By Theory Queen
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Feedback is welcome but not really expected, as I wrote the story mainly to please myself. If you like it or hate it feel free to tell me so - as long as you also tell me why. I hate opinions backed by fluff. Read and enjoy. Or snarl, froth, giggle, or whatever. I've already done all that and more.
Spike slammed the car into gear and took off. As he rounded a corner, he noticed Dru's head rolling to the motion of the car. He hauled her over next to him and put a determined arm around her. He had to find a place for the two of them to hole up for the day, and he was afraid of Dru's waking up before he found one. In a fit of despair and anger, she might open the car door and immolate them both.
He passed what looked like an abandoned house and backed up to get a better look. Ah, just the thing. He pulled in and parked behind the barn, using the shadow of it to shelter himself and Drusilla from the sun while he dragged her inside to safety.
Inside, he glanced around. The house looked as if it hadn't been lived in for at least a year. He knew Dru would probably want to sleep in one of the bedrooms, but he didn't want to take any chances. He found the door leading down to the dank earth basement and carried her down the narrow cellar stairs. He laid her gently on the ground and sniffed, wrinkling his nose. Definitely unused for at least a year, he decided. Well, then. He lay down next to her and composed himself for sleep. It didn't come. He waited. It still didn't come.
He was therefore wide-awake when he heard the barest hint of movement next to him. Out of instinct, he threw up an arm to ward off the attack. Quickly rolling out of the way, he saw the light of battle in Drusilla's icy grey eyes. He cursed. "Bloody hell! Dru, will you give me a minute? Let me explain!" He was reasonably confidant that she'd melt and forgive him when she heard his explanation: that he missed her, and he didn't want the world to end.
Unfortunately, she wasn't giving him a chance to explain. She shrieked with rage and swiped his face with her nails. He growled and grabbed her wrists, pinning her down underneath him. He dimly recalled the old days when they used to do things like this for fun, instead of for self-defense.
"Now listen, pet -- " he began, but she interrupted him.
"You're not my little Spike anymore," she whimpered in one of her lightning-fast mood swings. "You attacked me. You kidnapped me, and didn't bring my dolls. You collaborated with the slayer, and you hurt my Angel!" She cried, and made another feeble swipe.
"Yes, I'm sorry about that, luv. Well, most of it, anyway." He smiled again at the sweet memory of kicking Angel's teeth in. "I just did what I thought would be best. And cheer up anyway; when we left, it looked like Angel was about to have a bowl of slayer with milk for breakfast. Hell could still open up, you know." He hoped like anything that he was wrong; he had to have faith in the slayer. He'd seen her resourcefulness before; he knew she could pull off some amazing things. Like making him and Drusilla leave town, for instance, he reminded himself before he went too far on his slayer-admiration kick. Sick.
"No, no, it won't open now." Drusilla's eyes took on a glassy look. "It's gone now, and so is my Angel. And so is the slayer. They've all gone to the same place, but the slayer's place is somewhere else." She finished dreamily.
Spike sighed impatiently. Her visions were all well and good, but he wished sometimes that she could speak a little plainer. "You mean the slayer's gone? Where?"
"To hell." She answered. Spike was surprised. Can't get much plainer than that. She finally relaxed under him, and he risked letting her go. She stretched. "Spike? Where are we going?"
"First to New York, so we can arrange to go home. How would you like another visit to Prague?"
"Do you think they'll still be waiting for me there? They hurt me, Spike." She moaned.
"No, no, pet, they'll have forgotten all about you by now. You'll have to remind them all over again, my love." He smoothed her hair.
"That's my good Spike. I think I'll sleep until we get to Prague. Is that all right? And then I'm going to kill you."
Spike, with a temporary stay of execution, and with visions of carrying her, sleeping, through busy airports, coughed. "Sure, luv, just make sure you wake at each airport, right?"
"Every airport. So I can look at the pretty people." She drifted off, and Spike felt greatly relieved. He'd seen her long sleeps before, and he knew she was very unlikely to kill him during one of them. After they reached Prague, though, was another story. He wouldn't be safe again, ever - unless she forgot. He stretched out beside her again and went to sleep, vowing to try and find something to distract her from her plan, something that would distract her kitten-like span of attention from expansive plots of revenge.
Part 2
When night fell, he woke her and loaded her back into the car and sped up to LA. City of Angels, he thought with an amused snort. Drusilla woke when they reached the airport, just as she'd promised. He left her safely glaring at a small boy who was crying loudly that he was lost, and went and booked a flight to New York. He did plan to leave the country, maybe even actually reach Prague someday, but he still had some loose ends to tie up in the Big Apple.
Flight booked, he went and got Dru, who was looking suspiciously rosy and well fed. The small boy was nowhere to be found. He sighed. He could have done with a bite, himself. He hadn't had anything to eat in a few weeks, only what Dru could talk Angel into bringing back for him. He hadn't gone out, so as not to arouse suspicious - and the accursed slayer had ruined his only chance for a meal when she didn't let him kill that damned cop. If he'd been human, he'd be fainting right now. As it was, he didn't know if he'd be able to survive the six-hour flight without losing control.
The flight left at 9pm, and he and Drusilla were on it. She went to sleep again, slumped next to the window. He had the aisle seat, but his own rest - not to mention digestive system - were interrupted by people going up and down the aisle. He had just about decided to grab and feed on the next person to walk by and wake him up, he was so irritated and hungry, when he heard a gasp and actually looked up at the next person.
Buffy.
Buffy stood there in jeans, tank top, and a black watch cap on her head, her green eyes wide.
They stared at each other in shock until a stewardess came up behind Buffy said, "Uh, excuse me, Miss? Could I get by, please?"
Buffy grabbed Spike's arm in a rock-hard grip. "Come. With me. Now." She ground out.
Spike glanced at Dru, making sure she was still in her self-induced coma, and let himself be dragged to the tiny bathroom in the rear of the plane. She pushed him in and followed, locking the door. There was no room to fight in there, and they both knew it. Instead, Buffy folded her arms threateningly and said one word: "WELL?"
Spike's lip curved a little. "If you've got me in here for a quickie, luv, I hate to disappoint you but I'm just not in shape for it. All that 'battling the forces of evil' and all..."
Outrage suffused Buffy's face with red. Spike watched interestedly as the blood rushed to her cheeks. He licked his lips. "Of course you could change that, if you're feeling at all Red Crossy."
She lost her temper and slugged him in the mouth. It didn't hurt much; she hadn't had much room for a wind-up. He took it, but it did weaken him when it shouldn't have. He aimed a punch to her gut, and when she doubled over, she whammed him in the stomach with her head. He had intended to give her a knee to the nose when she doubled over, but it backfired and he whacked his knee on the corner of the tiny sink. He groaned. She tried to knee him in the groin but ended up whacking her knee just as he had. "Ouch!" she said. She looked at him, feeling silly, and with a sneaking suspicion that he felt the same way.
"There's really no room in here for fighting, is there?" She said. Spike shook his head reluctantly, rubbing his stomach where her head had impacted. "What are you two doing here, anyway? Didn't I tell you to leave?"
"I did leave," he replied. "I just didn't expect you to leave as well. What's going on, Slayer? You're not exactly in Kansas anymore."
"Actually, I think we are." Buffy said, suddenly tired. "Over it, anyway. I left home."
"I can see that. Why?" he was curious in spite of himself. "I thought once you'd got rid of me and Dru and taken care of Angel, that you'd be living the high life." Suddenly suspicious: "You did take care of Angel, didn't you?"
"Angel's blood opened the door to hell. Only Angel's blood could close it again." Her voice got sharper. "Please note the general lack of hellishness around here, and draw your own conclusions!"
"My, my. Touchy!" he commented. "Rough night?"
She glared at him. "You could say that. If you were incredibly given to understatement!" she said.
"Well, for what it's worth, thanks for saving the world and all. If I were a nicer guy, I'd treat you to a Happy Meal, just to even the score." He noted that the expression on her face boded ill for him, whether there was room to fight or not. Hastily, he eased past her and opened the door. "And if we're all finished here..." he said, and left.
Part 3
Buffy splashed water on her face. She tried to see what her hair looked like, but the mirror was completely fogged up by the fighting and intense conversation in the three-foot square bathroom. She stepped out...
...To the sound of light, mocking applause. Her mind said, "?" until she noticed the leers and lascivious grins on the faces of a few passengers sitting near the tail. Passengers who would have heard the scuffle, and who could see the foggy mirror. One guy muttered a grinning reference to the "mile-high club." She scowled at him and headed back to her seat, carefully ignoring Spike as she went by them.
An hour or two passed uneventfully; then Spike startled her by sliding into the empty seat beside her in the aisle. "'Allo, luv," he said. He noticed the stake she had whipped out and was holding at his chest. "Here, put away your toys, little girl. I just want to talk. Truce, remember?" She nodded reluctantly and put away her stake. He continued with a straight face, "Besides, if you kill me now, you'll really disappoint all those guys out there who thought I was screwing you in the lavatory while my girlfriend was napping."
Buffy sputtered with indignation, while Spike smirked and waited for her to become coherent. She narrowed her eyes said, "So... talk. Where are you going with Drusilla?"
He rolled his eyes. "At the moment, I'm going nowhere with Drusilla. Where we're headed, though, is New York, so I can make arrangements for leaving the country like we agreed. So where are you going?"
Buffy shrugged. "Away."
"Yes, didn't we already cover that? I can figure out where the plane is headed, but I'm curious to know why you're on it."
"And you think I'm going to tell you?"
He tsked at her. "You really should work on that testiness of yours, little girl. Does your Watcher-daddy know you're away?" Buffy colored and looked away. Spike laughed out loud. "He doesn't? What about your lovely, clueless mum?"
"No, not her either. Can we change the subject?" she said irritably.
Another stewardess wheeled her cart up the aisle, handing out drinks and snacks. Spike gazed at her longingly. "God, I'm hungry!" he muttered, licking his lips. Buffy's eyebrows went up when she realized he was eyeing the woman, not the snacks she was handing out.
"Oh, no you don't." she said. "I can't kill you on this flight, anymore than you can kill me, but I'm not going to let you kill anyone else, either."
Spike leaned back and swallowed. "I know, I know," he grumbled. "But you seem to forget that you wouldn't let me eat before we left. I haven't eaten in four days."
Buffy made a derisive snort. "Oh, so am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Listen, I just killed my boyfriend, got disowned by my family, and I'm wanted by the cops. If we're having a self-pity contest, I think I've just won the Triple Crown!"
He thought about this and nodded, she was right, but he still couldn't keep his eyes off the stewardess; that is, until he looked at the small angry girl beside him and noticed the pulse throbbing in her neck, the blue vein that pulsed in her wrist. He swallowed thickly... and then had a wonderful idea!
"Listen, slayer," he said in a businesslike manner. "The fact is, I'm awfully hungry. Haven't been eating right all the time I was recovering, have I? I know that there are too few other people on this flight for me to have one of them - they'd be missed too soon. So how about that Red Cross thing we mentioned earlier?" Spike had heard rumors of the powers inherent in slayer-blood, but he'd never tried it before. He's always been more of a kill-and-tell bloke, preferring to get the death over with quickly so he could brag about it.
"WHAT?" hissed Buffy. "Are you out of your undead mind? You actually expect me to donate some blood for you, out of what? Some sense of altruism?" Her face could not possibly have expressed more disgust or disbelief.
Spike smiled. The more he thought of this idea, the better he liked it. "Oh, come on now, little slayer. You'll give up everything you have in order to keep the world from ending for me, but you won't give me even one little pint of blood so I don't go mad and hijack the plane?"
"So is that your plan? You'll threaten to hijack the plane?"
Spike coughed. "Well, actually, I was planning to segue directly into the more personal threats. Blackmail was going to be my ultimate destination, after a lot more banter and threats back and forth. But if you want to skip all that and jump right into it, yeah. It's blackmail. I know where you're going. Your family and friends don't. Neither do the cops. If you don't want them to know, then tell me. Give me a little sign. In fact, give me a little blood. Then I won't tell them, and you and I can go our separate ways and live happily ever after. The choice is yours... just decide by the time we land." He gave her a happy smile.
"What if I kill you both when we land?" She asked.
"Oh, no, that would never do. It would attract attention, reporters, cops, gawkers -" He shook his head in mock sympathy. "You'd be arrested, and probably wouldn't get us both anyway, and there are phones in the airport, you know." He patted her cheek. "Think about it, my girl. You'll see I'm right." And he left, went back to his own seat, chuckling.
Part 4
Buffy sat and fumed for a long while. Then she stewed for even longer. Finally she sighed in resignation, then took out a tiny silver knife and cut her arm. She methodically bled herself into her plastic cup, then reached into her bag and tore a strip from one of her T-shirts to bandage the wound. She made her way carefully with the cup back to where Spike was sitting next to a sleeping Drusilla and reading a magazine. He looked up expectantly.
"Here." She said, handing him the cup. "This should tide you over."
He arched a mocking eyebrow and sniffed the cup. "Poisoned?" he asked.
"No. Mine." Buffy answered expressionlessly. "You win. Guess I was in a Red Crossy mood after all. Just don't tell Giles and the rest where I am. Oh, and do me a favor and try not to kill anyone until after I leave the airport, okay?" She turned and stalked away.
"Least I can do," he murmured, savoring the aroma of the cup's contents. He hadn't really expected his plan to succeed. He sighed in deep, rich contentment and downed half of the cup in one swallow, then stopped and looked at his sleeping princess. He played with the idea of waking her up to share some of this bounty, then discarded it almost immediately. He remembered the lost child in LA, and the fact that she had gone out with Angel the night before while he still stayed at home in his wheelchair, biding his time. Then she had come home with Angel, barely sparing a glance for her sweet little Spike before following Angel into his bedroom. The closed door had not quite muffled her gasps and squeals. His eyes hardened at the memory, and he swiftly drained the cup.
Whoa! Now he knew what had finally freed the master! Her blood's power went straight to his head, and he laughed. This was better than drugs, better than booze, better than - he cast a guilty eye at Drusilla and ended that line of thought. It was the best high he'd ever had. Made his wild experiences at Woodstock seem like a couple of caffeine jitters. The plane whirled around - or was it just him? He glanced at Drusilla again, with a different attitude. Suddenly, he was sick of catering to her constant bids for attention, having to always buy her birds and bring home pets for her to play with. He remembered, through a drugged haze, what it had been like without her: the freedom to do anything he wanted, to kill where he pleased, to wreak mayhem wherever he wanted. He grew misty-eyed, thinking of what his life had been like without Drusilla. He missed it. He began to entertain thoughts of staking her as she slept, but then remembered what he and the slayer had agreed upon: there were too few people on this flight. One of them would be missed if he did in anyone, even Dru. He started to calculate how soon he could off her after they landed, and these thoughts kept him smiling, enjoying the high, until the "Please Fasten Seatbelts" light came on.
Part 5
He woke Drusilla gently, thanking his lucky stars that she always woke up slow and groggy. With any luck, he'd have them out of the airport before she ever laid eyes on the slayer. They disembarked.
Everything went according to plan. He almost chuckled at how well everything was going. Buffy was way ahead of them, occasionally looking back warily, and Drusilla kept her eyes lowered. "Spike? You smell different. What happened?"
"Nothing, pet."
"You smell like Angel used to. Like her." He said nothing, and just as he'd hoped, she got distracted again. "Look at all the people," she murmured. "Spike, they're like poor little lost sheep. They don't have any idea that the wolves are here, do they?"
"Not a clue, luv," Spike said.
Then it happened. Drusilla looked up at the "sheep" in front of her, at the same instant that Buffy looked back to keep track of them. "Aaaaaaaahhh!!!" Drusilla shrieked with rage and ran to attack Buffy, who instinctively took out her stake. Drusilla knocked it aside. "You took him away from me!" she cried as they fought. "You've killed my Angel! Now you're taking my Spike!"
"Nope," grunted Buffy as one of Dru's shots connected. "I killed MY Angel, and you can keep your precious Spike! Oof!"
One gawker said to another, "Gotta love these New York psychos. What did she say? How many angels can dance on the head of a spike?" His companion shrugged and they walked off, leaving Spike wrestling with the strangest mental picture he had ever had.
The women rolled over and over the floor, Buffy using her fists mostly, wishing she could get to her feet so she could get in a good kick. Drusilla scratched Buffy's neck like she had Kendra's, but Buffy was wise to her now and the scratch didn't go deep. Suddenly, Drusilla changed her tactics. Rolling to her feet, she caught the slayer's eye.
"Look at me," she said. Buffy blinked, then met her eyes. Drusilla smiled. "Look deeper!" she hissed. Buffy began, very slowly, to walk towards her. Drusilla drew back for the kill, but received a startling and felling boot to the head, which landed her on the floor.
"You know that hypnosis crap?" Buffy panted, falling upon her again with a few well-aimed kicks and punches. "It's passé, really. It didn't even work for the master; what makes you think it would work for you?"
Spike, rather enjoying the show, was distracted by the sight of four uniformed airport security guards moving in to break up the chick-fight. A brief flash of amused irritation at the thought of the three of them being arrested and taken in for questioning crossed his mind. He leaned in and tried to quietly break up the fight, but Buffy punched him in the eye and Drusilla scratched him across the forehead. In a flash of temper, ably assisted by the wild euphoria still coursing through his body from Buffy's blood, he grabbed up the fallen stake and pointed it at the fighting women, going back and forth as he said to himself, "Eenie, meenie, miny, moe!" He closed his eyes and shoved the stake blindly into the fray.
A collective gasp from the onlookers made him open his eyes... to see Buffy staring at him in shock, covered with ashes. Dru's ashes. He had loved Drusilla deeply, and now she was dead by his hand.
He shrugged. Her psychotic ramblings had been starting to annoy him, even before her affair with Angel. He leaned forward and grabbed the slayer's hand. "Come on," he ordered, heaving her up...
... and over his head to land ten feet behind him, with a thud!
"What the -- " he said. Buffy gaped at him, then took off running. He took off after her.
Side by side, they ran through the seemingly endless corridors of the airport, until quick as a thought, Buffy jumped into a side corridor. Spike followed. They ran halfway down the corridor until she got to a utility closet. She ducked into it and pulled Spike after her. Her breathing sounded loud in the close stillness, pointing a contrast to his lack of it.
"Well this is a familiar scenario," Spike commented dryly. The closet was no bigger than the plane's bathroom had been.
"Shut up!" Buffy hissed, listening to the running footsteps outside. She sighed in relief when they passed the closet without slowing down. She sat down on the edge of the custodial sink and looked up at him. His pale hair gleamed in the dim light coming from under the door.
Part 6
Suddenly the irony of the situation, coupled with her shock and stress from the past few days, hit her and she had to stifle a laugh. "So what do we do now?" she asked, more to the air than to him.
"Dunno. How are you at making small talk with vampires?" he offered.
"Better than my mom, I hope!" she retorted. He chuckled. Silence fell. She broke it after a moment. "So... you like Billy Idol?"
"Not really. Just the hair." said Spike. He was starting to calm down and get his head under control again. More silence. He broke it this time. "So, what are we going to do? I mean, this wasn't exactly how I'd planned to arrive in New York."
"Why did you kill Drusilla?" she asked abruptly.
He shrugged, a motion better felt than seen in the darkness. "It was a 50-50 chance," he said. "Why did you kill Angel?"
"To save the world." She replied, making her voice hard to mask its trembling.
"Right, and I did in Dru because, quite frankly, she'd begun to bore me. But you and I had a deal that centered on Dru, and under the circumstances, I think all deals are off, don't you?"
"So why are you here with me?" she asked, shifting her weight uneasily. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness and she could better see the angles and planes of his sharp-featured face.
"Well, you pulled me in here," he pointed out. She glared at him. He gave her a quick smirk and then went on. "And neither of us can risk being caught by the goon squad out there."
Buffy nodded; that was true. "So it looks like the truce is still on, huh," she said, disappointed. "For a while, anyway. Darn." Suddenly, footsteps approached the closet. Purposeful ones. Quickly, Spike grabbed Buffy's black watch cap and put it on, hiding his telltale platinum hair. Just as the door opened, Buffy grabbed him and firmly planted her lips on his.
Part 7
"Hey, what's going on here?" asked the janitor, flicking the light on.
Buffy jumped, acting startled. Spike put his arm around her and told him, "What's it look like? She just got home and I wanted to give her a proper welcome, didn't I?"
The janitor took in Buffy's untidy hair which had been mussed by the swift removal of the watch cap. He also saw the scratches on her neck, the fatigue in her eyes and the bags under them. "Whoa, major jet lag, it looks like. You better get her home and welcome her there, buddy. After about a week of sleep."
"Good idea," Spike said smoothly. "Come along, luv." He swept her out of the closet and down the corridor. Out of the man's earshot, he asked, "So, what's with the smoochies, pet? You know I don't have a soul to lose."
Buffy winced, then shrugged philosophically. "It worked, didn't it? Besides," she continued with a bleak attempt at humor, "I just sent my boyfriend to hell this morning. Why not kiss a demon tonight? Just to make my day complete."
They wandered down the corridor, following exit signs, until they reached the outside. Then Spike stopped her. "Look, Slayer. We can't go on like this. Yes, dinner was terrific, the entertainment was great, thanks for a lovely evening, but isn't it time to go our separate ways now?"
"Oh, getting hungry again?" she challenged.
He grinned. "Baby, that I'm not! Let me tell you, if I had a regular supply of slayer blood, I might never have to kill again! That stuff works wonders!"
She stared with dawning comprehension. "Is that what made you so strong? I mean, I know it's manly to throw around slayers, but you were as surprised as I was. Weren't you?"
He shrugged. "It was quite a high," he admitted.
"Oh, great," Buffy muttered. "On top of everything else, I've come to New York with a lifetime supply of vampire crack. Travelling with a vampire, no less. Can things get any worse?"
"Never, never ask that," Spike said, suddenly grabbing her hand and fleeing from the approaching cops. They ran and ran, not keeping track of street names or anything, until they no longer heard the footsteps behind them. Spike suddenly realized something. "Oh, sod!" he cursed with rising panic and frustration. "I forgot the time difference!"
"What..? Oh!" Buffy recognized where his fear came from. "Dawn is three hours earlier here, isn't it?"
"I've got to get below!" he yelled, taking off. She ran after him, suddenly not wanting to lose touch with the one familiar thing in this strange town, even if it was a demon. She came upon him wrestling with a manhole cover, not quite managing to lift it.
"No, wait. I have an idea," she said. "Come with me." She took off again at a fast walk.
Spike cursed his stupidity in choosing to follow her instead of still trying to get into the sewers. "Fine, luv, but no walks down sunny garden paths, right? I'm a bit pale, and I just know I'd get sunburned."
Buffy whistled for a cab, and they both got in. "96 Morton," she ordered.
Spike whistled and then started to smile. "I'd forgotten you could do that!"
The cab deposited them on a street full of large brick buildings; they ran up the street, finally darting towards one with stone lions flanking the steps.
"Quick! In here! Help me!" she said, trying to force open a small side door. With their combined strength, the lock groaningly gave way, and they sneaked in and closed the door behind them.
"Oh, God, where are we? It smells like that blasted library of yours," Spike complained.
"It is. I mean, the New York City Library," she replied. "No one will find us here, trust me. Giles told me, it's full of people mostly just like him. No one's going to lift his nose out of a book long enough to notice a couple of... well, of whatever we are." She finished lamely. "And by the time it's closed, it will be dark."
"Fine, well, I'll tell you, I don't fancy the idea of both of us being in this city at the same time, with you hunting me down in the daylight." Spike stated uncomfortably as they headed toward the basement.
"Well, I think you should know I'm not exactly keen on the thought of you coming after me in the middle of the night, either," she retorted. "In fact, given the choice, I'd rather have you where I can keep an eye on you!"
"Likewise, luv," he practically spat the word out. "Just don't get in my way when I feed!"
"You're not killing anybody as long as I'm around!" she yelled back at him.
"Well, I won't have to when you're around, will I?" his rejoinder sped out his mouth without stopping at his brain.
"What did you just say?" Buffy asked, suddenly very quiet.
"What did I just say?" he asked himself, as astonished as she.
"Um, Spike?" she asked in a tremulous voice. "How much slayer blood would constitute a 'regular supply?'"
Part 8
A week later, in Sunnydale, Rupert Giles picked up his mail. He noticed Buffy's handwriting on one envelope and dropped the rest of them.
"Dear Giles," [the letter read]
I hope that you, Willow, Xander, and even Cordelia are all well, and survived the ordeal. Angel did not. I almost didn't make it either. Sometimes I wish I hadn't.
By now you must know that my mom...knows. Wish you could have seen her polite conversation with Spike! But I told her to go to you with questions, and I hope you gave her honest answers. If she went.
I wish I could have saved you the pain of what Angel did to you. I'm so sorry, Giles, I only hope I can make it up to you someday. I also wish I could have seen the look on Angel's face when you told him to do the ritual in a tutu! But as it is, the only memory I have of Angel's face is the pain and betrayal when I impaled him with that sword. Oh, yes. Tell Willow the spell worked.
I wish I could see all of you again, but I don't think that will happen. You'd be proud of me though, Giles. I'm actually reading a lot more, and although I'm no longer slaying (aren't many vamps here) I am faithfully saving at least one life a night.
How do you like the pretty world I saved for you?
Love, Buffy
Part 9
Giles spasmodically clenched the letter in his hand, then turned suddenly and ran back into the house. To the telephone. He dialed the Summers' number. "Hello? Joyce? This is Giles. I just got a letter from Buffy! Yes, yes, come over by all means. I just need to call - I just need to make a couple more calls first. Yes, yes, do please hurry."
He dialed again. "Willow? It's Giles. I've heard from Buffy; she sends her greetings and says she's all right. No, she didn't tell where she was, but the letter is postmarked from -- " he checked it. "From New York?! Damn and blast! What on earth is she doing there? Oh? Oh, sorry. Yes, please do let Xander know. Thank you. Uh, goodbye."
Giles showed the letter to Joyce, to Willow, to Xander, to Cordelia, and even to Oz. He wasn't quite sure how any of them were going to take it, especially since there were new interpersonal dynamics among the teenagers. He attributed that to Buffy's absence, and ignored it.
"But, but, you mean the ritual worked? And then she stabbed him? How can that be?" Willow wondered aloud.
"It must have already opened, then. Right?" Xander asked. "So she knew the only way to close it was to..." his shook his head. "Oh, man. Poor Buffy!" Xander spoke again after a minute. "One thing I'm not quite sure about. Giles, who was with you when Angel was doing his pain-and-death number?"
"No - no one. Why?" Giles asked.
"Did you say that thing to Angel, about a tutu?"
"Well, I don't know. I suppose I did. I wanted to get him off balance."
"Fine and good, Giles, but how did Buffy know about that little conversation?"
Giles started. "I have no idea!" he said. He thought for a moment, then said, "Spike. Buffy mentioned Spike in her letter. Perhaps he spoke to her..? I recall he was there in the next room when Angel was having his fun. He, uh, made some comment about not wanting Angel to kill me because he didn't want to spend the next month trying to get librarian out of the carpet." He chuckled, then quickly turned it into a cough when Willow and Xander both looked at him with their "Ew!" faces on. "Uh, yes. Perhaps there was some sort of, I don't know... alliance?" He looked up. The "Ew!" faces were still in full force. He gave up.
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