BtVS W/T B/F(a teeny-tiny-bit) PG-13 I'm beginning to think that my ratings system is rather arbitrary : )
WARNING : Q: Are there lesbian themes and/or content in this story? A: You betcha!
DISCLAIMER : I have absolutely no legal right to play with other peoples' toys, especially not the creations of Joss Whedon, namely Buffy and the Slayerettes. The aforementioned rights to these characters belong to the aforementioned Joss Whedon and Fox, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui… and anyone else with an army of lawyers to back them up. Please don't sue me for following the Slayer philosophy of Want. Take. Have.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS : Too many to mention. But I'd like to thank my best friend, however inappropriate the setting. He's always been there when I've needed him, and I can only hope that I've reciprocated in kind.
TIMELINE : This is the conclusion to my W/T series, and follows directly after Interlude with a Slayer: The Chocolate-Bearer. If you don't read the first three stories starting with Vicarious Smoochies, I guarantee you will be lost. This particular tale is set during the summer between season 4 and 5, about a month after Interlude
SPOILERS : Though I don't think I mention any one episode in great detail, I do allude to all kinds of events from canon BtVS. On the whole though, I'd say this series has spun off into an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE, since season 5 episodes like Family have blown my plotlines all to hell.
He'd waited so long, in this place where nothing changed, where just reaching out to touch the world beyond was a near impossibility, but now his day was approaching. And on the eve of his return, he had only one question for his wayward charge…
Where do you go when you dream?
Willow…
She was in a cold dark place, where the light of day had never shone. She held her hand out in front of her face, or at least she thought she did. The inky black was impenetrable. She shivered.
Her name was being whispered over and over again, like a caress or a benediction, but the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
"Where are you?!" She cried in frustration and fear. "Who are you?!" Her voice was swallowed by the darkness, and the black night seemed to pulsate around her as it absorbed her words. She sensed a new presence hovering nearby, and the fear suddenly outweighed the frustration. Her skin broke out in a rash of goosebumps, and the cold hand of dread fixed itself upon the back of her neck.
"Who are you?" She repeated in strangled murmur.
Her phantom caller whispered once more in her mind, the words fading even as they were issued. Run…
But it was too late.
Inhumanly strong hands gripped her arms, and she felt the rasp of claws against her naked flesh. Flames kindled in her captor's dead eyes, the only light anywhere, and she trembled in their eerie red glow. Moist, fetid breath rushed past her ear, carrying along with it one ominous pronouncement, "Soon…"
Willow opened her eyes in confusion, Where am I? Her bleary vision rebelled, but eventually came into focus on a hardwood floor. Her mind slowly put the pieces together, and she realized that she was looking at the floor of her new bedroom, in her new house, and that to be doing so, she had to be hanging half-off her new bed. Well, in truth none of these things were completely new, she had been living in the house for almost 3 weeks now. Yet, it all felt very foreign to her, it wasn't home for her, it was… lonely. And it would have been lonelier still, if not for the presence of her best friend just down the hall.
Willow rolled onto her back, into the centre of the plush bed. In a moment of weakness, and she was feeling a lot of those lately, she'd bought herself a queen sized mattress and polished oak frame. She felt more than a bit silly, little Willow Rosenberg sleeping in a bed 5 times her size, but she had more money than she currently knew what to do with; and besides, as Buffy would say, "Shopping is cathartic. So, let's go to mall and ease your pain." Despite frequent mall-crawls, Willow had yet to feel all that better, but at least Buffy thought she did. Or maybe she doesn't. After all, she is living here pretty much to keep an eye on you. She thought grimly.
The redhead lay limply for another minute, trying not to think anything at all; but simply to enjoy the hazy sunlight that was filtering through the translucent curtains, and the swirling patterns of illuminated dust floating through the rays. It was nice to have a bedroom that faced east. In the mornings it was always the first room to experience the fresh light of day, the trade-off however, was that in the evenings it was always the first and the quickest room to darken. And since her room didn't face the street, at night, it was the blackest room in the house. She didn't spend much time there.
Willow's eyes drifted from the sunlight to the glowing red numbers of her digital clock, 7:48. She'd awoken before her alarm again; this was the third day in a row. If she wasn't careful it could become a habit. She briefly began to wonder at the phenomenon, when she recalled what it was that had stirred her from her rest, a nightmare. The details were extremely fuzzy, nothing beyond a faint impression of fear, but the fact that she'd had any dream at all was noteworthy in and of itself.
The last time I had a nightmare was almost 2 months ago, and it changed my life. The last time I had any kind of dream was a month ago, and my life changed then too. This wasn't something she wanted to think about, certainly not at the beginning a new day. There were plenty of hours left to dwell, and knowing herself as she did, Willow knew that sooner or later, her thoughts would turn to… Tara…
The redhaired witch rolled onto her side, pulling the sheets up near her chin, almost over her face, and tucking her knees in close to her body. I've got to stop doing this to myself. She's gone, why can't I just accept that? But she knew why.
After the blonde witch had disappeared, the Scooby corps had spent only days searching for her, fruitless days. Their reluctance to delve deeply had to do with Willow's own patchy testimony, that Tara had seemingly left of her own accord. Not to mention that no one was too thrilled with the fact that the missing Wiccan had apparently cast a spell on Willow, leaving her to be found, unconscious, by a very worried slayer. Buffy had attempted to keep an objective lid on her anger, but it was obvious to everyone, Willow included, that if they ever did see Tara again, that the Slayer would have some choice words to say to her. Willow also had some choice words for her errant girlfriend, but not of the angry variety. What the redhead wanted most, besides Tara, was the missing pieces of her memory back.
When she'd regained consciousness on Tara's dormroom floor, she'd discovered that several hours were simply-- gone from her mind. She could barely remember how she'd gotten to Tara's room, and her clearest memory after that was of the blonde witch touching her gently on the forehead, and whispering, 'Forget. Sleep.' and 'Goodbye'. Next thing she knew, she was being cradled by a near hysterical slayer, while she herself made a rapid descent into hysterics, things had improved a little since then.
Willow had tried several different spells to counteract the one she'd been subjected to, but she had yet to hit on the correct ritual. The redhead had also attempted to simply reason her way through her block, walking herself through the events up until the hole, but her efforts had amounted to nothing; it was like battering herself against a glass wall. Thus far, the most success she'd had, was when she simply stopped thinking about it at all.
Sometimes, when she was working or in the shower, an image, a sound, a fragrance half remembered would dance across her senses, and she knew that they were from the missing memories. How else could she explain some of the more graphic, more intimate flashes, things that as far as she knew, had never occurred. Even now, she blushed at her thoughts. But if these brief moments of remembrance were real, Willow was puzzled as to why the blonde had chosen to remove them from her; puzzled and maybe a little-- angry.
It just didn't make any sense, but then, when has my love life made any sense? I dated a werewolf musician who walked out on me, and now I've dated a Wiccan chick who walked out on me. Sensing a pattern here, Rosenberg?
Was there just something about her that was inherently unlovable? Or did she just have 'victim' tattooed across her forehead?
"This sucks."
"I find that a lot in my line of work." Came a dry rejoinder.
"Oh! Buffy." She rolled over and glanced up at the blonde who'd magically appeared in her doorway. "No fair using your sneaky Slayer skills to sneak up on me like that, especially first thing in the morning." She mumbled grumpily, but Buffy's enhanced hearing caught her utterance easily.
"What do you want me to do? Stomp around like a herd of elephants? I could scuff the floor and void your damage deposit. And then what would you say?" She used her best Willow-voice, "I thought slayers were more graceful than that, no more shoes in the house for you Buffy." The petite blonde continued airily, "And then that would lead to some horrible Splinter Incident, leading to gangrene, leading to…"
"Okay!" Willow held up her hands in mollification. "Okay. I get it, you can sneak around all you want."
"Good." Buffy responded pertly.
Willow sat up and swung her feet over the side of her bed into her waiting bunny slippers, "So, I, uh know what I'm doing up, seeing as how I have to work and all, but how come you're up so early?" She peered curiously at the blonde in her pale blue satin pajamas.
"Oh, you know, couldn't sleep anymore, must be getting old, all those high kicks are catching up with me..." Buffy tried to look nonchalant, "… well, that, and I think I was having some icky nightmare or something. And hey! Was that a dig about working? Cuz I am totally on top of that job hunting thing." She finished defensively.
Though something nagged at her about Buffy's statement, Willow grinned, and shuffled over to her best friend to give her a quick one-armed hug, "I know you are, Buffy." She pivoted the lithe blonde back towards the door she'd entered from, "But don't worry too much about it. I said you could stay rent free, and I meant it."
Buffy opened her mouth to argue, she hated being such a transparent mooch, but Willow stopped her, "Look, I'm making an obscene amount of money for somebody my age, heck, for anybody's age really. And it's not like you don't do anything to help around here…" She confided seriously, "… don't think I haven't noticed, or appreciated how you've been trying to keep all little pieces of me together."
Buffy smiled, mildly embarrassed, and shrugged her shoulders, "Hey, it's no big. That's what best friends are supposed to do, and it's not like you haven't done the same in a clinch."
"Yah, but I know you've been cutting back some of your Riley-time to watch out for me." The redhead muttered guiltily.
A small crease marred Buffy's forehead, "Don't sweat it, Will. When it comes to my best bud, nothing's more important. Riley understands, he's been worried about you too, we all have."
Willow put on her best Brave-Little-Toaster smile, "Well, I want you to know, you can all downgrade from code red. I'm going to be fine. I'm not the same person I was when Oz left, I'm stronger now. And I've learned that I don't need any one person to complete my life." She added in a smaller, more fragile voice, "I'll be fine without… her." I'll just probably never be happy again. She thought bleakly.
"I believe you. But I want you to know, that I will never…" She punctuated each word with a light stab at Willow's shoulder with an index finger, "…ever… stop… worrying about you. And don't make me tickle you to prove just how serious I am." Buffy gave an ear-to-ear grin.
"No tickle. Too early." Willow's pout was ruined by the upturned corners of her mouth, and the amused glint in her sea-green eyes.
"Okay. 'No tickle', but just because I know darn well that you know darn well that I'm ticklish too." Buffy said in mock sternness.
Willow grinned, "Darn right!" She pushed Buffy towards the open door, "Now get outta here so I can get dressed and bring home the bacon."
The blonde slayer allowed herself to be pushed, but argued as she was being shoved out the door, "Hey! I don't know what you want to get dressed for. Besides the fact that those pink and black cow spot pajamas are extremely flattering on you… don't you get your 'bacon' shipped in electronically? Or is all that typing at your computer just a cover for your seedy phone solicitation cartel?"
Willow stuck out her tongue, "That's right. Which reminds me, have you considered switching long distance plans for greater savings? Because your phone company may not being giving you the best rates available."
"AGH!" Buffy took off in a panicked sprint for the corner of the house farthest from Willow's aggressive recruitment campaign.
The redhead chuckled, and shut the door to change.
The Slayer stood poised on the balls of her feet, all her senses her were strained to the max as she struggled to hear, to see some indication of her foe's position, but there was nothing. She remained deathly still, determined to wait for the other party to tip their hand.
After leaving Willow, she'd descended the stairs and entered the kitchen wanting only for a quick breakfast, maybe some Froot Loops; but instead of sugary delight, she'd discovered a trap that could only have been meant for her.
Surviving the first attack had been no easy feat, it had taken all her skill to avoid being mauled, but she'd managed to duck her overzealous opponent. Now, she was cautiously scanning the roof near the top of the cupboards, knowing that the beast would be lurking somewhere above her.
"MREOWW!" Came the shrieking cry, and Buffy was shocked when a flying ball of black and white fury dropped from the light fixture hanging overhead. Why didn't I look there?! She lamented in silent despair.
Pawing at her head, Buffy was trying to dislodge the fuzzy creature, when Willow walked in dressed in rust-coloured jeans and an off-white peasant top. "Buffy quit teasing her." The witch said in mild castigation. "You shouldn't get her so riled up this early, she'll be wired all day."
"Me?!" The blonde exclaimed in disbelief, as Willow calmly disentangled Miss Kitty from the slayer's long hair.
"Yes, you." Willow replied distractedly, as she cooed at the excited kitten that was squirming in her grasp.
"But-- but she attacked me… again." Buffy finished pointedly.
Willow allowed Miss Kitty to drop to the floor, and the cat padded her way over to her dish near the avocado-green fridge, her tail held high in the air. The redhead sighed, "Buffy… I told you, she does that cuz she likes you. She only plays with people she's comfortable with."
"Lucky me." The ruffled blonde muttered.
The witch ignored her remark, or perhaps she never heard it, as she focused on Miss Kitty who was now waiting expectantly, "Sorry, baby, it's not time to eat yet." The cat inclined her head to one side and gave her owner a quizzical look. "Oh, but you're so cute, maybe just one treat…"
"Whipped." Buffy made the facetious quip out of the side of her mouth as she rolled her eyes at her best friend's taskmaster, You have got her sooo wrapped around your finger, don't you. The unrepentant creature yawned in response.
Willow had heard the slayer that time, and her eyes took on a dangerous gleam. "You know… since Miss Kitty seems so playful with you this morning, she'd probably like it if you gave her the treat…"
Frying pan to the right, fire to the left, insert Buffy in appropriate location. "But Willow, surely she'd rather have her 'mommy' feed her, the person whose love and approval she craves." The blonde stated as reasonably as she could while trying not to sound like she was attempting to get out of anything.
"Oh no. I think she's become quite attached to you over the last few weeks. But we could always let her decide." Willow shrugged casually.
A little too casually, methinks. Buffy didn't trust her friend's cat-that-got-the-canary smile, but couldn't resist the loophole that the witch was dangling before her.
"O--kay…" The blonde replied with more than just a hint of suspicion.
"Great." Willow knelt down in front of her cat, and began laying out the deal for the white-socked kitten, as though she could understand every word. "Now, Miss Kitty, would you rather have me, or Buffy feed you a treat this morning?" The redhead pointed to herself, "Me?" Then the blonde behind her, "Or Buffy?" The witch then added something in a low murmur that Buffy could only discern as being not of the English language, and spoken in a suspiciously 'chant'-like cadence.
"Hey! No fair! No foreign, ancient, musty, dead languages. I definitely heard a foreign, ancient, musty, dead language being spoken." Buffy protested as Miss Kitty shot towards her like a kid for an ice cream truck on a Saturday afternoon in July.
"Latin's not a totally foreign language…" Willow hedged without looking the least bit contrite.
Miss Kitty was now rubbing herself up against the blonde's legs, weaving in between them and purring so hard that her body was vibrating visibly, "Oh, you are so busted, Wicca-girl."
"Oh all right, so I might have made her think that a certain someone, " The witch gave Buffy a frank stare, "has liver in her pocket. But hey, I think she's made her choice readily apparent." Willow crossed her arms defiantly. "We never said anything about not using magic." Miss Kitty was now swatting at Buffy's leg for attention. "And besides, she probably won't leave you alone now until you deliver the goods."
Buffy gave a long defeatist sigh, which Willow rightly took as the slayer's resignation to her fate. "Great. Liver's in the fridge. Don't give her too much, it's not good for her."
"Well, then why are we feeding it to her?" The blonde asked with as much sarcasm as she could possibly inject in one question.
"Because she likes it." Willow answered simply, while Buffy crossed the kitchen to the fridge, one kitten batting at the back of her pant-cuffs.
The Slayer opened the refrigerator door and peered inside, searching for her ill-gotten prize. It only took a moment for her to spy what had to be 'the liver'. The shapeless meat lay in a bowl, already cut into handy strips, Buffy had noticed it on previous trips to the fridge, but had dismissed it from her conscious mind as being 'something gross that Willow probably bought as a yucky spell ingredient'.
She picked up the bowl with its stomach-turning contents as delicately as she could, holding the crockery out at arm's length. "How much?" She asked through curled lip and wrinkled nose.
Willow replied imperiously, "One strip should be fine."
Grabbing a fork out the drawer beside her, Buffy poked at the meat until she finally speared a section. Miss Kitty's covetous eyes followed the liver's progression, as the slayer dangled it over her. Experimentally, Buffy tried moving the liver in a wide circle over the expectant cat's head. Miss Kitty attempted to rotate along with the prize, but ended up falling over in a confused tangle of limbs and paws.
"Buffy!"
"Sorry Wills, I was just curious. I've seen Xander do the same thing with a slice of pizza." She explained, unapologetic, and lowered the meat to within the recovering kitten's grasp. Miss Kitty tore at it greedily.
Observing the rather green tinge to Buffy's skin tone, Willow remarked, "Buffy, you've had slime demons blow their guts up all over you, and you can't handle feeding raw liver to one tiny little kitten?"
"Hey, this isn't putting me in the best frame of mind for chowing down on breakfast. And besides, just because I deal with disgusting, icky stuff every day on patrol, doesn't mean I want to have to deal with it here. There should be a definite boundary between home and work."
"Mmm, speaking of work, I should probably get at it. I'm supposed to de-bug that program today, the company wants to run it through some more betas by the end of the next week." Willow stepped over her cat, who was still frolicking on the floor with her prey, opened the fridge and reached for the orange juice.
"Okay, try not to work 'til midnight this time though. It's recently been declared by the Surgeon General that having a life is good for you." She nodded seriously. "Oh, and that reminds me, Xander called, he wants us all to shack up at the Bronze tonight. There's a halfway decent band, and he figures some quality time is order. Quality time with us that is, not the band."
"I'm there." Willow sipped at her breakfast, "I'll hopefully get everything done by about 6pm."
"Cool. That leaves us time to make ourselves even more devastatingly gorgeous than we already are before we head out."
Willow grinned while she poured herself some more juice. "Well, I'll be upstairs if you need me, chained to the computer." She moved to exit the kitchen.
"I hope that's a metaphor."
The redhead gave a quick smile, then shrugged, "It puts me into more of a work mindset. Plus, it was stipulated in my contract; 'Thou shalt chain thyself to thy computer during periods of work', right after 'Thou shalt not receive any health and dental benefits'."
"Kink--y."
They shared a wry grin, before Willow slipped out of the room, glass in hand.
Buffy stood there a moment thinking about what she was going to do that day, until some rude munching noises derailed her train of thought. She turned back towards the centre of the kitchen, and gazed down at the avid carnivore currently active on the linoleum floor. "Well, Miss Kitty, it looks like it's just you and me."
The black and white creature paused in her enthusiastic chewing, glancing quizzically at the slayer for a second, and then arched her back sharply and hissed, before springing to escape the kitchen.
"O--kay, guess I spoke too soon." Buffy mumbled after the cat's display of odd behavior. I am sooo a dog-person. The blonde glided over to the pantry, intent on securing the Froot Loops that she had been considering earlier, and idly enjoying the breeze that was playing with her hair. Hey, wait a second. There aren't any windows open… do we have a fan?
While Buffy was contemplating whether a fan had been one of the four appliances included in their rental agreement, the breeze grew.
Why can't I just have a normal breakfast like everybody else?! The Slayer asked herself silently, as she was unable to spare the breath to pose the rhetorical question aloud.
Buffy was currently occupied holding onto one of the kitchen's Formica countertops in an effort to prevent herself from becoming part of the swirling maelstrom of household items that was spinning from off-white linoleum floor to yellow-painted ceiling.
The breeze that she had noticed only minutes earlier, had grown exponentially, to the point where it could probably be picked up by a savvy weather satellite. Buffy watched as the toaster on the counter beside her was sucked into the howling tornado, and violently spewed back out, leaving a visible dent in the wall.
That is definitely coming out of the damage deposit.
A groan of tortured metal beside her captured her immediate attention; she quickly determined that the ugly, green fridge was being pulled from its alcove. Hate to see what that thing'll do to the wall. A wayward fork connected with her forehead, Or to Buffy. Maybe getting out of here sooner rather than later would be a good idea. She inched her way along the counter's edge, avoiding the flying detritus of garlic presses and melon-ballers, cursing Willow's well-stocked kitchen as she went. She felt the hot sting of blood in her eye, it's all fun and games…
She was working her way past the double, chrome sinks, when the fridge finally gave loose. In a daze, she observed as the appliance entered the indoor cyclone, its thick cord dragging along the floor. Watching it whirl inside the vortex, once, twice, she tried not to think of Murphy's Law, but the adage leapt to the front of her mind as the refrigerator was spun back out on an intercept course. Debating her options in the split-second of leeway that she had, Buffy settled on a hastily conceived notion involving borderline suicidal acrobatics.
Pushing off the countertop to give her added velocity, she tucked into a protective ball, clipping her ankle on the approaching fridge as she did so. When she entered the whirlwind, she was immediately sucked into its orbit; but she flattened out her body on the curve, and flew out the other side of the tornado, tucking once again into a ball to minimize the damage upon impacting with the floor. She'd timed it perfectly, and was ejected out the kitchen entranceway, into the hallway. With a dull thud, she came to a stop against the wall. Propping herself up against the daisy-laced wallpaper, she observed dryly that the wind seemed to now be dying in the kitchen.
Picking herself up from the hall carpet, Buffy dusted her jammies off, while casually making a list of the scrapes and bruises, no permanent damage. When she was done, she cautiously poked her head back into the kitchen that she had just escaped. It was a mess.
Various items of decreasing weight were falling in a tinkling rain onto the lino, the last being a emerald green, plastic swizzle stick with a mermaid bust on the front that Buffy had 'borrowed' from the Bronze. The blonde noted with raised eyebrows, the particularly prominent dent the fridge had made in the part of the counter that she had vacated. No covering that up with a nice coat of paint.
She stepped onto the floor, the surface cool against the soles of her feet, and scooped up a twisted spoon off the floor, marveling at the now corkscrewed metal. As she stood there though, the tiny hairs on her neck and arms began to prickle. Whatever had happened in the kitchen, was still happening. Her Slayer-sense was instantly proven accurate, though she did wonder about her hearing, when a fading word was whispered in her ear and seemingly all around her,
"Kalos… "
Kalos…? She scrunched up her face, she'd heard that before somewhere.
"Kalos…" The voice breathed again, fainter this time. She couldn't tell if the speaker was a man or a woman, but any opportunity to ask was lost, as the sensitive hairs on Buffy's neck smoothed and resumed their former inattentive status. Buffy was left with her confused thoughts. Kalos…? … Callus…? Isn't that one of those hard skin thingies on your hand? Why are weird, swirly-wind voices whispering about calluses in my ear? Do they wanna know if I moisturize after committing acts of hard labour or something? One thing's for sure though, Queen C's not the only one with poltergeist issues.
The blonde snapped to attention as she heard a sequence of loud thumps from outside the room, something was coming down the stairs. She clutched the bent spoon in front of her like a weapon. A beat later, an out of breath Willow slid into the kitchen, "Buffy! The weirdest thing just happened, Amy-Rat was going all spazzy in her cage and I couldn't calm her down for like 5 minutes or something, and then suddenly she just stopped and went all back to munch'n alfalfa pellets and hanging off the bars like nothing was up." She paused, thinking about what she'd just said, "Uh, no pun intended."
When the slayer didn't respond immediately, the redhead had the opportunity to absorb the catastrophe that was her kitchen. Glancing at the chaotic carpet of items on the floor, the opened, emptied cupboards, and the avocado fridge that was now lying on its side with the door ajar, she turned back to the blonde, who still had the utensil in her hand thrust out in front of her and said, "Um… Buffy, spoons are in the drawer, remember?
"No. Look Giles, one minute I was cruising the pantry for an early morning sugar high, and the next, I was doing my best Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz impression, minus the Wicked Witch of the West… and Toto…" Buffy explained. Both she and Willow were settled on the couch, having arrived at the older man's house minutes before.
The ex-Watcher nibbled at his breakfast scone in the his chair beside the couch, "And you, Willow? What were you doing while Buffy was in the kitchen?"
"I'd just gone upstairs, cuz I was going to go do some work, but first, I went to feed Amy-Rat and she…"
Their conversation faded, as Buffy's mind turned over in an endless loop, there was something she was forgetting, something important. The voice! It said 'Callus', didn't it?
"Giles…" Her soft utterance was sufficient to garner the Watcher's attention.
"Yes, Buffy. What is it?"
A thoughtful frown creased her face, "What's 'Callus' ?"
The British man looked faintly exasperated, "I do believe it is one of those hard build-ups of skin you get when performing repetitive, labourious tasks and such."
Unsatisfied with his answer, she tried again, "No, I think it's more, Ka-los." She sounded it out.
Giles became a bit more animated, carefully putting down his scone on the coffee table, "Oh. Well, whoever called you that was paying you a compliment, Buffy. Albeit, a rather arcane one. 'Kalos' is the ancient Greek word for 'beautiful'." He waited expectantly, to see what the blonde would say next. He'd never known Buffy to be terribly enthralled by ancient languages, and was rather pleased by this sudden interest, perhaps Sunnydale University was a decent institution after all.
The Slayer turned this new information over in her thoughts, testing it, but it still didn't seem quite right, though it was closer. A new question occurred to her, and she made one last attempt, "Maybe… a better question would be: Who is Kalos?"
"Oh." Giles said, his mouth forming a round circle of surprise. He pushed out of his chair and pulled off his glasses to began cleaning them, "Well, that, um… puts an entirely different spin on things, um, doesn't it?" He squinted at her after his spluttered reply.
Buffy stared at him in confusion. "And that would be… why?"
"Uh, yes, well, quite. Let's see." He paced, still frantically cleaning his lenses. "Kalos, Kalos…"
The blonde exchanged a worried look with Willow, who shrugged and mouthed, 'I don't know'.
"Um, just one moment, if you please." Giles pounced on a leather-bound book from one of his shelves, and began flipping through the pages rapidly. Buffy recognized it a one of the Watcher's Council's texts.
"Ah yes, here it is." Though his words were triumphant, his voice squeaked out an octave too high. The watcher scanned through a few pages, reading through the salient points before donning his 'lecture-face'.
He cleared his throat, pinned his audience with a weighty gaze, and intoned, "Kalos is a demon."
Buffy rolled her eyes, "Way to milk the melodrama, Giles."
"He's no ordinary demon, Buffy." He chastised in exasperation.
"Is there such a thing, as an 'ordinary demon', I mean, aren't all demons by definition, extraordinary?" Willow interjected with a quirked eyebrow.
"I don't know." Buffy started. "I think some demons are pretty boring, like the ones that are all like, 'I'm going to kill you and suck on your marrow and blah blah blah', that gets old rea--lly quick."
Giles silenced them both with a pointed look and continued, "Kalos is a very old, very powerful demon, from the uppermost echelons of the hierarchy of Hell. He is also reputed to have a bitter and invective hatred of all of mankind, and makes it one of his priorities to spread misery among humans."
"If he's such a big muckity-muck, then how come we've never come up against him before?" The Slayer asked.
"Thankfully, it appears his activities are limited."
"Limited by what?"
"By the rest of demonkind."
"Okay, confusion setting in, am I the only one?"
Willow promptly raised her hand, "No. I second your motion of confusion."
"Kalos' true aim is the eradication, complete and final, of humankind. He doesn't care about making us suffer, and he doesn't care about re-opening the mouth of Hell to allow demons to roam free on the Earth. As you can imagine, his singular quest makes him rather unpopular with the rest of the denizens of Hell, who would prefer to maintain the human race in perpetual slavery, or at least indulge in various forms of mayhem before bumping the lot us off. All Kalos wants is to destroy the world.
"And all I want is Brad Pitt for my next birthday, doesn't mean it's going to happen." Buffy mumbled. "And hey, didn't you just say he 'spreads misery among humans'."
"Maybe that's just his day job." The redhead added helpfully.
"Yes, well, since his ultimate goal is not readily obtainable, he does settle for madness and torturous death in the meantime."
"See..." Willow nodded in self-confirmation, "… day job."
"So, um, if the rest of Hell keeps this guy under lock and key, then how does he get any evil, demon-y stuff done?"
Pressing his index finger against the book's pages, Giles read aloud, "Traditionally, Kalos has been unable to exert his physical influence over the world, however one demon has been associated with him for as long as the Council has been in existence. Ancient literary sources often identify him as the 'right-hand of Kalos'. He is most commonly referred to by his Latin designation of Metus, or Dread, though he has many names in a host of languages. It is Metus who perpetuates the majority of vile acts in Kalos' name." He scratched his head, "There's a side-note in the margin, indicating that Metus has been rather inactive for the last ten years. However, his previous acts establish him as vicious and tireless disciple of Kalos."
"Downer. So, uh-- why exactly does this Kalos-demon-guy hate us so much?"
"Ah, I'm uncertain as to his motives, that will require further research."
"Should I break out the speed dial, and snag us a pizza?" Willow piped up excitedly.
"Thank you, Willow, but no. I have all the necessary information available to me right here." Giles patted the book still in his hands, "It's simply a matter of reading it, and some of the other journals I have. However, we should assemble again tonight, with Xander, and… Anya as well. She may have a unique perspective on this." He looked pained at the last.
The slayer saluted, "Consider our watches synchronized."
She and Willow promptly gathered up their belongings, and the blonde was following her friend out the door when Giles called after her, "I can tell you one thing however, Buffy." The blonde paused at the threshold, looking back to indicate she was listening.
Giles nervously clutched the book to his chest, "The Watcher's Council made sure that all of its members were apprised of this demon's existence, and any activity associated with him was to be reported to the Council's head immediately." He rubbed his forehead, "They were, and I imagine still are, afraid of him. Be careful."
"Ten-Four, Watcher-Man."
Giles watched Buffy slip out the door before recommencing his research; an activity that would engage him for hours, interrupted only by his own occasional mutterings of, "Oh dear."
"C'mon Willow. Just wiggle it a bit, you've got enough leverage, and it's not like it doesn't fit, it's been in there before."
After phoning Xander and informing him of the update in their evening plans, the two girls had spent the remainder of the morning cleaning up the kitchen. They'd taken care of the majority of the mess, putting the silverware back in the drawers, putting the drawers back into the counter, and were in the midst of completing their last task.
"I'm telling you, it won't fit! And I don't wanna force it, somebody could get hurt, and by somebody, I mean me."
"Fine. I'll make it fit." Buffy heaved, and a moment later was rewarded with a satisfying crunch as the fridge settled back into its alcove. Dusting off her hands in a self-congratulatory manner, the slayer-cum-handywoman turned to face her friend.
Willow was unimpressed, a fact that was attested to by her crossed arms and frank 'I'm unimpressed' expression. "Well, look at you Miss Might-is-Right."
Buffy chose to be amused, and cajoled the redhead into joining her, "Hey, either the fridge went back into its little nook, or we'd have had a new centre piece for the kitchen. And I don't know about you… " Buffy glanced back at the appliance, "… but that shade of green is not conducive to good digestion." The refrigerator remained unperturbed in its avocado glory.
Responding in true college-mature fashion, the redhead stuck out her tongue, but then grew serious as she assessed the final damage to her kitchen. Her leaf green eyes caught sight of one particularly large indent in the counter, and having heard her friend's downplayed description of her close call, Willow couldn't help but feel a little nauseous.
Buffy observed the interplay of emotions on the witch's face, and seeing the sober turn they'd taken she followed the Wiccan's eyesight to its current resting place, the more-than-Buffy-sized depression in the countertop with a spiky crown of shattered Formica surrounding it.
"I'm glad you're okay." Willow stated simply, a slight tremor in her voice.
The blonde turned to face her. "I'm glad I'm okay, too." Though her words her light, her tone was anything but. They smiled at each other, and exchanged a quick, but firm hug.
Rubbing at her now, moist eyes, Willow remarked, "Well, I suppose I should try and get some work done, before we head back to Giles' tonight."
"There's no rush, is there, Wills?"
"If we wanna keep the stellar paychecks coming then, ya, I should get back to work." She gave a crooked grin, "Besides, since when have we let the looming prospect of some big-bad-demon get in the way of real life."
The slayer nodded in agreement, "Point taken, maybe I'll do some laundry."
While Willow moved towards the hallway she mentioned seemingly offhand, "Watch out for Miss Kitty, I think she's still a little wired from this morning. I saw her scramble down the hallway when we came in." With that, the smirking Wiccan left a suddenly anxious slayer scanning the shadowed corners at the tops of the cupboards.
I wonder how far a mouse can fly? Willow pondered, as she sat in front of her computer, her placid exterior belying her inner turmoil.
She'd spent the last few hours checking and re-checking the same program, tidying up the code, and coping with the few niggling flaws. Of course, the few niggling flaws refused to remain few in number. Following the Second Law of Thermodynamics, entropy was rapidly increasing on the hacker's hard drive, and she was almost at her breaking point. Thus, gazing out the open window beside her work desk, on a beautiful summer day with its endless blue skies and innumerable possibilities, the redhead was contemplating, I bet if I swung it by its cord, I could probably skip it all the way down the street, and then I could call in with 'technical difficulties'…
Though her work ethic wouldn't allow that option, she knew that the real answer to all her woes was well within her reach, but lay just beyond sight. She was just having so much difficulty concentrating, the trouble this morning, and the subsequent meeting with Giles were distracting her. There was something she wasn't seeing, and it was driving her insane.
Not to mention, what Giles had said was making rapid and relentless circuits around her brain. Something about… Metus… It was so frustrating, because she knew that inside her head, some little piece of knowledge was waving its hands about frantically, trying to get her attention.
The redhead was spinning lazy circles in her ergonomic chair, idly counting the revolutions and correlating them to her own rising nausea, when the solution clubbed her over the head. "I am soooo stupid." She pronounced with an audible smack to her forehead, "I bet I left out a command." And began typing purposefully.
She was nearly done completing her corrections, and hopefully the program when the second flash of insight struck, much more profound than the first.
Willow's back went rigid, and her eyes fluttered closed as sensation possessed her, "Don't you touch her, Metus!" That was Tara's voice, but infused with a backbone of steel, an undercurrent of anger that Willow had never heard from the shy witch before. "Tara? Who are you talking to? Who's Metus?" And now, that was her own voice. A shudder wracked her frame as she grasped at the intangible, but the memory was already fading from her. She was left only with the impression that her girlfriend and the demon, Metus, were somehow connected; but this, in and of itself was revelation enough.
Without any conscious thought, she finished rectifying the code in her program and hit 'save' as she pushed away from her desk, the wheels of her chair clattering loudly over the warped hardwood floor.
Running down to the main level, she whipped open the door to the storage room underneath the stairs. Yanking the pull cord for the 60 Watt bulb, she bathed the room in a dull, yellow, tungsten glow. Illuminated was a myriad of boxes, some of them with 'Buffy' or 'Willow' scrawled across the cardboard in bold, black letters, but the majority of which, were unmarked and cordoned off in their own corner. These belonged to Tara.
When the other witch had disappeared, she'd inadvertently made a preemptive move, as all rez students were required to be out the dorms by the end of term. However, since she'd taken none of her possessions with her, and lacking a next-of-kin or a forwarding address, Sunnydale University had been obligated only to store the items for a couple of weeks, before declaring them 'unclaimed' and disposing of them.
Unwilling and unable to sever her only remaining physical connection to the blonde, Willow had 'convinced' the dorm supervisors to allow her to hold onto Tara's stuff, with a small amount of witch-y intervention to ease their minds without them knowing it.
Buffy had been against the idea, concerned that it was unhealthy for Willow to cling to what remained of her girlfriend, and perhaps she was right; but the redhead had boxed up the items anyway, lingering over the process as little as possible to avoid further heartache.
Now, here she was, tearing through packing tape and cardboard, searching for… What am I searching for? She paused, leaning against a half-opened box, she really had no idea. Yearning for inspiration, her eyes were drawn down, but what she found there made her breath hitch.
Wrapping her fingers around shining silver, she pulled out a heavy frame etched with suns and moons, intertwined with streaming stars. Though the artistry was beautiful, it was what the precious metal encased behind a pane of glass that riveted the witch's attention.
Tara was always such a romantic. Willow thought, her face tightening with emotion. She kept The List. The redhead gazed at the sheet of paper that had helped bring her and Tara together in the first place. She found her vision dominated by Point 7, 'Tara makes me feel safe.' Sadness and joy bubbled inside her, welling up in a mixture of tears that threatened to fall without surcease. "Tara…" She whispered, her voice tightened by her feelings, "I don't understand, where are you?"
In the end, she shed no tears at all, blinking furiously until they no longer gathered at the dam ready to burst. When she felt she'd won the battle for self-control, she carefully laid the item back in its place in the box, unconsciously caressing the cool silver with her fingertips.
"Will?"
She turned toward the voice, embarrassed to find Buffy observing her from the narrow doorway, a crease of worry marring her normally smooth forehead.
"What are you doing?" Her friend asked in a hush.
What am I doing? Willow didn't really have an answer for that. I can't tell her I came down here because I have a hunch based on a split-second flashback that I can't even recall now, and that may or may not have been based on a real memory.
"Nothing." The redhead mumbled finally, pushing herself off the floor then snapping off the overhead light in one smooth motion. She shuffled uncertainly toward the door, her eyes adjusting to the varying light. "What's up?" She questioned, it was only when she reached the threshold that she noticed the basket of very pink clothing that the slayer had balanced on her hip. "Besides a whole lotta tie-dye, that is."
Her remark erased the frown from the blonde's face, and replaced it with a sheepish grin, "You know how it is… one bad apple ruins the whole barrel…" Buffy babbled, gesturing nervously with her free hand.
"Yes…"
"Well, it turns out the same holds true for one red sock." She quirked an eyebrow, and held up the offending item which didn't look the least bit contrite, as it still retained its natural scarlet hue.
Willow was mildly amused, until she caught sight of a certain article in the basket. She reached out with an indignant hand, "Hey! That's my favourite…"
"Y'know, we re-ally should be getting to Giles' soon." Buffy cut her off, pivoting away with the basket, and bounding up the stairs, leaving Willow standing in the empty hall.
"…shirt." The Wiccan finished belatedly, holding said piece of clothing limply at her side. Sighing theatrically, she made a heavy footed ascent of the staircase; although truth be told she did kinda think the new swirl-y pattern on her shirt was sorta cool.
She was awake, or at least she thought she was, dreams and reality, they were one in the same now. She ached everywhere, but the pain could be controlled. Had she been asleep? No, she remembered, she'd gone away, or maybe she'd passed out, did they mean the same thing? At any rate, she'd enjoyed a brief respite, but now an insistent whisper lured her to consciousness again. Her eyes, she kept screwed tightly, though there was nothing for them to see anyway. She huddled ineffectually against the cold.
Come back to us…
She moaned softly in anguish, trying to shut out the voice in her mind, with the voice came pain, and she wasn't sure how much more she could endure.
Tara…
Tara? Was that her? Perhaps at one time, she wasn't certain anymore. Maybe if she pretended not to be Tara, she'd be left alone. It was better to be alone, even in this place. How long had she been here? She couldn't know, there was no time, only pain, and the voice. The voice that said it had been waiting for her and claimed to know her, but it didn't know everything. At that thought, her lips turned up in grim smile. It had asked her questions, and she had answered, though not always quickly enough, screaming her responses with burning lungs and blood trickling down her body. It thought it controlled her, but it didn't know everything. Even after she'd told it all she knew, she still had a secret, a secret and a hope, they were one in the same. She giggled, it sounded strange to her, strange and far away.
Come back.
The voice was getting impatient, she could tell that it was on the brink. It would turn soon, snapping like a serpent, from serene to enraged in 6 seconds flat. She almost giggled again, she wasn't the only one around here one sandwich short of a picnic.
It didn't matter anyway, she ached everywhere; the void that lurked behind the pain was calling to her again, it promised her succor, a place free from pain and worry. Even so, she resisted briefly, she felt there was something she was supposed to be doing, something she'd already set in motion. Her thoughts were so muddled, she tried to remember, but it was too late. As the unseen blows began raining down and the pain returned, she felt herself slipping once more from consciousness, and she was thankful.
"So, lay it on us, G-Man. Tell me why I had cut short my day of scooping I-scream, you-scream, we-all-scream for ice cream. Did I mention there was screaming?" Xander looked pained at the memory, but was quickly soothed by his girlfriend.
"At least they weren't Banshee demons, you haven't heard screaming 'til you've heard one of them. Supposedly, they can actually make your brain explode inside your skull."
"There might be a new demon in town." Willow answered Xander's earlier question, as Giles, who was in the kitchen still reading, didn't seem to be forthcoming.
"Ah-ha! Witness me, wearing my Not-Surprised face." Xander glanced around, and then laid back into Anya's arms.
"It looks a lot like your regular face." Buffy observed, crossing her arms from where she was leaning against the wall.
The dark-haired boy ignored her, "So, what's the big bad's name? Or is it something that a human tongue can pronounce? If not, I think 'slimebag' is always kosher." He offered.
"Especially for slime demons." Anya added helpfully.
"He's 'Beautiful'." Willow answered.
"Well, that's a switch." Xander said, truly surprised, "I'm used to the more scaly, pus-y, just plain ugly kind, y'know, your garden variety demon."
"No, no, that's his name, Kalos, it means 'beautiful' in ancient Greek. He's not really beautiful." Willow corrected him.
"Actually, he is." Giles finally decided to speak. "Or at least, he was." He amended, putting down his book and entering the living room.
"Ah, the wise man speaketh." Xander quipped, then spread his arms wide in supplication, "Enlighten us, Oh, Enlightened One."
The British man rubbed at his glasses with a strip of cloth and then replaced them on his face. "I've been doing some reading, sorting through the Watcher's diaries, and I'm afraid what I've found doesn't bode well."
"He's laying it on a little thick isn't he? I mean this is thicker than normal, isn't it? Make him stop." Xander entreated the room.
Giles continued undaunted, "Though the story is not entirely reliable, and the sources quoted even less so, one tale does emerge often enough that it may very well be the truth."
Buffy rolled her hands in a Spit-it-Out gesture.
"Kalos is an angel."
"You mean with fluffy wings and a white robe and a halo and stuff?" Willow questioned in confusion.
"Well, perhaps at one time, if you believe in that Renaissance image. However, according to the tales, he is a fallen angel."
"Oh." Willow mouthed in understanding.
Xander added for clarification, "In other words, a demon, with a pointy tail and horns and cloven feet and stuff."
"Not just a demon, I'm afraid. He's of an entirely different class than most other creatures we've dealt with. He is listed as being second only to the Devil in most angelologies…" The ex-Watcher noted the blank looks on his audience and explained, "…catalogues of angels, detailing their hierarchy? Creating them was a favourite past time of some theologians…" More blank looks, "… people who are educated in religious matters…?" He tore off his glasses in exasperation, "Don't they teach you anything at that wretched institution?"
He looked specifically at Willow and Buffy, who both shrugged and mumbled something suspiciously like, 'I-dunno'.
The older man schooled his features and replaced his glasses, "At any rate, he was reputed to be second only to the Devil in terms of beauty as well. But after the Fall, he apparently changed, and not for the better. His hatred for mankind twisted not only his spirit, but his appearance also."
"So, now he's just another scaly, pus-y, ugly demon." Xander supplied his earlier analysis.
Giles cleared his throat lightly, "It may not be that simple, the ancient author, Kalkidios, indicated that, "To look upon the face of Kalos is to know death. Perseus himself, would fear that baleful gaze." This passage would seem to indicate that merely looking at Kalos would lead to…"
"… indigestion?" Xander interrupted with a hopeful expression.
"…death." Giles finished with an apologetic glance.
"Gre-at." Buffy said facetiously. "But you said before that Kalos is, like, grounded by his little Hell-buddies for, oh let's say… all eternity, right?"
Giles made a small, non-committal sound in the back of his throat, refusing to meet anyone's direct line of sight.
"Oh no!" Everyone else in the room gasped except for Anya.
Willow looked plaintively at the ex-Watcher and voiced their collective concern, "Giles, there isn't a prophecy, is there?" Her eyes pleaded with him, but the stoic British man nodded his head sadly and opened his mouth to speak. Anya beat him to it,
"It's just your basic blood, suffering, end of the world, yadda yadda yadda…" She waved her hand dismissively.
Giles blinked in surprise, and then grew annoyed, "If you knew something, Anya, why didn't you speak up earlier?"
Anya glared at his confrontational tone, "That's pretty much all I know about it. I mean, on your first trip to Hell, every new demon gets the guided tour, usually, from Asmodeus. Anyway, they stick mainly to the tourist areas, the lakes of fire, the burning sulphur, you can even see Sisiphus roll his rock up the hill daily at 12 and again at 2:15." Her features schooled themselves into seriousness, "There's one place though, that they take you, not a lotta fun. It's cold, and so dark that you really can't see anything. They only take you to the edge, but supposedly, inside, is the domain of Kalos." She shrugged her disbelief.
"And…" Giles prodded verbally.
Anya wrinkled her forehead, "And, they tell you not to talk to him." She rolled her eyes. "If he's anything like his little demon crony, Metus, I can understand why."
"What about, Metus?" Willow questioned, suddenly alert.
"Oh, well I met him once during that Black Plague thing. He was amazing at the torture stuff, but he was so boring. Always blabbing about, 'my Master will be released; the prophecy will be fulfilled; you will all die', blah, blah, blah." Anya made a talking puppet out of her hand to illustrate her last words. "It was very tiresome, because everyone knows that Kalos is locked up tight. No more sex with humans for him." She grinned lasciviously at Xander, obviously having given herself an idea.
"Sex with… huh? Giles?" Xander's jaw hung low.
"What? Oh yes." Giles was hastily brought back from his contemplation of Anya's words. "Kalos, according to some of the stories, had an affair with a human woman, and thus was cast out of the heavens. I gather he was quite perturbed, and blamed her as the cause of his misery." He reflected.
"Ah, hence the 'death to humans' bent." Buffy said in understanding.
"Indeed. And from this union, there appear to have been offspring."
"Ooh, demonspawn, my fav." Xander rubbed his hands together.
Giles continued, "Which brings us back to the prophecy…" Everyone groaned as he opened an aged text to a page with a red cloth bookmark. "I am Melissa…" He began and someone snickered. "…daughter of Kalos, these things I say; to each generation of the Blood will only one child be born to beget another generation. All others will die without successors. And when the time is come that the face of Selene is wet with blood, and the Pantheon stands behind the Huntress on the two-fold anniversary; the last children of Kalos, one dark, one light, will stand at the portal to Tartarus, and the fate of the world shall rest in them. And if the dark destroys the light, The Night will fall… The text ends there, it is incomplete." He stated and placed the book on a table beside the couch, Xander picked it and turned it over in his hands.
The room was silent for a moment as everyone absorbed, Willow looked particularly fixated, a thoughtful frown on her face.
Buffy was the first to speak, "Well… that's a downer."
"No kidding." Xander backed her up. "But, I mean, whaddya expect from a book entitled, Prophecies of the End? Published by the same wacky guys who brought us, Torture Made Easy and Hell on Earth: Ask Me How."
"I don't know, but some colour pictures and extra large print would've helped me feel right at home."
"I don't think I need to tell you where the Dr. Suess books are."
The blonde shrugged her shoulders, "What can I say, I'm more of a One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish kinda gal."
"If you two are quite finished." Giles interrupted, a mild frown of disapproval on his face. Xander and Buffy sheepishly resumed their former states of attentiveness. The Watcher waited a moment before speaking again, "Now, the fact that the text is incomplete makes it difficult to speculate regarding the timetable of these events, however…"
"That's next week!" Willow shouted enthusiastically, then noticed the looks she was getting from around the room, "Uh, sorry. But I know when the prophecy was talking about." She offered in hasty explanation for her outburst. "There's a lunar eclipse next Wednesday night. Which wouldn't be all that special, cuz really we get lunar eclipses all the time, well not all the time, but often enough that it's…"
"Will." Buffy interrupted, effectively bringing the redhead out of her 'babble mode'.
"Uh, yah, so there's a conjunction of the planets next week too. Which wouldn't be all that special either, except it's happening at the same time as the eclipse, which doesn't happen all that often, the two of them together I mean, and there's something else about Wednesday that I'm forgetting… but I'm sure it'll come to me. Anyway, so that's 'the Pantheon', Jupiter, Mars and Neptune standing behind the Huntress, or Selene… the moon. And 'the blood', I'm less sure about…"
"Sometimes during eclipses the moon can turn a reddish colour cuz of the way light bends through our atmosphere." Xander stated confidently, and then went on the defensive as everyone gawked at him, "What?! I watch Discovery channel."
Giles raggedly ran a hand through his hair, "You realize what this means?"
"Yah, only 5 more shopping days 'til Armageddon." Buffy answered.
"We must find these 'children of Kalos' and lend ourselves to prevent the dark destroying the light'."
"That too." The slayer mumbled grudgingly.
Xander leaned forward on the couch, "We know where these guys will be next Wednesday, I mean it's obvious that the 'portal to Tartarus' has got to be the Hellmouth. So, why don't we just wait for them to show up? Then when the 'darker' of the two children of a sadistic and possibly insane demon shows up, we just bump him off… well, actually, Buffy, bumps him off." He conceded.
"But we'd get to watch right?" Anya poked him in the ribs. "I could bring popcorn."
Giles pulled off his glasses and regarded the dark-haired boy, "While your plan does have some merits, Xander, the lacuna in the text worries me. We should engage ourselves in preparation, forewarned is forearmed, and we certainly don't want to make any errors in this matter."
"Especially when it could result in our horrible, horrible deaths." Buffy added brightly.
"Indeed, I believe we should research this matter further, perhaps finding the demon Metus would help."
"Research party?" Willow asked excitedly.
Giles smiled at the redhead's eagerness, "Yes, but not until tomorrow, we still have some time. It's late, and…"
"And Buffy hasn't made her nightly rounds yet." The Slayer finished for him.
The British man shifted uncomfortably at being so predictable, "Quite. Shall we all meet back here tomorrow morning?"
"Can do, G-Man." Xander saluted jauntily, sweeping his girlfriend along with him as he stood up from the couch.
Anya gripped his hand tightly, taking the initiative. As they led the Scooby gang out the front door, she was heard to remark loudly, "Good. Now we can go home and have sex."
Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose with a pained expression and then replaced his glasses there.
Buffy was not in a good mood, she'd spent yet another fruitless day researching at Giles, and even dusting the few pathetic vampires that had risen this night wasn't enough to cheer her up.
"Heads up!" Riley yelled from behind her, and grunted as he found some trouble of his own.
Buffy absently staked a vamp as it leapt from the bushes, and turned to help her boyfriend. Riley was struggling on the ground between the tombstones, a snarling vampire hovering above him, unnaturally strong hands pinning his shoulders. The ex-soldier fought for some kind of leverage, finally wedging a knee between them and breaking his opponent's hold with a powerful kick. The demon was unperturbed as it was propelled backwards, until it felt a sharp wooden point slip between its ribs. Its look of shock dissolved in a rain of ash, revealing the all business visage of The Slayer, who then leaned down to offer her boyfriend a hand up.
"Thanks." He mumbled, mildly embarrassed at his lacklustre performance with the vamp. Ever since he'd stopped taking the Initiative's drugs, he'd felt somehow smaller and weaker. It was a feeling he didn't like, and one he could ill afford if he was going to keep up with his slayer girlfriend. Dusting himself off, he hurried to fall in step with Buffy, who was already back in patrol mode. Glancing at the blonde in her pastel blue coat and tan slacks, he noted the iron set to her jaw, the single minded focus she possessed, "Penny?"
Buffy was jolted out of her ruminations to utter an insightful question, "Huh?"
Riley grinned at her confusion, "Penny for your thoughts? You seem really -- intense tonight, and maybe just a little bit scary."
"Yah, I get this way sometimes when the world's about to end." She remarked with bitter sarcasm as she continued walking.
The TA placed one large hand at the small of her back guiding her to a stop facing him. She was annoyed, but allowed herself to be halted, and when she saw his worried expression, she issued an apologetic grin, "I'm sorry. It's just-- it's already been two days, and we haven't figured out what we're going to do about Kalos. I mean, we can't even find his right hand demon, Metus."
Riley ran his hands up and down her arms in reassurance, "You've cut it close before, and you always come out fine."
"True." She acknowledged, letting him pull her into an embrace. "But it doesn't mean I can't be a little on edge. I'm Action Buffy, not Hurry Up And Wait Buffy." She burrowed into his chest, inhaling the freshly laundered scent of his army green pullover, and her arms snaked around his waist. They stood there for a long minute, enjoying the closeness, and Buffy reflected, This feels so comfortable, like a favourite sweater or sleeping in on a Saturday morning. Part of her was worried though, by how easily she seemed to become annoyed with Riley lately, especially when he came on patrol with her. The blonde wasn't sure if her boyfriend belonged out there, now that he was no longer a member of the government's secret monster squad, and now that he'd quit taking his super soldier vitamins. Oh, she had no doubt that Riley was better off not ingesting Professor Walsh's experimental drugs, but he was just so much more vulnerable now, and she wasn't certain she could protect him if he needed it. Perhaps it was selfish, but Buffy believed that slaying should be left to the people best equipped for it, mainly slayers; and there was only one other person in the world who met that prerequisite.
Her mind shifted briefly to Faith, or her dark half, as she sometimes thought of her; that rich brown hair which looked just a bit tousled; her soulful chocolate eyes that contained an omnipresent trace of hurt; and her easy smile, a smirk really, that always danced across full red lips.
Buffy's skin flushed and she forced herself back to the present, where her boyfriend's strong arms were wrapped around her tightly. She let her hands wander underneath the hem of his shirt, and skim across the warm flesh of his lower back, she felt a light shudder wrack him.
Riley cleared his throat politely, "Um, would this be an example of 'Action Buffy' ?"
Buffy lifted her head to look at him with an answering smirk.
His eyebrows climbed in pleasant surprise, "Just wanted to be clear." He lowered his head to meet hers in a gentle kiss that Buffy quickly switched to high gear. When oxygen demands forced him to break with her, Riley looked at his girlfriend in amazement and then tensed visibly, "Heads up!"
Buffy rolled her eyes and spun away as the two of them prepared to face off against the vampires which had so rudely interrupted them. Buffy hated interruptions
Her lips skimmed over quivering flesh, dancing on the rounded profile of a collar-bone sheathed in the softest of skin. She let her tongue glide over the ridge and dip into the hollow at the base of the girl's throat, settling there to taste the salt gathering on heated skin. A sharp inhalation of breath, a gasp of surprise and pleasure, caused her to lift her head and raise her face parallel with the other witch's. What she saw there, made a smile of pure happiness rise on her lips, and she whispered with fierce sincerity, "I love you." And captured the girl's mouth with her own, pressing hard, desperate kisses there. Her hand caught in the soft fire of shining red hair as she drew her love down.
Reveling in sensation of skin on skin, she could almost drown out the excruciating pain from long, clawed furrows in her side, the sickening smell of burnt flesh, possibly her own, and the black abyss of despair that waited patiently at the edge of conscious thought. But she couldn't ignore the voice that reverberated through her mind, though it was quieter than the quietest of whispers.
…where do you go when you sleep? The voice was curious, kinder than she'd ever heard.
She groaned, almost inaudibly, and issued a whimper of pain. To hear that voice, to acknowledge it, was to acknowledge the pain, and the tissue-thin reality of the woman she was still kissing; a woman whose name she couldn't remember anymore, she'd known it once, just like she'd known her own name. There was power in names.
Where do you go?
She focused resolutely on the scent, the taste, the feel of the woman in her arms, if she wished hard enough, she could make it real. She'd never have to open her eyes again, and see darkness mirrored back at her, in a place never touched by the sun; where the warmth of another human being was a memory that grew increasingly hard to recall.
Come back to us. The speaker in her mind cajoled.
The lure of reality was depressingly strong, and she felt her resistance flagging. There was no denying the chill that seeped into her bones, and the phantom woman with hair like flame grew less and less substantial with each caress until finally she disappeared. Was she ever real at all? If only she could remember the girl's name, there was power in names.
Come back. The voice grew more insistent, less patient, hard iron infused its tone.
Panic welled inside her, she couldn't go back there, every time she awakened another little piece of her was lost, perhaps forever. And it was becoming more and more difficult for her to remember… to remember that there was something… important… that she needed to do… there was something she was supposed to be doing…
Enough!
She was out of time, concentrating, she used the last of her reserves to sift hastily through the fragments of her memory. She needed a name, something to ground her. The vision from her dream, the girl with hair of silken fire, appeared in her mind again, and suddenly she knew what she needed. Willow… The pain in her side faded, and the voice roared in anger and bewilderment as she slipped away. There's power in names…
Willow couldn't sleep.
After coming home late from another long day at Giles', she and Buffy had parted, one to go on patrol for vamp newbies and anything else that got in her way, and the other ostensibly to do some work and then retire.
It had only taken a short while for the proficient redhead to complete most of the work available to her, but she knew that Buffy wouldn't be back for hours. Since they were supposed to be getting an early start in the morning, what with the impending end of the world and all, Willow had prepared for bed and tucked herself in. And that was about as far as things had progressed. She'd dozed briefly, but the spectre of yet another nightmare loomed large over her, lurking on the edge of consciousness, and she found her mind unwillingly to surrender to slumber. Now, that same mind threatened to torment her with endless contemplation of death, and how were they ever going to stop Kalos, when they couldn't seem to find anything to use against him?
The witch shifted restlessly onto her side so she was facing wide windows. Moonlight flowed through the gauzy curtains, casting a pale pool on the floor, making the rest of the room seem unnaturally dark. Giving into temptation, Willow threw off the thin sheet covering her body, and padded into the eerie glow pouring through the glass. It was a hot, muggy night in Sunnydale, the sun had set hours ago, but its effects lingered. The redhead stood framed by the window, her short nightshirt clinging damply to the rounded angles of her shoulders and hips and at the small of her back. She gazed up at the moon, entranced by its shape and colour, it hung bright in the night sky, a fat globe, nearly full, beautiful…
She lifted the sash of the window, cracking it a few inches to let the night roll in. She inhaled deeply, savouring the rich, dark scent of moist air, earth and the old wood of the sill. It brought to mind any number of other nights like this, patrolling with Buffy, and more recently, working spells with Tara, on the dewy grass of USunnydale's campus or in a favourite copse of trees behind the university buildings. A twinge tugged at her heart as she thought of the blonde witch.
She shifted uncomfortably, but then the hardwood floor squeaked beneath her, causing a smile to ghost across her lips. Creaky floors were just part of the territory that came with leasing one of the older houses in Sunnydale. Even so, Willow wouldn't have had it any other way. This house just had so much more character than any of the basement suites or brownstones she'd looked at. It was painted a bright yellow on the outside, and none of the wallpaper on the inside was the same pattern in any two of the rooms. The floors were almost exclusively wood, with plenty of homemade throws to add texture, and the pipes fairly rattled when you tried to use the hot water, yet somehow the water pressure was fabulous.
Tara would've loved this place. She thought. Closing her eyes, she swayed gently in the moonlight, imagining the two of them living in her house together. It was unhealthy, she knew that, but still, she could almost feel the protective circle of the blonde's arms wrapped lovingly around her, warm breath tickling past her ear…
She hugged herself against a sudden chill, and pulled the sash down on the window, wondering at how the night could have turned so abruptly cold. Turning back towards her bed, she noticed a sallow glow under her bedroom door, a light was on downstairs. Is Buffy home already? Puzzled, she opened the door and padded partway down the staircase, the wood was cool against her bare feet.
Gazing over the railing, she discovered that the storeroom light was on. Had she forgotten to shut it off earlier? She didn't think so. Willow descended the remaining steps cautiously, and approached the open doorway. She readied a defensive spell as she entered the room and reached up to grasp the cord dangling from the single bare bulb. Before she could pull the string though, her eyes caught sight of something out of place. Resting on top of one the unmarked cardboard boxes in the corner was a framed picture and beside it, a book. Curious, she moved closer.
The picture, she recognized immediately, the faces of Tara and her mysterious family staring back out at her, but the book was unfamiliar. It was old, that much she could tell, and she ran her index finger over the cracked edges of the leather binding surrounding the crumbling pages. Her fascination with the ancient tome's fragility was short-lived though, as she focused on the words of the cover, which she recognized as Ancient Greek. Although her understanding of the language was limited, one word in the title held her riveted,Kalos.
"Ohmygoddess." Willow mumbled in revelation as things suddenly clicked into place. Looking hard at the photo beside the book, a fragment of the prophecy Giles had recited came back to her; "… on the two-fold anniversary; the last children of Kalos, one dark, one light, will stand at the portal to Tartarus, and the fate of the world shall rest in them…" She knew why the date of the lunar eclipse had seemed so familiar to her, and the implications that came with that realization frightened her as she found her attention divided between the two blonde children displayed in the frozen image enclosed in the shiny frame.
Willow whispered in shocked horror, "Tara's birthday…"
There's no place like home