “The rest of that is…it really is all about me. And me, I have enough shit on my plate to deal with. Every one of these girls is my fault. My problem. Blood on my hands. Not to mention—”

“You really want to help, don’t you?” Jonathan asked.

“Yeah, I do,” she replied with a snicker. “And I haven’t managed to figure out why yet. I’m so not noble. The whole ‘hero’ thing’s sorta a joke to me. You’re actually ten times the hero I’ll ever be. I got the super powers package, so I’m stuck playing the role. But it is what it is.”

I took the package. There’s no ‘got’ to it. Something was taken from me. And I took it back.

She was a little surprised that neither of them called her on that. Even Giles remained uncharacteristically silent.

When Jonathan finally managed a reply, all he said was, “Thanks.”

Buffy snickered and asked, “For what?” unable to wring the incredulity from her tone. She tipped the wine glass and drained it, glad it was over. It wasn’t that long ago that this was something I enjoyed. Now it’s just something I have to do. And it tastes like shit. What do they put in this stuff?

As she stomped her cigarette out in the ashtray, Jonathan replied with a grin, “For calling me a hero. That had to hurt.”

Grabbing the glass, Buffy stood up and went to get another drink, saying, “Oh, you know it,” as she walked to the door. Her body complained. I’m one finger down and no better off.

Lingering at the doorway, she said, “I’ll be back in a sec,” and left the room. Entering the conference room, she set the wineglass down and picked the tray up. It still had the coffee decanter and fresh cups on it. She took it to the sideboard and added juice, vodka, cognac and a clean tumbler to the tray. Returning to the library, she placed the tray on the table.

She mixed a slightly less lethal cocktail and took a sip before continuing. “I’m a little short on help. I was wondering if you’d like a job.”

Jonathan looked up from pouring himself a cup of coffee. His expression was priceless.

Buffy kept the smile, but choked down the laugh. “Look, I know you work part time at the Magic Box,” she said. “I don’t want to cut into that, but—”

Jonathan eyed her like she might’ve sprouted tentacles. Finally, he said, “You’re serious.”

Buffy replied, “Uh, yeah…I usually am.” She pulled a cigarette from her pack, tapping it filter first on the table. “What? Do you think that evil masterminds are just evil and mastermindy all on their own? It takes a lot of work to keep something like this together. You learn to delegate.”

Pausing to light her cigarette, she regarded Jonathan. He seemed to be keeping up, so she went on. “Here’s the thing, I have a house full of humans now and I haven’t got a clue.”

Jonathan’s grin turned to a smirk. If he liked that, he’ll love this.

She watched Giles pour more cognac as she spoke. “So, I figure I need an expert and I can’t think of anyone more qualified.” I hope he takes that the right way.

He did. Or at least he seemed to. But it caused him to sober. “What would I do?” he asked.

Buffy was pleased to see that he seemed to seriously be considering her offer. She explained, “Just keep the house running. Make sure people have what they need. The next few weeks are gonna be tough. We need someone to handle the basics.”

“That sounds like what I already do,” Jonathan replied with a laugh.

“See, you’re an expert.” She raised an eyebrow and asked, “So, do we have a deal?”

When he replied, “I think so,” she took a stack of money from her pocket and placed it on the table next to the tray. “Take five-hundred off the top for your first week. We can play by ear from there.”

Jonathan eyed the pile of bills suspiciously.

Buffy feigned ignoring him. Really, she was completely amused. “You know a lot better than I do what they need. Just take care of it, ’kay?” she asked, pausing to let him catch up. When Jonathan nodded, she went on. “First thing, no one’s eaten tonight. Find out what they want and order something.”

Her attention leveled on Giles. He didn’t look impressed at all. Buffy studied him as she whispered, “In the morning I want you to call the florist and place a standing order for a dozen roses.” Sharing this is weird, especially with the stodgy British guy around. She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the discomfort before she went on. “I’m not sure how long they last, but I don’t want her to ever be without them again.”

Rising to leave, Jonathan said, “Okay.”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow. I’ll make a list. Don’t worry. Nothing big. Just some details,” she concluded, dismissing him with a wave.

He made it halfway to the door and stopped. Turning back, Jonathan asked in a quiet, thoughtful voice, “What do you miss?”

Twisting in her seat to face him, Buffy asked, “What do you mean?” clueless what he meant.

For the first time since they sat down, he refused to meet her eyes. It took him a moment to summon the courage to speak. “About being human. There has to be something.”

Oh, jeez. Lots of stuff, I guess. And nothing much. God, how do I even answer?

Do I even answer? Has he earned the right?

Yeah, I think he has...but Giles?

Fuck him.

Buffy turned away and took a sip of her drink. Then she replied with the first thing that came to mind, “My mother.” It was more than she wanted to give, but—

I could say chocolate or something, but really, how lame is that?

When Jonathan had gone, Giles whispered, “That was touching. Not to mention very generous.”

The sarcasm irritated Buffy, but she brushed it off, peering into her glass. Even in the low yellow light of the library, the cut crystal cast a rainbow. It was pretty. Indifference in her tone, Buffy said, “Well, if you liked that, you’re gonna love this.”

Giles didn’t take the bait. He was pissed about something.

Buffy looked him over before commenting, “I don’t know what your problem is, but so far I’ve been nothing but kind to you. And you’ve had this big ol’ chip. Care to share?”

There was nothing friendly about Giles’ smile. “Really? Is that so?” After the snark, he got to the point. “Then you won’t mind explaining your actions with Faith.”

Buffy couldn’t believe her ears. That’s what this is about? “What do you mean? I gave her exactly what she wanted. Is there something wrong with that?” she asked through a snicker.

She seriously needed to work out her issues. Hitting me was one of the best things that’s happened to her, uh…well, since the last time she hit me.

Now the rest wasn’t very nice, but she deserved it. And so does he.

Having a sip of his cognac, he savored it before he swallowed. “It wasn’t what you did. It was how you did it,” he said, stroking his chin. “Do you often control the people you wish to befriend?”

Peering over her glass into Giles’ eyes, Buffy said, “Control?” She snickered. “What do you think I am? I can’t control anyone. I mean, really, not if they don’t want to do it. Not unless they’re just plain stupid.” She stood up just a little too quickly. “I gave her permission.”

Giles flinched. Fear radiated off of him. The air was thick with the stench of it. You should be afraid, you brain dead old bastard.

I don’t even get this. We need to work together and you and your stupid ‘charge’ are seriously making me regret my newfound goodness.

I’m starting to rethink. And trust me. You don’t want that.

Picking up her drink, Buffy walked away from the table, whispering, “That’s not what this is about at all, is it? What I said struck a nerve.” Turning, she leaned against a bookcase and examined him. The truth was there. He wouldn’t say it, so she did. “You didn’t have the balls to order my execution.” A cold laugh slipped out. “Or was it the stomach?”

Giles looked away. “It was unwise. My slayer was barely trained. And you posed no immediate threat,” he mumbled.

Excuses. You know as well as I do that’s just bullshit. You put your enemies down before they become a problem.

Buffy asked, “Y’know what I think, Giles?” quickly amending, “Do you care what I think?”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he replied.

She sipped her drink to bide the time. Finally, she said, “I don’t think any of this matters. Fact is, we’re all still alive. Let’s concentrate on keeping it that way.”

“On that final matter you have my complete agreement,” Giles said.

“Well, at least there’s that,” Buffy said. She strode back over to the table and grabbed a smoke. Lighting it, she snatched up the ashtray and turned away.

As Buffy walked to the next table, she said, “I’ll admit my methods were a little messed up.” She set her stuff down. “But the thing is, Faith knows better. No matter how much she might want to…” Giles turned in his chair to face her “…she won’t do it. Not unless things really go south. Or I let her.” She sat on the edge of the table with one foot on the floor and the other dangling. “So I did because it was eating her up.” She smiled. “Honestly, I deserved it. Give her a couple of days, she’ll get over it.”

Buffy flicked ash and took another drag. Giles had calmed a little. I think he sees the sense. He has to know that’s how we relate.

“You wanna hear my offer now?” she said with a snicker. “Or are there a few more corpses you’d like to pick?”

Moving to the other side of the first table to face her, Giles said, “There’s another matter I’d like to discuss, if you don’t mind.”

Buffy grinned and shook her head. Of course there is. She stopped herself from saying that and said this instead, “Hey, knock yourself out. We may as well settle this.” I deserve points for that.

“What have you been feeding on?” he asked in a low, gruff tone.

When Jonathan reentered the room, Buffy put her finger up and asked, “Get that taken care of?”

Keeping his distance, Jonathan leaned against one of the shelves near the door. “Yeah, pizza will be here in about half an hour,” he replied, adding a polite, “Am I interrupting?”

Buffy took a drag and said, “Uh, not so much.”

He hung back, just listening.

Buffy swung her dangling leg just to get rid of some of the nervous energy. This really isn’t my thing. Oh well…the sooner I answer, the sooner I can bail. She turned her attention to Giles and admitted, “Mostly what I can steal. I don’t like it, but—” It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Lying now wouldn’t be hard. But it’d be pretty damned pointless. All he has to do is open the fridge.

“As I suspected. Are you aware that there is a blood shortage? They’ve been calling for donors. People may die, despite your best efforts,” Giles said in a dry voice.

“What?” Buffy exclaimed. “No way! We left lots.”

Giles dismissed her in turn. He sipped his cognac, regarding her with disdain. Finally, he asked, “What makes you think you even need human blood?”

Shit.

“Mostly the starvation,” Buffy replied.

The answer was pretty blunt. Go figure, Giles didn’t take it well. His high horse grew an inch or two.

I seriously need a saw.

Buffy inhaled one last puff of her cigarette and put it out before she explained, “This isn’t something I want. I’ve tried it all. If I can even keep it down, it doesn’t help. I ran out of blood in L.A. and—well…after a couple of days the shakes were so bad. I almost killed this little old lady. It scared me.” She drained her glass. “Go figure, the changes came with a dietary plan designed to seriously screw with me.”

As she got up to mix another, Giles replied, “Interesting. It must be the combination. At any rate, should this little arrangement continue, I will have to insist you find another way.”

I feel like I’m five.

Funny, if memory serves, it wasn’t that long ago I was catching hell over not having a conscience. Now I have two.

Fuck this.

Buffy poured just a little too much vodka into her glass. Oops. “I’ll get right on that, Giles,” she grumbled. “Right after I fix everything else that’s wrong in this godforsaken, little, backwater burg.” A splash of juice joined the mix. It’ll be fine. “Just keeping your slayer off a slab has been a full time job.” She took a drink and marched back to her perch. “Now we can have another round of accusations and recriminations if you want. But I think we’ve just about beaten that subject to death.”

Giles offered, “My apologies.” The amazing thing was that he actually sounded sincere. “There are other places you might feed.”

Jonathan had this ‘I feel your pain’ kind of look on his face. He rolled his eyes and Buffy smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah, I considered that,” she said and took another drink. “It was a bad idea before last night. It may be looking better now that I’ve fired my staff. I also—” Uncertain how Giles might take the idea, she stopped short. I’ve about had it with the bickering.

“Go on,” Giles prompted. Appearing interested, he added a hasty, “By ‘fired,’ you mean you ‘killed,’ correct?”

Buffy replied, “Yeah, I dusted about twenty vamps before bed this morning.” Leaning against the table, she casually crossed her ankles. “Death doesn’t exactly come with a retirement plan…or a code of ethics.” She folded her arms. “The only one I kept was Dalton. He’s harmless…and damned useful at times.”

Giles nodded. “And your other thought? Please continue.”

Buffy said with a shrug, “Not much.” Her eyes fixed on the floor at her feet. “It’s just that prostitutes sorta sell their bodies anyway. I might make some kinda deal there. I’d rather help a victim than pay some suck house pimp.” Willow’s words ran through her mind, ‘Whore’s just another way of saying ‘victim.’ I might be able to do some good. A hiss escaped, unchecked. Listen to me. It’s kinda sad. She collected her thoughts and went on. “I don’t know how viable it is. But maybe I could put them up until they recover. It’d give them some time off the streets. They’d have a good excuse for the disappearing act. And if they wanted better…”

“You really have changed,” Giles said under his breath.

Following her train of thought, Buffy ignored him. “I’m just not sure where to start. Like I have the time.” A fit of the giggles interrupted. She took her face in hand and shared the funny. “Can you really walk up to someone and say, ‘Hi, my name’s Buffy. I’m a vampire. You wanna maybe go back to my place and, uh…?’ As pick up lines go, I’m thinking…”

Both men were grinning at her.

Mocking thoughtfulness, Jonathan commented, “Well, you never know. That’s way better than, ‘Oh, I'm sorry, I thought that was a Braille name tag’.”

It was good to hear Giles chuckle. The tension in the room lightened. Amused by the badness, Buffy shook her head and smiled. There may be hope.

“I should go. I’ll bring you some pizza when it gets here, Giles,” Jonathan said.

“Thank you,” Giles said as Jonathan left the room.

Buffy focused her interest on Giles and asked, “When’s your birthday?” He’s gonna think I’m nuts. But he won’t be the only one.

Whatever.

He’ll get over it.

Giles mulled the question over for several moments before he responded, “June the sixth.”

Shrugging, Buffy said, “A little early, but it’ll do.” She took a sip of her drink. “You’re gonna think I’ve lost my mind, so I’m just gonna get it over with.” She smiled over the rim of her glass. “I want to give you the house.”

His reaction wasn’t that much different than what she imagined. Yeah, pretty much fish face.

So, should I give him the ‘why,’ or let him cluck a little more?

Well, the clucking is funny, but—

“Look, Giles, before you start, let me clear this up for you,” Buffy said. Her posture relaxed. She took the edge of the table in hand and leaned back. “It’s like I said,” she explained, “I’ve got a house full of humans.”

Buffy stretched. Just standing around was killing her. And sitting around wasn’t even an option. As she said, “One of the things that humans have, that keeps them safe from the likes of me, is a place to retreat to,” she grabbed a smoke and strode to the back wall. “It’s just a fact. There’s a natural protection.” She paused to light up before casting a glance at Giles and turning between two of the shelves.

There were plenty of places to get lost in the library. Buffy did. She wandered the rows of bookshelves, staying out of sight.

Her voice was barely a whisper, but she spoke slowly, carefully enunciating each word. The sound resonated through the large room. “Faith hasn’t had that. The only reason she’s survived all these years living in that fleabag motel is because I protected her. Every creep in this town knew that if they touched my slayer, I’d gut them.”

Giles didn’t get up. Buffy listened to the sound of his metered breathing and the faint thump of his heart. In her absence he had actually relaxed. She found it funny.

Smiling in the shadows, she murmured, “That protection isn’t gone, but as you might well imagine, I’m kinda out of favor with the ‘bump in the night’ crowd now. Someone may go after her for exactly the same reason they were leaving her alone before.”

Buffy emerged from between the shelves behind him. Striding past where he sat, she flicked her ash into the ashtray and turned, arriving at her point. “Will says there’s no other way to make that happen without this. And it has to happen. We need to be able to sleep. We need a place to recover. A sanctuary, if you will.”

Giles appeared deeply thoughtful. Good to see he’s firming up. Not that it isn’t just a hoot to watch him wig.

As crazy as this sounds, there’s sense. He can’t deny it.

Buffy picked up her drink and swirled it as she said, “The only stipulation I have is that I want a lease for six months. If after six months, this isn’t working, we’ll go our separate ways. And you can do what you want with the house.”

C’mon, Giles…clock’s ticking…

When Giles finally arrived at an answer, it wasn’t exactly what Buffy wanted to hear. “I couldn’t possibly. I can’t take on a burden like this. Why, the financial—”

She cut him off. “I said ‘lease.’ Lease means rent, Giles. Let me handle the financial end.”

He met her gaze, replying with a blunt, “I’m not going to take your money.”

Buffy replied with a laugh, “It’s not my money.” Calming, she studied the Watcher. There was this kind of noble arrogance to his manner.

Guessing at what the problem might be, she said, “You’re actually worried about where it came from.”

Giles had a couple of really entertaining tells. He either fiddled with his suit or his glasses. Without the suit, there was only one thing left and he went straight for it.

Buffy explained through a snicker, “The money came from two places. Two creatures who were just too damned old to be legit, Mayor Wilkins and Glorificus.” The expression on Giles’ face at the mention of the names was precious, but Buffy didn’t let it slow her down. “Between them, there was a vast fortune that no one owned. Everything was a fabrication, except the important part. You take something like that and add a computer hacker…what you get—”

Giles was done fidgeting. Eyeing her over his glass, he sipped his cognac.

Being studied by him didn’t bother her a bit. Buffy smiled as she whispered, “It was almost too easy. And Will’s not even sure she got it all. It’s okay, she got enough.” Enough to fund a private army. Maybe take over a small country.

The Mayor was small potatoes. It was enough for a start.

But Glorificus, she was ancient. And loaded. Her little band of zealots weren’t thrilled. But what were they gonna do? They couldn’t even tell where the money went.

It was beautiful. Not many can say they’ve sucked a God dry and bankrupted her cult.

Buffy concluded, “Now, if you have an issue with taking money from the likes of them…” not even bothering to finish her statement. There was no point. Giles got the picture.

Returning his glass to the table, he replied, “Allow me some time to consider your offer.”

“Fair enough,” Buffy said in a dry voice. “Will a day work?”

Buffy was already stuffing her pockets when Giles said, “That should be satisfactory.”

She made a hasty exit, calling over her shoulder, “Night, Giles.” She stood waiting for the elevator as he returned the platitude.

Faith kicked her shoes off and curled up on the cream colored, Victorian sofa, leaning against its rolled arm. Y’know, I’m not picky. If I’ve got a roof over my head and clothes on my back, I’m good.

Why it had to be this roof and these clothes is anyone’s guess.

This is too messed up for words.

She glanced down at the shirt she had on and sneered. Exactly who is Bunny? And why would I care if she has a dog walking service?

More importantly, what the hell are we doing here?

I mean, I get what Giles was saying, we’re kinda out of options, but—

Amy gestured to her plate and said, “You should eat.”

Faith sighed.

And food in my belly…

She picked up the glass of Coke from the end table and took a drink. Amy glaring at her from the matching loveseat wasn’t exactly what the doctor ordered. Faith exchanged the glass for the plate, resting it on her lap and had a bite of her pizza. It tasted like a piece of cardboard, coated in grease, slathered in ketchup, with a thin layer of rubberized cheese. The box might be better. But then, it’s not like I’m exactly hungry.

Could be the bitter taste…

Momentarily satisfied, Amy went back to eating.

Faith picked at her pizza as she studied the witch. She couldn’t get over how much Amy had changed in a matter of maybe an hour or two. The white plastic splint was gone, along with most of the puffiness. She still had dark circles under her eyes and some faint bruising, but the difference was like day and night.

The only reason Faith could find to explain this radical change was her time with Willow. The first thing that came to mind was completely wrong. Amy was still above room temperature and breathing. The only other possibility was that Willow had somehow helped her. This seemed inconceivable, but Faith was sort of out of answers.

Amy swallowed a bite of pizza and took a drink of her soda. Meeting Faith’s eyes, she said, “You should seriously give these people a chance. They might surprise you.”

“People?” Faith repeated with a snicker. “Since when are they ‘people’?” She gave up on the pizza and set it aside.

Wiping her hands with a napkin, Amy put her plate on the end table next to her. “Look, I know you don’t get this, but I’ve known Willow most of my life,” she said.

Faith let out a bark of a laugh. She couldn’t help it. It just came out. Finding a sliver of control, she stated the truth, “The Willow you knew is dead.” Clinically. No pulse, no breath, no temp, cold, flat, fucking dead. Period. Faith raked impatient fingers through her hair. She wants me to play nice with a couple of corpses. I’m sorry, that’s just not in the job description.

“You’re not wrong,” Amy said, pausing just long enough for Faith to feel she was actually getting somewhere. Any optimism was short lived. Amy squashed it like a bug. “But you’re totally wrong. She’s more alive now than she’s been in years. Maybe in the whole time I’ve known her.”

No surprise. Hope usually doesn’t last long around me.

Faith didn’t even know what to say. Of course, the head shake and eye roll just got her more bullshit from the witchy faction.

“Willow’s had a pretty crappy life. Not as crappy as some, but—”

Unable to contain it, Faith grumbled, “Oh, please.”

Amy drew silent, staring daggers through Faith. It wasn’t exactly fun, but she clung to her indignation at least until Amy started to speak again. “Lemme guess, you think that because her mother wasn’t a junkie who O.D.ed before her fifteenth birthday that Willow doesn’t have a right?”

Faith bolted upright on the couch. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her cheeks burned. She raged through gritted teeth, “How dare you!”

Amy didn’t seem impressed at all. Staring Faith down, she whispered, “Who appointed you judge?”

The sound of her voice made Faith’s skin crawl. She wanted to storm out of the room. But with nowhere to go, it was pointless. She laced her fingers in her lap and gazed at the floral area rug.

Damn you!

Giving her time to cool down, Amy finished her dinner.

A string of curses was about all Faith was good for. Her head throbbed uselessly. It was a jumble of worthless shit, muzzy, heavy and way too warm.

As it started to clear, she got that Amy had a point. God dammit! I hate it when she’s right. It just pisses me off.

Faith wasn’t even close to ready for Amy to continue. But she did. Clearing her throat, she sipped her soda before she said, almost conversationally. “You know, I remember when Buffy came to town.” Crossing her ankle over her thigh, Amy untied her right tennis shoe. “The first time I saw her was at the Bronze. No clue who she was,” she said, slipping the shoe off and setting it down.

A little of the tension eased. Faith resigned herself to listen. I’ve had just about enough fighting for one day. Unless B. wants me to deck her again. I could go for that.

After loosening and removing her other shoe, Amy went on. “It was the end of the standard Sunnydale spring cycle. You know the routine, things get bad, then they get better. Same as now, but back then none of us really understood why. We saw stuff, of course, but…”

Faith picked up the pack of cigarettes she’d kiped, staring at the name ‘Nat Sherman’ printed in white and gold on the green cardstock. ‘New York.’ Figures the snobby bitch would just have to have designer cigarettes too. These things are like smoking a minty pick. I’d kill for a Marlboro.

Amy spoke over Faith’s musing, “Like I said, I knew Willow. She wasn’t exactly a friend then, but…” When her voice trailed off, Faith glanced up. Amy appeared deeply introspective. It was almost like there might be some regret. “Standard high school clique stuff. Her circle wasn’t my circle. She didn’t really have a circle.”

Faith removed one of the slender cigarettes from the box and placed it between her lips. Crossing the room to the fireplace, she used one of the long matches to light up as Amy said, “It was the same for her at home.” Faith opened the glass fireplace door and pitched the match inside. “We used to hang out in grade school. She did everything she could to get her parent’s attention, but nothing was ever good enough.”

Listening to the soft, metered sound of Amy’s voice, Faith returned to her seat. None of this really meant anything to her. At least she’s not yelling. Or worse…

“When Buffy showed up that night at the Bronze, it was like something from a movie. The school outcast scores with the Homecoming Queen.” This sounded like the sort of line that should’ve been delivered with smile. No surprise, there wasn’t one. But she did let out a dry snicker before she went on. “I had no clue Willow was gay. Shocked the hell out of me. But it was all there, the entire pantomime, body language, casual touches, the significant looks…” She sighed. “That was Buffy. Poor Willow was a total spaz. I wanted to stop it, but I couldn’t bring myself to. It scared me when they left together.”

Closing her eyes, Faith took a drag off her cigarette and slowly let the smoke go.

Stating the obvious, Amy said, “Too good to be true normally is.” A sarcastic little hiss slipped out. Sort of like a stunted laugh. “Especially in this godforsaken town.”

Faith rubbed her eyes with her free hand, pausing to pinch the bridge of her nose. There was one monster of a headache building behind her eyes. It was doing nothing for her mood.

The history lesson’s fun and all, but I wish she’d get to the point, if she has one.

“I was actually relieved to see her the next day at school. And boy, was she ever one smitten kitten. Totally in love, or lust, or whatever. It was pretty funny for awhile.”

I think I need that drink. Bad.

Faith sighed and stood up, interjecting, “I can guess where the ‘not funny’ came in.” Flicking her ash, she grabbed her glass and went to the door. “Can we finish this…?”

“Oh, uh…I’ll come with,” Amy said with a shrug.

Faith gestured her on and Amy got up. As they strode to the elevator together, Amy went on with her story. “It didn’t take long for the ‘not funny.’ Girls started disappearing. Specific girls: Cordy, the campus queen; Harmony, her faithful minion; and the rest of the popular girls. As they went, one at a time, Willow got mean.”

Faith pressed the down arrow and leaned against the wall. Her back had just touched when the elevator doors slid open. She rolled her eyes and stepped inside, hitting the button for the first floor.

As the door slid closed, Amy continued. “It took awhile to put it together. The bodies started turning up, drained of blood. They found them one piece at a time, wrapped up really neat like meat from a butcher. It made I.D.ing them take forever. The cops thought they had a serial killer. So, of course, stuff for us got bad again. For all of us except Willow. She didn’t seem to care.”

The doors opened and Faith headed straight for the bar in the conference room.

Amy followed her into the room, saying, “Anyway, you know how that turned out.”

‘Monumentally bad’ is the first thing that comes to mind.

Faith was looking over the bottles when Amy arrived at her point, or so she claimed. “Point is, this started with Willow in love. My guess is, Buffy and her newly rediscovered soul are reacting to that.”

It was pretty easy for Faith to locate her favorite poison. Listening to Amy, Faith juggled bottle, glass and cigarette like a pro, topping her glass off and taking a swig. It was a little weak, so she drank it down and added more.

Amy paused to giggle. This one was actually real. Not some hollow mockery. “I think they’re falling in love. As strange as it sounds, I can’t find a better reason for what’s happening with them. The capacity for love is one of those uniquely human qualities.”

Motioning for Amy to follow, Faith poked fun at her. “So, that’s the deal—” she chuckled “—vampires in love? You know it doesn’t get much more cliché, right?”

Amy replied, “Cliché?” reaching out to tap the button. The elevator doors opened. She led the way, taking care of the button pushing as she explained, “Well, maybe…but a more human Buffy? That’s totally good for us and anything else with a pulse in this awful little town.”

The elevator stopped. Faith remarked, “I won’t argue that,” as she entered the hallway. “But I’m still not sure I buy it.” She’s putting a serious damper on my grudge. It’s annoying.

Amy walked ahead of her to get the door. She didn’t speak again until they were back in the room. “Buffy seems pretty confused,” she said, returning to the loveseat. “But it’s not like she’d have a ton of experience. She was turned really young, so she’s gonna be pretty emotionally immature.” She reclaimed her spot and went on. “I don’t have any reason to believe that the soul would age outside the host. In fact, it seems unlikely that it would.”

Faith went to the couch, depositing the bottle on the end table. As she crushed her cigarette out and took a seat, Amy said, “Think about it, Faith. Consider what you’ve seen. These aren’t the same two people.” She had one of those sappy, girly smiles going on. It was pretty gag-worthy. “They’re in love. And it’s changing everything.”

The lock issued a faint click and Willow slowly opened the door. It was dark in the room. Her eyes fixed on the Buffy-shaped lump under the covers.

Willow smiled. I’m glad she’s getting some rest. She needs it.

Tiptoeing across the room, Willow gently settled onto the edge of the bed. Worn out from too much of pretty much everything, she leaned down to remove her shoes.

I just wish I could ask her about Dalton. Sorta sucks. It’s impossible to work with someone who just hides in the back of his cell.

Oh well, it’ll keep till morning. There’s other stuff that’s—

When Willow sat up, the bed moved. The gasp didn’t quite make it out before she was pinned.

Buffy’s hand closed over her right wrist. Willow’s arm pulled tight. She skated over the rumpled blankets toward the headboard.

A cold steel edge struck her right wrist. There was a sharp clack. Her left arm was wrenched up. The second cuff ratcheted closed around her wrist.

Buffy pounced, straddling her. She held something between her fingers. It was so close to Willow’s face that all she saw was a blurry, black blob.

Being overpowered by Buffy was becoming a thing. Willow wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or turned on until Buffy asked, “I have to use this, don’t I?” The malevolence that grated her soft voice pretty much told the tale.

Willow clamped her eyes shut as she gulped for breath. When she opened them, the object came into focus. It was the lipstick case. Wide-eyed, she nodded.

“Pleasure or pain’s what you said,” Buffy whispered.

Willow nodded again, profusely this time. Oh boy. Just a guess…this is gonna end badly.

She pulled and the cuffs bit into her wrists. The lipstick tube moved out of view. A faint pop sounded near her tummy. Just how hard she was shaking came to her when she looked down.

Buffy stared at the open tube for what seemed like an eternity before she spoke. “That’s not really…” A knock at the door cut her off. She turned to glare over her shoulder, mumbling, “…a choice.”

Huh?

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Buffy snapped. “They’re worse than minions.” Another knock came from the door. This one fainter. “At least they had the good sense to be scared,” she grumbled and bounded out of bed.

Buffy muttered under her breath, “This had better be life threatening,” as she crossed the room. She opened the closet door, adding, “Or I’ll make it…”

Willow glanced at her wrists, uncertain whether to laugh or cry. Both seemed appropriate. She tilted her head, resting it on her arm so she could watch. What in Gehenna did she mean ‘that’s not a choice’? Looks like a great big choice from where I lay.

Buffy emerged from the closet wearing a robe. Moments later Amy’s sheepish voice drifted in from the hallway. “Would you happen to have a small pair of scissors?”

There was brief ‘huh’ moment on Buffy’s part before Amy filled in, “I’d like to remove Faith’s stitches. They’re really bugging her.”

The attitude was completely gone when Buffy stammered, “Oh. Yeah, sure, I think, uh…I mean…gimme a minute.” She shut the door. Shaking her head, she disappeared into the bathroom. There was a barrage of clattering, thumping and cursing before she emerged again holding a manicure kit.

Laughter won out. This was just too absurd not to. Willow’s whole body shook with the giggles. She bit her lip to stop when Buffy opened the door and said, “Best I have.”

“Ah, that’s perfect,” Amy replied, sounding all too chipper. “Thanks.”

Buffy lingered in the doorway.

Willow couldn’t imagine what the holdup might be. Not that she was in a hurry. Her brow furrowed.

So, calling for help?

She amused herself by projecting the outcome. None of the scenarios ended well for her. Yeah, profoundly bad idea. Something tells me Buffy wouldn’t find it funny at all.

But it might be…if for nothing else than the expression on Amy’s face.

“How is she, anyway?” Buffy finally asked.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Amy replied, “Better.” The smile came through in her voice when she added, “Lots better, actually.”

Well, that’s nice to hear. Uh, I think…

Dammit you two! Y’think maybe we could put an end to social hour? It’s fun and all, but—

Buffy nodded and started to close the door as Amy said, “Good night.”

“Yeah, night,” Buffy muttered.

When the door clicked shut, Willow got a serious case of the ‘now, where were we’ jitters. I was just kidding. Talk all night. Don’t mind me. I’ll just lay here and uh…lay here.

Buffy removed her robe and put it away. Between when she entered the closet and when she reemerged there was a major mood swing. She asked, “Do you remember last night at all?” as she crossed the room at a leisurely pace. Her soft, silky voice held a faint, gravely edge that sent a chill down Willow’s spine.

I’m so screwed!

Oh for Peitho’s sake, pull yourself together and answer the silly question. It’s not that hard.

Willow mumbled, “Yeah.” Her own voice was snively. It made her cringe.

Closing in on the bed, Buffy held up the lipstick case and said, “I thought we had an agreement?”

Willow considered for just an instant using magic to remove the cuffs. The expression on Buffy’s face told her it was the worst idea ever. Maybe even worse than calling for help.

There’s no funny here at all.

Gripping the lipstick in her closed hand, Buffy crawled over the footboard, whispering, “I can’t hurt you like that. I won’t. You should know that.”

Willow spread her legs, allowing Buffy to move between them. Slowly closing in, on her hands and knees, Buffy purred, “So, what you left me with is ‘pleasure.’ That’s not exactly a choice.”

It was just too much. As the weight lifted, Willow’s brain forfeited control. Her body took over, reacting to the sights, sensations and smells. Straddling her, Buffy crawled the length of Willow’s body. The only contact was the tips of Buffy’s hair. It draped around her face, brushing Willow’s stomach and chest. Even through her dress, it sent shivers up her spine.

Buffy finished her ascent. Willow was a bundle of need. She longed for a kiss that didn’t come. Buffy lingered, peering into her eyes.

Resting her weight on Willow’s tummy, Buffy sat up and opened her hand. She gazed at the lipstick case as she said, “The lack of any real choice can only mean one thing. You made the choice for me.” Her hand folded closed. She reached down and seized the neck of Willow’s dress.

Before Willow could react, a tingle rippled between her legs. Warm and prickly, it made her gasp. As the pulses grew stronger, Buffy jerked her hands apart. Willow’s dress tore open. She closed her eyes and groaned.

The tips of Buffy’s fingers came to rest between her breasts. Slowly they trailed down, drifting over Willow’s bare skin.

The small of her back twitched. Tingling spasms rippled through Willow. She ached as her creation toyed with her. Perfect, but not enough. She hung on the edge, desperate for more. Just a little more.

She bit her lip to stifle a plea.

When Buffy’s hand reached the garter belt, it all ended with a faint cracking sounded.

Willow opened her eyes. Buffy kneeled between her legs. Willow had no memory of her moving. Her body relaxed sagging onto the bed. She met Buffy’s eyes. There was no passion there, just cold indifference. Willow felt foolish.

The feeling deepened when Buffy said, “It wasn’t your choice to make.” Through the thick haze of lingering desire the words stung.

Buffy reached back. The fragments of the lipstick case clattered as they hit the wood floor.

Leaning forward, she rested her hand over the thong and whispered, “The games have to end.” Her fingers slipped under the waistband. “I can’t take it.” She pulled. Willow gasped as the thong peeled away. Her eyes snapped shut. She clenched her jaw. The tendrils slid out. Drawing tight over her thighs, the fabric ripped. She scraped for control as Buffy whispered, “If this is what you need…” Her fingers pressed inside. Willow moaned. The fingers shifted as Buffy’s body gently settled on top of hers.

Buffy held still, allowing Willow a moment to recover. She opened her eyes, scanning Buffy’s face. No trace of the anger remained. Deep blue eyes, filled with affection met hers. They sparkled in the dim light that trickled in through the cracks in the curtains.

So beautiful.

This was perfect in every way. Even the things that might’ve been less than perfect, the handcuffs and her torn clothes, they just added to the moment.

She loves me.

Any lingering hurt vanished when Buffy’s lips brushed hers. Willow’s eyes drifted shut. Her legs wrapped around Buffy’s, willing their bodies closer.

Buffy snaked her free hand underneath Willow’s back, cupping her shoulder. Buffy tensed her muscles. Her fingers plunged deeper, sending a jolt that swelled through Willow’s body. Waves of warmth washed over her, but the pit of her stomach grew cold.

She didn’t understand.

Buffy’s lips caressed hers. Willow mirrored each action. Their tongues entwined. Soft, wet and sweet, they stroked. Buffy thrust again. The sharp movement caused them both to tremble. She ground her hips, sending muffled vibrations to Willow’s core.

Willow was breathless and terrified. Completely consumed by the former and confused by the later, she broke the kiss. Buffy rested her forehead against the pillow. She nuzzled Willow’s throat.

The word “no,” crossed Willow’s lips. It sounded like a croak.

Buffy tensed again, harder than before. Her hips rolled, crushing against Willow, making every nerve ending ache for release. It felt so wonderful. Willow just reacted. No reason. No thought. Her hips pushed up, driving Buffy on.

Her vision spotted with poofy little bursts of white. Something inside her snapped.

She cried out, begging, imploring for Buffy to stop. “Oh God,” was perfectly plain. A breathy impassioned plea that resonated with her gasp. Her voice gave out. Sounding thick and broken, “Please, no,” was lost. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

One more thrust and Willow reclaimed her voice. She shouted, “No!” Far more forceful than she planned, the crisp sound cut through the air.

Buffy jerked, lifting her head. Passion clouded her eyes. She blinked and they went wide with understanding. Slipping away, she came to a rest sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to Willow.

Buffy took her head in her hands. Her pain was so clear.

Willow felt sick. She longed to get up. What she was going to do then was a complete mystery. She wanted to run. The compulsion was right there along with the fear.

The haze lifted. Her body was still a bundle of raw nerves, but her mind was clear enough. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. Her hair stuck to the side of her face. It was itchy. Annoyed, she rubbed it away with her arm.

The bed shuddered. Willow looked over. A strip of pale light cast across Buffy’s back, illuminating the scars. Weeping too, she shuddered.

Willow felt herself sinking. What did I do? She was touching me and she wasn’t afraid.

The need to run was gone. She wanted so badly to hold Buffy, to tell her it’d be okay, to explain. Her voice cracked pathetically when she tried. All she managed to say was, “I’m sorry.” Annoyed by the pitiful sound, she drew in a thick, salty breath and tried again. “I’m so sorry. I just can’t.”

Buffy turned to look. Her face was streaked with tears.

Willow’s wrists throbbed with pain. She took hold of the headboard to relieve the tension.

Buffy focused on them. She perked up as though remembering something important. Reaching for the key on the nightstand, she released Willow. But when Willow tried to touch her, she shied away.

As Buffy lit a cigarette, Willow cleared her throat and said, “I can’t go back. I can’t bear it.” It hurt to talk. Pushing aside the discomfort, she stood to strip off her ruined clothes and went on. “Don’t you see? I don’t want to be that thing again. That thing that didn’t love you. That thing that’s just obsessed. I need you. But we have to wait. I can’t take the chance.” She picked up the pile of rags and took them to the trash.

Buffy whispered, “You don’t understand at all do you?” Her voice was so soft that Willow almost didn’t hear. She strained to listen. Buffy took a hit off her cigarette, murmuring through the smoke, “Watch you tremble. Hear you sigh and beg me for more. Watch every muscle in your body tense with pleasure. Listen to you cry out. And know I made you feel so good.”

Willow wondered if Buffy was making fun of her. It was so close.

She returned to the bed as Buffy took another drag and whispered, “Real happiness? This isn’t that. Nothing’s changed. There’s no magic cure.” Willow sat down beside her and Buffy flicked her ash. It was a wonder she didn’t break the cigarette. She hissed, “I need—” tapping her finger to her chest “—I want—” again, much harder this time “—I feel.” The final stab was painful to watch. Willow winced. “But I can barely tolerate this.”

Still whispering, Buffy stood and walked away, “I hear them, like phantoms just under the surface. The only thing holding it together for me is control. If I have it, I can deal. If I don’t…”

Willow said, “It’ll get better. We both just need time.” Her words were placating. They sounded that way even to her. With nothing better to offer, she laid down and shut her eyes.

I wish I believed that, but without a solution this can only get worse.

So I’ll just have to find one.

Silence hung thick in the room. She reached down and drew the blankets over her, wishing that Buffy was holding her.

Willow made herself relax. Her body grew heavy and distant. She drifted off to that place just on the edge of sleep.

Buffy’s soft, delicate voice drifted through the haze. “It’s been eleven days since that spell.” Willow wasn’t sure if it was a dream at first. “It feels like a lifetime…like I slid down the rabbit hole.” The veil of sleep lifted. Buffy was still speaking, “It’s totally crazy how much life can change.” She was drawing nearer. “Choose the red pill, find the truth.”

Willow’s eyes fluttered open. She turned toward the sound.

Buffy stood next to the bed. Looking down with a smile on her face, she whispered, “Or did it choose me?”

Willow wasn’t sure what had changed. She pulled the covers back, inviting Buffy to get in. If there was anything left to forgive, it was forgotten. Buffy’s expression made that perfectly plain. She climbed into bed.

Attentive of her touch, Willow nestled in beside her. She closed her eyes. The hand that rested on the small of her back moved, making gentle, languid passes over her skin. Contented, she sighed.

Buffy whispered, “We’ll work this out. We have to.”

“I know,” Willow replied. She hadn’t allowed herself to think that they wouldn’t. Nevertheless, it was good to hear.

Buffy’s lips brushed her forehead.

A soft, sleepy grin warmed Willow’s face.

“I love you,” Buffy whispered.

I know.

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