Cycle’s End

by

sHaYcH

 

Disclaimer:  Buffy and all related material belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and people with big, bad lawyers.  I’m just having a little fun and I promise not to mangle them too badly.

 

This is the third in a series of stories that got progressively longer.  The other two are White Flower and Freakazoid.

 

Spoilerrama: Oh yeah.  They’re in here.  Spoilers for everything to do with the Buffy/Angel-verse.

 

Other Notes of Interest:  Willow and Tara were a wonderful pair and I miss them dearly.  That said, life does move on, people do learn to love again.  If you’d rather ignore the events of Season Six, then I’d suggest you not read this tale. 

 

This is not a gentle sprint in the rain, kind of story.  Violence is a major theme of both Buffy and Angel, and since this is my version of the end of Buffy, there is violence.  There is also death, maiming and pain – if you’re sensitive to that, this story is not for you.

 

Otherwise, enjoy.

 

Razz the writer: shaych3@yahoo.com

 

~*~*~

 

Sleep, blessed oblivion that it was, rapidly fled under the onslaught of images invading the dreaming mind of Buffy Summers.  Rubbing her eyes, the slayer groaned softly and sat up in bed.  Her bedroom was bathed in lamplight from the street and she could easily see how crowded the tiny room had become.  The floor was littered with snoring teens, each curled or sprawled as they found comfortable.

 

I can’t do this much longer, she thought angrily.  I can’t pretend that I can protect these girls from it.

 

It was the First.  The first what, was up for definition.  Most declared it the First Evil, but Buffy knew better.  It was more than any one single evil – it was all evil.  Every sin, every homicidal act, every impure thought collected into a being that was the antithesis of everything good in the world. 

 

It was coming for her – and for the girls who had sought refuge in her house.  All of them – from the eldest to the least were not much more than children whose lives were now tumbled by the onus of being potential slayers.  Barely past the age when dolls and tea parties made up their days, the girls now spent their every waking moment preparing to fight, or die trying. 

 

When she thought about the two mounds of newly turned earth hidden in the woods outside of Sunnydale, Buffy’s stomach cramped painfully, burning with nausea and anger.  Annabelle, the first to die – Buffy closed her eyes as she vainly tried to recall the teen’s face.  A general idea of a narrow face and dark hair danced across her eyelids, but nothing more. 

 

A bitter tear, grudgingly shed, slid down her cheek, scalding it.  First, but not last.

 

Because then Chloe – quiet, clumsy, Chloe – took her own life, rather than face the monster whispering who knew what kind of horrors into her ears any longer.

 

The others couldn’t understand why Buffy only drove them harder.  Thank god, Willow got it.  Buffy didn’t know what she would do without her long time friend.  The witch had seen the darkness, had felt it as it took over her very soul and though afraid, was willing to stand beside her friend, no matter what.

 

Kennedy was another one from their little group that got it, though her willingness to understand probably came less from a desire to vanquish evil and more out of her feelings for the red headed witch.  A wry smile touched the slayer’s lips.  If there was anything good to be found in the situation, it was the presence of Kennedy.

 

Just when it looked as though Willow would shut her emotions away permanently, the Potential had come along and blasted open the doors to the witch’s heart.  Her instant attraction had been just the right balm to help heal Willow’s soul and Buffy found herself liking the spunky young woman for that reason alone. 

 

Of course, she would trade a thousand Kennedys for this – this being having to deal with the First Evil on a death and destruction rampage – and be satisfied with the bargain.  This thought did not give the slayer comfort, though Willow had said it herself, more than once.

 

“I see you’ve got a hand warmer,” Buffy teased her friend gently as they carried groceries in from the car.

 

Willow blushed, and started to stammer.  “Well, yeah, but it’s not like, you know, I wanted this, and you know, I would rather have been alone, and First-free.  Because, hand warmer – it’s the good, but, the First, well, that’s just bad and –“

 

“I get what you’re saying, Will, and it’s okay.  I’m glad that it’s working out, for you.  You need it.”

 

It had taken Willow a few minutes to ruminate over Buffy’s comment.

 

The witch sighed sadly.  “But I don’t deserve it,” she whispered softly.

 

“No, I didn’t say that,” Buffy said sharply.

 

Shaking her head, Willow said, “I know.  I’m thinking it.  And I don’t.  Deserve it, I mean.  Because I lost someone wonderful, and it still hurts, and I was all with the ultimate evil and world destructo thing and now, I’m just –“ she hefted the bag of food, “grocery girl.”  With that, the witch strode into the house.

 

“I miss her too,” Buffy whispered softly.  “I hope the hell you’re burning in is hot enough to blister the sun, Warren.”

 

The loss of Willow’s beloved was just another crime to lay at the door of the First, for all that Warren had been the executer of the act.  The death of a powerful witch left a hole in the forces of good and provided the form of a perfect minion in the shape of the murderer’s form.  For without Warren’s shape to manipulate, Andrew could not have been coached into luring the third member of the former “Evil Trio” Jonathan, to the Seal of Danzalthar.  Without the spirit of the Trio’s leader to command, the First could not have convinced Andrew to kill his best friend.

 

It was the Seal that had caused much of the craziness that had been happening to the citizens of Sunnydale.  Partially opened by the blood of an innocent sacrifice, as well as the blood of an ensouled vampire, its evil miasma had infected the students attending Sunnydale High.  Mayhem had ensued – riots, exploding teens and the occasional beheading had been the order of the day.

 

Until, that is, Buffy and her friends shut it down.  Just like every other time the damned Hellmouth had tried to swallow her town whole, Buffy marshaled her troops, dug into research mode and found the answer that solved the problem.

 

That the answer was a bit out of the ordinary was actually rather ordinary, though unexpected.  Innocent blood had cracked the locks binding the Seal and guilty tears snapped them shut again. 

 

And I’d make Andrew cry for a thousand years, if it meant defeating the First as easily.

 

Defeating the First.  There was the soul-scorching problem – the claw that scratched Buffy’s dreams raw and stole away her sleep on wings of nightmare.  How did one vanquish the collected evil of all mankind – a creature that has fed upon the dark deeds and sins of every human since the dawn of time?

 

Better yet, how did one go about destroying something that monstrous without a casualty list a mile long?  Buffy had been around the Armageddon block enough times to know that there would be casualties.  People would die – possibly even someone she loved – and there was nothing – not one thing – she could do to prevent it.  Everyone in the Summers house knew this, and yet, they still clung to her, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to save a world that would never know of their bravery.

 

That was as it should be.  However, the slayer still couldn’t help wishing she had a magic pill, or an ancient prophecy to help cover the bases on this one, because she was staring down the barrel of a loaded cannon and armor plating had yet to be invented.

 

Slipping free of her covers, Buffy silently padded out of the bedroom.  There would be no further rest for her on this night, and her time could be well spent patrolling.  The First wasn’t the only evil stalking the streets of Sunnydale – just the worst.  Demons, vampires and the occasional odd cultist continued to find their way to the city on the Hellmouth and Buffy knew it was her duty to see that they never left.

 

With a stake tucked in her waistband and a long dagger hidden up the sleeve of her coat, Buffy stepped out into the bracing cold of the early March evening.  It had rained earlier, and the roads were covered with a light layer of water, causing an endless stream of eerie reflections.  Already frazzled nerves were frayed to bits as the slayer strode along the sidewalk, keeping her gaze roving from shadow to shadow.

 

Strangely, the city was quiet.  Few residents left their homes after dark anymore, and even fewer tourists arrived before the break of dawn.  Only the very desperate darted from house to car and from car to destination, leaving Buffy a virtually encounter-free stroll to the local cemetery.

 

“Three vamps and a mugger – kind of slow tonight,” she remarked casually as she jumped over the fence and landed on the soft earth of a newly turned grave.

 

“Huh.  Well, maybe I can help with that,” a too familiar voice mocked bitingly.

 

Buffy turned just in time to see her one-time nemesis, the dark slayer known as Faith, step around the back side of a crypt, casually flipping a stake from hand to hand.

 

“Hey, B.”  Tossing back her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair, Faith suddenly grinned impishly.  “Aw, what’s the matter, Buffy?  Aren’tcha happy to see me?  And here I was, hoping for a kiss.”

 

“You were supposed to come with Willow,” Buffy said without preamble as she strode over to the other slayer. 

 

Rolling her shoulders in an easy shrug, Faith holstered the stake into a special loop on her belt.  “Didn’t feel like letting LA’s finest haul me back to the hen pen, and Will wanted to chill awhile with the Fredmeister.  Something about books and Latin and bell ringing practice.”  She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.  “Anyway, I didn’t feel the need to hang, so, I caught the last train to Sunnydale.”

 

The two slayers traded even gazes for a heartbeat.

 

Then, Faith slowly reached a hand out to Buffy.  “I don’t... I don’t expect you to like me, or want me here, but, I heard about the shit here, so...” she trailed off lamely, letting her hand drop away.  They continued to stare at each other.  Nervously, Faith shoved her hands into her pockets while Buffy stood perfectly still, peering at the other woman as if by gaze alone, she could reveal the truth of the dark slayer’s soul.

 

“You’re right.  I don’t like you, and I don’t want you here.  You are here, though, and that means something.  So.  We’ll work together.”  The blonde tipped her head up defiantly as she moved into the taller slayer’s personal space.  “If you fuck up, I will gut you,” she hissed softly.

 

The words were barely above a whisper, yet Faith felt them burn deep into her brain.  I will gut you.  It echoed around, bouncing off the walls that the dark slayer had built around the tattered shards of her sanity.  Cold chills raced over her body and she took a deep breath.  Nodding slowly, she said, “No fucking up.  Right.  Gotcha.”  She held the blonde’s gaze for a moment, then looked down and studied the ground pointedly, shuffling her feet nervously.

 

“What?” Buffy asked sharply.

 

“Couple of things – simple stuff, and not so simple.  I heard about your mom-“

 

“Shut up.”

 

Faith looked stricken. 

 

“I mean it.  I don’t want your platitudes or your pity.  Anything else?”

 

“Arf, arf, B.  You’ve turned into a real effing bitch.”  Faith spun away and began to walk toward the center of the cemetery.   

 

“Yeah?  Well, if you had to share your bathroom with enough people to start your own baseball team, you might be a little grumpy yourself,” Buffy retorted as she hurriedly followed the dark slayer.

 

Faith turned her head just enough to toss a wicked grin back at the shorter blonde slayer.  “Nuh-uh, babe.  I’m fresh in from the invade your space that is the Stockton Women’s Correctional Facility, B.  Don’t cry to me about bathroom privileges.  At least your girls aren’t shanking each other over tampons.”

 

“Ew.  Overshare.  What else did you want – look out!”  Buffy jumped up, flipped over the head of an attacking vampire and staked it in several easy, controlled moves.

 

Though her fighting skills were rusty, Faith quickly followed Buffy’s lead, dusting a vamp that had cornered her against a mausoleum. 

 

“Not bad,” Buffy remarked as they brushed off each other’s clothes.

 

Faith smiled wryly and she got a far away look in her eyes.  “Not good, either.  My game’s a little off.  I’ve been keeping a pretty low profile these last few years.  I like my food whiz free.”

 

“Whiz free?” Buffy mouthed the words exaggeratedly and her eyebrows twisted comically.

 

“Yeah.  If you piss the guards off, they stick you in solitary... which means they bring you your food.  Sometimes, they add extra sauce, to spice it up.”  By tone and gestures, Faith left no doubt in Buffy’s mind about what she was referring to, and that she had been privileged to sample some of this “extra spicy” food.

 

“Sounds... pretty icky, actually,” Buffy admitted.  “Anyway, what else did you want to tell me earlier?”

 

“Oh, that.  Well, I understand that there’s some real shit going down up here.  I mean, not that the bitch with the wicked blade and the bad attitude didn’t give me a hint... but Wesley filled in the rest.”  Faith fidgeted with the zipper on her jacket.  “Anyway... given our last love fest, I decided that I should just come on up and help – even if you didn’t want it.”  When Buffy didn’t immediately respond, she stubbornly added, “I don’t want to die any more than you do.”  Thrusting her chin out defiantly, she dared the other slayer to deny her.

 

Buffy only nodded.  “I won’t stop you from helping, Faith.  Truth is, I can use all the bodies that I can get.”  She shrugged.  “It’s not just my life, or your life, or any one life that we’re fighting for – it’s the entire Slayer line.  Your presence means that one of those girls back at home just might live another day.”  The blonde’s expression was bleak, and her voice held no trace of jest. 

 

Hitching herself up onto a convenient headstone, Faith withdrew a pack of cigarettes from her coat, lit one and took a long drag.  Rings of pearly gray smoke wreathed around her head for a moment, clouding her face.  Finally, she said, “I had dreams, you know?  Inside.”

 

Buffy crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.  “Don’t we all?”  Her tone was rather blasé.  “I’ve dreamt of the brutal massacre of everyone I’ve ever loved.  You?”

 

Faith took another, long drag and then flicked ash onto the grass.  “A woman.  A beautiful, disgustingly good woman.  Too pretty, too sweet and almost too unreal to believe.  But for one, tiny, fucking thing.”  She finished the cigarette, stubbed it out on the headstone and pocketed the butt.  “She fucking existed.”

 

Buffy looked skeptical.  “Right.  All this is ever so enlightening oh wise stinky one.”

 

Grinning wickedly, Faith chuckled softly.  “Of course, my child.  Let Madame Faith continue then.  See, in prison, I didn’t know the dreams were real – that She was real.  It wasn’t until Bertha the Bad Ass tried to shank me that I tagged to the fact that they were like, Slayer related and not, like, some bizzaro guilt trip thing.”

 

“Uh huh.  And?”  Buffy stared at her nails with great interest, pretending to pick at the nonexistent polish.  Gotta fix that.  Maybe later, when the girls are practicing.  Nothing says, “I’m a bad-ass bitch” like a coat of fuck-me red polish.

 

Faith just shook her head in sad amazement.  “You’re a real piece of work, B.  Time was, I’d be the uber bitch.  But now, I’m just Polly-fucking-anna and you’re the Queen of Mean.”  The dark haired woman lit another cigarette, sucking on it for several minutes before speaking again.  “When I got to Angel’s little party house – nice place, by the way, if you ignore the busted ceilings, rotting floors and peeling paint.  I won’t even mention the boggles in the basement.”  Faith grinned as Buffy began to fidget impatiently.  “Anyway, I was sort of digging around in Cordelia’s desk, looking for a pen, and I found this.”

 

The dark slayer pulled a somewhat creased and battered photograph from her pocket.  Diffidently, she held it out for Buffy to examine.  Though mangled, it was still intact enough for the blonde to clearly make out two people.  Laying on a couch at the Bronze, with her head pillowed on Willow’s lap, was Tara.  The blonde witch’s eyes were closed, and she was smiling sweetly as Willow talked animatedly to Buffy and Xander.

 

Moisture burned in Buffy’s eyes as she remembered that day.  It was the blonde witch’s birthday, and the gang had conspired to make that day as unforgettable as they could, starting with a trip to Disneyland and ending with a midnight dance at the Bronze.  Buffy smiled sadly, fingering the worn edge of the picture.  The only reason the image existed at all was because of Dawn.  Her little sister had taken it into her head to play photojournalist for the day – there was probably still rolls of undeveloped film lying at the bottom of the teen’s closet.

 

I wish you were here, Tara.  We need your level head so much these days.  “Yeah, so?  What does this have to do with your wet dreams?”

 

“It’s her – Tara.  She was the one who made my nights frustratingly interesting.  That kooky chick Fred told me a little bit about her.  At first I thought she was just pulling my leg, but then I remembered her from before, and, the Bronze, and...”  Let’s just hope B doesn’t know how badly I treated Tara.  I’m just lucky she forgave me.  I think.

 

“Oh.  Right.  The Bronze.  The skanky Buffy act, right.  I think Tara said she felt like she’d been hit on by a trucker at an all night fuck ‘n chuck,” said Buffy casually.

 

Faith winced comically.  “Ouch.  I’m so hurt, B.  I feel it... right... here,” the slayer pointed at her bottom.

 

“Darkness is burning, Faith.  Spill it or shove it – either way, we’ve got to get moving.  The bad guys aren’t going to wait for you to finish telling me about your deepest, darkest desires.”

 

“Do I get a nice leather couch to lie on?” Faith retorted cheekily.  Darkest desires?  If I gave lip service to even one tenth of what I wanted, B... Well, let’s just say that the bad guys could win the battle and the war.  Shifting her smirk to a smile, she held up both hands to forestall Buffy’s angry snarl.  “All right, all right.  Keep your pants on, B.  I’m spilling already.  And just to show you what a sport I am, I’ll even make it quick.  Cute stuff there came and made my nights a little less lonely and boring – by showing me a way to kick the First’s ass.”

 

~*~*~

 

The room was stiflingly hot.  All sound had long since ceased, buzzing away until it was a bee on the edge of her thoughts, tickling her with an occasional sting of its presence.  Sunlight spilled its golden rays through the closed window and onto the spot.  The spot, the very point on earth where Tara had breathed her last. 

 

Willow stood in the bedroom, staring down at the floor.  If she looked hard enough, her memory easily filled in the missing bloodstain that had spread quickly over the floor, sinking into the thick pile of the carpet.  Even now, she could almost make out tiny, crimson flecks that no amount of cleaning would ever remove.

 

Though the window had been replaced, and the room rearranged, that place, that spot, was still there.  At alternating times, it had been a place of refuge, and a point of pain.  Now, it was only a section of a room that was no longer theirs - reminder that time had come and changed the nature of life again.

 

Sniffling slightly, Willow rubbed at her dry, scratchy eyes.  Her throat ached and her chest burned from the tears shed upon hearing of Faith’s dreams, and of how the other slayer’s nights had been filled with the vision and voice of the one person Willow would give her every breath to see and hear once again – if only in dreams.

 

Yet she had sat, and listened to the story, and tried not to let her heart fragment too much.  When Buffy had finished, she had nodded once and said, “I need to think,” and fled the room.

 

That was four hours ago.  The time had raced away, carried off by the tide of tears that had threatened to choke her.  Kennedy had come and gone, unable to penetrate the wall of grief that surrounded the red haired witch.

 

Suddenly unable to stand, Willow sank to her knees and placed her hands on the carpet, trying to feel any shred of her lost love’s essence that might yet linger in the fibers.

 

“Why?  Why didn’t you come to me?” she whispered harshly, digging her fingers deeply into the rug.

 

“Because she couldn’t,” Faith answered quietly as she entered the room.  Flopping down onto the floor, the slayer stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles and leaned back on her hands.  Casually, she shook her hair out of her eyes and cocked her head sideways.  “Besides, after the First started walking the world, putting on airs and dead people, would you have believed it was really her?”

 

Stifling a sob, Willow softly said, “Yes, probably.  Maybe.  I don’t know.  The First is...” she hiccupped. “Very adept at the manipulation of emotion thing,” she finished and added, “It’s probably a good thing that she came to you, Faith.”  Tears trickled down the witch’s face and she covered her eyes.  “Oh Tara,” she whispered brokenly.  I’m so sorry.

 

Clumsily, Faith reached out and patted the witch on the shoulder.  “Uh, look, um, Will... I know I’ve... I hurt you, before, and I... I need to say that I’m sorry.  I am.  Sorry.  And...” she bit her lip.  “Aw fuck it, I just can’t do the nice girl thing.  Blunt is way more my style.  Tara told me to tell you that she’s okay.  That she’s happy and that she’s not mad.  That she’s cool with the on moving, and stuff, okay?”

 

Willow looked up, meeting Faith’s gaze.  Seeing only compassion, and a lingering sadness, she nodded.  “Thank you,” she whispered, and wiped her face on her sleeve. 

 

“No worries, Witchy-woman.”  Bashful now, Faith jumped up and started to leave. 

 

“Faith?”  Willow’s voice halted the slayer at the doorway.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I don’t hate you.  Not anymore.  I haven’t for a long time.”  She stood and went to the stunned slayer.  “I don’t think I ever did, really.  I’ve only ever truly hated one person.”  She could tell Faith was struggling not to speak.  “If you’re thinking about Warren – you’re right.  I hated him.  I will always hate him.”  Pure anguish caused the witch’s body to shudder violently.  “But I forgave him.  I had to, to let her go.  So...”

 

“My potty-mouthed attempt to make you nonexistent doesn’t even measure up, does it?” Faith interjected semi-seriously.

 

“Since you’re so fond of blunt?  No, it doesn’t.”

 

“Well, at least I rate somewhere,” the slayer joked weakly.  She caught sight of Kennedy, Willow’s new squeeze, hiding just beyond the top of the stairwell and winked at her.  “I gotta go whip some Potential butt into shape.  You should you know, take a break, get some rest, meditate, kiss your woman – whatever it is you need to do to get ready for the big party.”

 

“Have fun – I’d suggest not calling any of them maggots though,” Willow advised solemnly.

 

“Ixnay on the aggotmay.  Gotcha.”  Faith saluted smartly and then strutted off down the hall.

 

Willow chuckled, turned and went into the room she shared with Kennedy and six of the other girls.  The bed was made, and the extra blankets and sleeping bags were stowed neatly against the wall, but no matter how she looked at it, the room just didn’t feel right to her.  Nothing in the Summers house did. 

 

She sighed and plumped a pillow, and then sat down on the bed.  Someday, maybe, if she lived, she would move.  Find a place of her own, a place that was  not tainted by so much grief.  This house, as familiar as it was, reeked of pain, and sorrow, and suffering.  More and more, Willow found it difficult to come back, once she had left.  It would be so easy to just, get up and leave.

 

“Yeah, but where would you go?” she asked herself quietly.

 

“Anywhere, as long I can follow,” came Kennedy’s soft reply as she walked into the room and sat on the bed next to Willow.  “You know that, right?  That I want to go with you, when this is all over?  I’m not leaving you – not ever.”  She said it with such ferocity, that Willow had to smile.

 

Reaching out, Willow began to trace random patterns on Kennedy’s denim-covered knee.  “I know.”

 

Kennedy caught Willow’s hand and brought it up to her lips, kissing the palm briefly before laying her cheek against it.  “I... Willow...”

 

Quicker than the other woman thought possible, the witch stopped her words with a kiss.  “No.  Don’t say anything, Kennedy.  Don’t make any promises.  Not now - not yet.  Please?”  She reinforced her pleas with her touch, twining her fingers in the other woman’s chestnut hair while she kissed her with gentle passion.

 

Savoring the sweet kisses, Kennedy murmured her assent.  Slowly, she began to caress Willow’s face, neck and ear, smiling when the witch moaned softly. 

 

“All right.  No promises.  However,” Kennedy drawled the word as she stood up and closed the door, locking it tightly.  “I think it’s time you and me had a little discussion – the kind that usually involves some nakedness, a few candles and a serious lack of other people in the room.”

 

Willow jumped off the bed as if stung.  “Kennedy...I um... I don’t...”  Nervously, she began to sidle toward the door.

 

Intercepting her, Kennedy slipped her arms around the witch, nuzzled her forehead and chuckled.  “Hey, kidding.  You know how I am – all pushy and demanding on the outside and a total pushover in the bedroom.  You set the pace – I’m here for the long haul.”  There was nothing but gentle teasing in the potential slayer’s tone.

 

A shy smile fluttered across Willow’s lips and she wrapped her arms around her girlfriend.  Laying her head on the shorter woman’s shoulder, she sighed.  “Thanks.  I know I’m being silly but-“

 

“But silly nothing.  You still miss her,” said Kennedy softly as she brought her hands up and began gently rubbing Willow’s back.

 

“I do,” Willow admitted softly, then pulled away.  For a long moment, the witch just looked into Kennedy’s dark brown eyes while smiling sadly.  Then, she said, “It’s not that I don’t like you, because I do.  I really like you, in a, ‘she makes my tummy go jumpy and my heart pitter-pat’ kind of way, even.  And, if I weren’t so confused, because I am, I would have locked the door and turned out the lights and played that sexy music white boy on you a long time ago.  But, there’s so much going on right now and I don’t want to do all the right things for the wrong reasons or the wrong ones for the right ones, or whatever, and, am I making any sense?”  The redhead’s words tumbled out plaintively.

 

“Perfect sense,” Kennedy whispered, leaning in to kiss her softly.  “Absolutely perfect.”

 

“Oh good.”  Willow smiled happily.  “You know, we could still, um, talk.  And even you know, cuddle.  ‘Cuz, I’m real big on snugglies and talking and-“  Kennedy cut her off with another kiss.  “That too,” Willow interjected as her girlfriend pulled her back toward the bed.

 

Together, they toppled onto the mattress.  Both women giggled when the bedding sort of mussed out around them.  The giggling soon ceased, however, when Kennedy snuggled up to Willow and started kissing her again.  Willow turned onto her side, entwined her legs with Kennedy’s and lost herself in the sweetness of her girlfriend’s touch.

 

~*~*~

 

“Spot on, ladies.  Now, kick his ass!” Faith ordered, watching as her Potentials moved as one, attacking row upon row of straw dummies.

 

“I wonder if Coach Robertson could use an assistant?” Robin Wood, the handsome black principal of Sunnydale High, muttered to himself as he watched Faith drill several dozen girls with an ease that seemed supernatural.

 

Sensing his gaze, Faith turned and gave him a saucy wink before turning back to yell orders and corrections.

 

“Hmm.  Yes, she is so very good at ordering little girls around, isn’t she?  Must have something to do with her years ‘in the joint’,” Buffy said archly, not at all liking the way that the man’s eyes seemed to be glued to Faith’s ass.  Why the hell do I care? she wondered shortly, as she followed his gaze to the body part in question.  Lingering momentarily, she mused, Well, it is a nice ass.  I suppose that makes it stare-worthy.  Still...  Buffy sighed and listened as her dark haired counterpart cajoled, cursed and otherwise encouraged the girls through their paces.  It makes me want to slap that little self-contented smirk off his face, she thought, trying to keep a surly frown from creasing her face.  I feel like he’s poaching in someone else’s territory, I just don’t know whose it is.

 

Forcing himself to pay attention to Buffy, Robin tore his gaze away from Faith’s lessons and looked at the slayer standing beside him.  “So, you have a plan?”

 

“We do.”  Steepling her fingers, she turned to glance up at the principal.  “But I’m not going to say anything yet.  It’s not time.”  Slowly, she dropped her hands down until they were almost touching his arms.  “I just need to know that you’re with us – that you’ll help, no matter what.”

 

A muscle twitched in the taller man’s face as he looked down at Buffy.    Whistling softly, he finally said, “That’s a tall order, Buffy.  I usually like to know what I’m doing to risk my life.”

 

“Oh, you’ll know...just... not until it’s too late to back out.”  Buffy’s gaze slipped away from Robin’s and back out to the backyard where the girls where drilling.  Faith had issued each girl a foam stake and was having them practice stake and run maneuvers on each other.

 

“That’s it - block, stake, and run.”  There was some general grumbling, which only made Faith grin.  “Hey, be glad you don’t have to do this with two feet of chain between your legs!”  The dark slayer seemed to be gleefully in her element, and strangely Buffy felt pretty comfortable looking over a house full of girls.  Oh, not that she wouldn’t mind a larger house, mind you.  But, barring that, it was sort of okay to be looked up to and more than okay to be able to pass on some of her hard-won lessons to people who were sometimes interested in learning them.

 

“You like this,” Wood commented slyly.

 

“What?  Watching nubile girls do backflips?”  Buffy quipped, and then shot the principal a sly glance.  “I thought that was your bag,” she said disingenuously.

 

Robin only laughed.  “Don’t go there, Counselor Summers.”

 

“You asked.  To be honest, though?  Yes.  I do like it.  I never thought of myself – or Faith, for that matter – as a teacher.  But this is nice.  I talk - they listen.  They learn, and maybe, just maybe, they don’t get dead.”  A tiny frown creased Buffy’s brow.  “I may be big on the dark and gloomy thing, but that doesn’t mean I want that to happen.  I can do sweetness and light, and happy endings, too.  It’s just that... happy endings seem to have a way of avoiding me.”

 

Out in the yard, Faith turned just in time to see the blonde slayer frown.  For just one brief instant, she wanted to race over and see what was wrong, but she pushed that thought aside.  B wouldn’t tell me that my ass was on fire, much less anything to do with herself.  Let it be.  She’ll deal. 

 

Buffy felt Faith’s gaze and for a second, she thought maybe the other slayer would approach her, but it passed.

 

Weird.  Is she checking me out?  Do I want her to check me out?  I’m supposed to hate her fucking guts, right?  Oh, I’m so confused...

 

Two gazes met, locked and held for the briefest instant.  Both women started to take steps toward the other, then stopped and turned away.

 

~*~*~

 

Soft giggles filtered up from the basement as Anya passed by the entryway.  She considered investigating, but then continued on her way.  It wasn’t like she was interested in the ramblings of a couple of hormonal teenagers.  More than likely, it was Dawn and Amanda, comparing notes about the boys at school.  Boys that neither girl had seen for almost two weeks.  Which meant that any free time was spent gossiping about who was kissing whom and who was cuter than whom and...  Anya shook her head and scurried past the door.

 

Instead, the former demon-turned-Potential-care assistant was far more interested in locating Giles, who had recently mentioned something about helping out with the finances.  Feeding an army of Potentials, plus one hostage and several live-in guests was taking its toll on everyone’s budget, and even a former vengeance demon’s legendary skills at money management were stressed to their penny pinching limits.

 

Finally, she located the Watcher in the living room, where he was trying without much success to hold a crash course in English.  Several of the Potentials had come from countries where the basic grasp of English was, “Where’s the Bathroom” or “How much for woman” and Giles had taken it upon himself to expand their education.

 

“Chao Ahn,” the older man nodded at the Chinese Potential and she stood up.

 

“Hel-lo.  I am chevy placed to makee you can’t dance.”  The girl finished and then looked expectantly at Giles.

 

“Right then.  Excellent.  Next?” he nodded to another girl, who stood while Chao Ahn sat.

 

“Hard-oh.  I em chewy please muck yukon dense.”

 

Anya tried.  She really did.   In fact, she could taste the faint trace of blood in her mouth from biting her tongue.  However, the laughter was stronger than her willpower.  The sounds of the former demon’s mirth scared the girls into silence, caused Giles to sigh heavily and roll his eyes heavenward.

 

“All right, ladies.  That’ll be all for today.  Why don’t you go outside and practice?”  He made exaggerated shooing motions until the girls got the gist of his orders and left.  Once they were gone, he turned to Anya, a look of pure disapproval on his face.  “Anya, when I’m giving lessons I expect not to be interrupted.”

 

“Oh please, Giles.  That wasn’t lessons, that was stand up night in the Summers living room.  Besides, there are more important things, such as money, to talk about.”  Anya began pacing the room agitatedly.  “You said you were going to get some - money that is.  Well, I hope you did, because as of right now –“ the rattle of an empty cereal box echoed from the kitchen.  “We’re flat broke and out of food.”

 

Giles sighed.  “Right.  Well, yes.  I have access to the Council’s discretionary funds.”  He put on a brave face and said, “So.  Let’s go shopping, shall we?”

 

Anya brightened immediately.  “Well you don’t have to act like it’s a death sentence.  Really.  You will have much glorious fun parting with your cash, for I shall find bargains and deals!”  The former demon continued to chatter animatedly as she found her coat and then grabbed Giles by the arm, dragging him from the house.

 

~*~*~

 

“Are you sure this is okay?  Because I think Faith just might kill me and chain me to the wall if she finds me down here.”  Amanda blushed, looked at Dawn, who was busily changing from her weapons practice clothes into something a little less sweaty, and blushed again.

 

“What?  Oh, sure.  I mean, didn’t we like, smack those dummies around until they were like, ground pounded?  Besides, I’m like, really hot.  And tired.  And not a Potential.  And we have homework – Principal Wood brought it, so we wouldn’t like, fail.”  Did that come out right?  Did I make any sense at all?  Is my nose purple, because if she stares at it any longer, I swear I’m gonna have to look in the mirror.  Dawn shimmied into a pair of loose, comfortable sweats then sank to a lotus position on the floor next to Amanda.  “Besides, Faith only kills people on the third Tuesday of every eighth year, or something like that.”  Dawn said, trying to inject a bit of levity into her voice.

 

Nodding sagely, Amanda drew out their books and papers and set them where they could be easily reached.  For several minutes, she attacked heir homework, rushing through the easy stuff and then slowing when she came to new areas of study.  Every so often, she would glance up at Dawn, who took her time in setting out each subject’s work and proceeding through the work in a methodical, almost ritualistic fashion.  Amanda watched her for a while, a curious expression on her face.

 

“You do that like you’re trying to remember how to study, or something,” she blurted suddenly, and then looked away, flushing hotly.

 

“Well, I am, sort of,” Dawn said quietly as she opened her book and took out pen and paper.  “You don’t know much about me, do you Amanda?”

 

“Uh, well, I know you have a sister who kills mythological creatures with ugly faces.  And I know you like rainbow twist ice cream, and the color green – though you almost never wear it – and you have a secret collection of Garfield books that you read whenever Buffy gets hurt and...” Amanda babbled on until Dawn interrupted her.

 

“Did you know that I wasn’t always human?”

 

“And you like ‘Nsync, but only on Wednesdays and... what?” Amanda’s words came skittering to a halt and she shied away from the other girl, looking at her like she’d just grown another head.  Which, in Sunnydale, was very possible, but hadn’t really happened to Dawn.  Yet.  “Not human?  As in, once a twinkle in your mother’s eye?”

 

Dawn smiled shyly and then shrugged.  “No.  As in, I used to be this funky ball of energy.  Then there were monks.  And chanting.  I can’t forget the chanting.  For some reason, magick always requires chanting.  Anyway, there was chanting.  And then, I was me.  Dawn.  With memories, and a sister, and a mother-“ here, Dawn’s voice broke, and her eyes grew moist.  “And I was this key thing.  Only, now, I’m not so much key as kid.” 

 

Amanda’s eyes nearly crossed as she tried to assimilate the information.  “So... are you human now?”

 

“I think so.  I mean, I do all the human things, like feel pain, and laugh and cry... and make friends and have crushes.”  A goofy smile shaped Dawn’s lips.  “I especially have crushes.  Can’t seem to go a week without one.”

 

“Me neither,” Amanda blurted, then nervously laughed.

 

“So, what have you got for number six?” Dawn asked calmly, as if she hadn’t just turned her friend’s world view around.

 

“Um, sixteen.  You?”

 

“Fourteen.  Uh-oh.  You’re better at math than I am.  I’d better go back and check myself.”  Dawn started to chew on the end of her pen while she recalculated the equation.

 

Several minutes of silence ticked by while the girls did their homework.  Finally, Amanda put her pencil down and yawned. 

 

“Dawn?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks.  For telling me.  I guess... well, I always knew there was something cool about you.  I thought maybe it was your fabulous sense of style, or maybe the fact that you could kick Brad Carpenter’s ass, but this is better.  So, anyway... thanks.”  Amanda tugged at a lock of her hair nervously while Dawn just stared at her.

 

A warm, affectionate smile brightened Dawn’s face.  “You think I have style?  Really?”

 

“Oh yeah!  I mean, the way you’re always so, you know, coordinated.  It’s very cool.”

 

~*~*~

 

“How could your mother buy a house with only one bathroom, Buffy?  This is like, criminal!” Faith complained as she stood in line with the sweaty, tired Potentials.

 

“It’s possible that she did not foresee us having to live dormitory style,” Buffy commented wryly as she passed towels out to the waiting girls.

 

“Oh bloody hell!”  Spike’s voice filtered upstairs, followed by a stream of curses that shaded from mild to truly hair raising.

 

“I see Spike’s figured out that I smoked his lucky,” Faith drawled, grinning mischievously.  “He shouldn’t tease me like that.”

 

Earlier, the dark haired slayer had run out of smokes, a situation that no one but Spike was particularly sympathetic to.  But instead of sharing, the bleach blonde vampire had delighted in taunting Faith mercilessly.  He called it payback for something she had done in another life and she had seemed to take it well. 

 

“You don’t play fair,” Buffy commented as she handed over the last of the towels.  “He’s going to harp on that damn cigarette for days now, you know.”

 

Faith shrugged and ran a weary hand through her sweat-soaked hair.  “Yeah, I know.  But hey, I needed a smoke.  Now I’ll get ‘em, cuz he needs ‘em too.”

 

Just then, Spike stormed up the stairs, shoving Potentials out of his way until he reached Faith.  Nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily, he growled, “That was not a nice thing to do to a bloke.”

 

Faith smirked and cocked her hips aggressively.  “Yeah?  You gonna do something about it, Soul-boy junior?  Or are you gonna stand there, snorting like an asthmatic horse?”

 

Spike’s face turned a brilliant scarlet.  Several of the Potentials tittered nervously and Buffy outright laughed. 

 

“She’s got you there, Spike.  Put up or shut up,” the blonde slayer said, wriggling her eyebrows comically.

 

The bathroom door opened – two clean Potentials tumbled out and three more raced in to take their places.  Several muffled cries of, “Don’t use up all the hot water!” followed them in, while the newly clean girls stood in the hall, trapped between the irate vampire and the two slayers.

 

“Oh bollocks!  Fine.  You smoked my lucky.  Like I give two shits.”  He shrugged his shoulders, causing his black leather trench coat to flare suddenly.  Glaring around at each of the slayers, potentials, and now Xander, who had just popped his head out of Dawn’s room, he sighed.  “Right then.  Nancy boy there’s just going to have to take me to the store.  Seeing as how it’s still daylight, and there’s this nice, closed van parked outside.  With his company name on it, right.”  The vampire smirked.

 

“Hey, wait a minute.  I’m just the window guy.  You know – the one who makes sure that what the Bringers break, gets fixed?  I’m not a freaking vampire chauffeur.”  Hurriedly, Xander returned to the bedroom, and shortly, the industrious sounds of hammering could be heard.

 

“Fat chance of that,” Spike muttered and stormed into Dawn’s room after Xander.

 

“You think you should follow him and make sure he doesn’t, like, eat Xander?” one of the Potentials asked curiously.

 

Buffy pretended to consider the question, crossing her arms and staring at her sister’s door.  There was a thump, a scream of pain, cursing, and finally, both men exited the room.  Spike was shaking his fist and Xander cracking his jaw.  Both had rapidly purpling eyes.

 

“No.  I think they got it handled just fine, right boys?” Buffy asked archly.

 

Both Spike and Xander had the grace to look abashed, and both bowed their heads and shuffled their feet, murmuring, “Yes,” while Buffy raised one eyebrow until they made their way downstairs.

 

Faith began clapping, and soon, a couple of the Potentials joined her.  “Bravo, B.  You’ve got Mother Hen down to a square T,” the dark haired slayer said, chuckling merrily.

 

Rolling her eyes, Buffy stuck her tongue out at Faith and then headed down to the kitchen.

 

Don’t make promises your body can’t keep, Buffy, Faith thought sadly as she surreptitiously eyed the departing slayer’s shapely assets.  Because I would hold you to every one of ‘em.  A wickedly sexy grin appeared on the dark slayer’s face, causing the girl in front of her to back up several steps until she ran into the girl ahead of her.  Sigh.  Be good, Faith.  You’re scaring the children.

 

~*~*~

 

“You know I don’t like you, right?” Xander casually asked as he held the van door open for Spike.

 

“Bugger off, puffball.  I could care less if you pissed in three colors and called it talent,” the vampire growled.

 

“I could just shut this door and leave you out here, you know,” Xander observed laconically.

 

“Oh right.  Please, forgive me, oh great Xander.  You are the virile manly man stud boy of every woman’s dream.  Is that better?  Good.  Can we please go to the store now?  I’m about ready to choke something for a smoke.”  Settling himself on a pile of coiled ropes and cable, Spike began to fidget restlessly.

 

Xander closed the door and stood there, pondering whether or not to leave the nicotine deprived vampire to steam inside the van.  On the one hand, it would be amusing to listen to Spike curse and fume impotently – on the other, once the sun set, the vampire would probably come and make mincemeat of him.  Xander paled slightly.  Now that Spike’s chip – a neurological implant that had basically defanged the highly irritable vampire – was gone, Xander tended to step a bit more lightly around him.

 

Sure, Spike had a soul, but unlike Angel, whose soul-possession was contingent upon a curse of gypsy origin, Spike was free to do as he pleased.  Only the massive guilt of his past actions, coupled with the love he claimed that he felt for Buffy, kept him tame. 

 

“Are we going to do this, or are you going to stand out there and play with yourself?” Spike called out irritably.

 

“Coming, coming.  Sheesh.  Patience, much?  You’d think you’d be grateful, or something,” Xander muttered as he scurried around to the driver’s door, opened it and tossed in his construction hat.

 

“Hey!  Watch where you’re aiming that thing!  Could put a bloke’s nose off!” Spike yelped.

 

“Right.  At your service, Master Vampire,” Xander bowed mockingly, drawing the words out ridiculously.  “Shall I confer thee to the nearest repository of tobacconary delights, now, Master?” he added, in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

 

Spike rolled his eyes, flashed two fingers and grumbled, “Oh yes, please.  I would be ever so grateful.”

 

“You guys fight too much.”  Andrew suddenly appeared in the passenger seat.  “So, where are we going?  Are we on a mission?” The former member of the “Evil Trio” narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “Are we going to case the First’s hideout, because, I’m good at the silent snooping stuff.”  At Xander’s fixed stare, he shrunk into his seat.  “Well, maybe not good, but, I’m willing to, you know, give it a go, because, redemption, being a good guy, and well...”

 

“Why are you following us?” Spike interrupted the young man’s diatribe.

 

“Because... Giles is gone, and I don’t want to be stuck in a house full of girls.”

 

Both Spike and Xander looked at Andrew askance. 

 

“Well... I don’t,” he muttered uncomfortably, trying to become one with the upholstery.  The two older men sighed, shrugged and proceeded to ignore him.

 

~*~*~ 

 

The shrill creak of screen door hinges pierced the night.  Buffy winced and slipped outside, padding silently into the backyard.  Her destination was a concrete bench, and possible conversation with her dark counterpart.

 

She was there already.  Quietly, Buffy settled onto the bench next to Faith.  The dark haired slayer shot her a glance, but said nothing, only taking a drag off her smoke in greeting. 

 

This was becoming a regular event – have one hell of a nasty nightmare, wake up in a cold sweat, and join Faith outside on the bench for an hour or so of “light” discussion.  The two women had spent hours talking about everything from their first loves to prison yard knifings – anything so long as it didn’t involve an apocalypse.  Tonight was probably the tenth such night that she had made her way outside, and if she were to be honest with herself, Buffy would admit that she had almost looked forward to having demons in her dreams.

 

Buffy shivered.  Even clad in flannel pajamas, wearing fuzzy bunny slippers and wrapped in her mother’s favorite quilt, she was freezing.  Conversely, Faith was dressed only in the briefest pair of shorts, a tank top and her ever-present leather jacket.  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Faith if she carried a portable heater in the coat’s voluminous pockets, but she refrained, preferring to listen to the sounds of false dawn.

 

Spring was raging in Sunnydale.  Between bouts of thunderstorms, birds, flowers and other assorted living things were spawning like Graknar demons – quickly and in humongous numbers.  The human birthrate had skyrocketed, forcing Giles to speculate that the First was trying to create a feeding ground for his army of Turok-han.

 

Which was great for the First, not so wonderful for the overfull hospitals, overgrown gardens and hawk-chalked vehicles.

 

Buffy groaned softly as the birds realized it was time to herald the dawn.  “God, I wish they’d just give it a rest,” she mumbled, glaring in the direction of a particularly enthusiastic male.

 

Faith chuckled, stubbed out her smoke and turned to face her blonde counterpart.  “I dunno... it’s kind of nice.  I mean, the only birds that came near the prison were seagulls and those are just rats with wings.”

 

“I thought that was what bats were?” Buffy said, disagreeing just for the hell of it.

 

“Seagulls are worse.  They’ll eat anything, so long as it slows down enough for them to catch it.”  Faith’s tone clearly stated her disgust.  “And they’re not very particular about where they shit.  Being in the yard when they were around made dodge-ball look easy.”

 

Buffy wrinkled her nose, but couldn’t stop a grin from forming.  “Ever get hit?” she asked, trying to pull the blanket around her a little tighter.  It was really cold, and her nose was starting to feel numb.

 

Giving her a long, pointed look, Faith said, “I’m a slayer,” and left it at that.

 

Three houses down, her neighbor, Mr. Evans exited his house and started his car, signaling the beginning of the work day.  Following him would be Edna Willis, who lived across the street and four houses over, and then next door, until one by one, everyone in the neighborhood had begun their day.

 

Buffy shivered again and considered going inside to start breakfast.

 

“Cold?” Faith asked softly.

 

“A little,” Buffy admitted.  Then she shook her head disbelievingly.  “But you never seem to feel it.”

 

“Oh, I feel it, B.  But I don’t mind.  It feels good.  Real.  I haven’t had a whole lot of reality lately.  At least, not the kind of reality that is smog and exhaust and cold and,” she took a deep breath, “smells like burnt coffee.”  She lit a cigarette, watched the match burn almost to her fingertips, and then flung it out away from her as far as she could.  The tiny flame streaked across the yard, landed in wet grass, extinguished immediately upon contact.  Softly, she said, “I’m sorry, B.  For everything I didn’t do to be everything I was supposed to be.  I’m sorry you hate me.  Or hated me, or whatever.”  She reached up and pushed her hair out of her face, tucking an unruly lock behind her ear.  “There ain’t nothing more I can say, or do to tell you that, so... there it is.  My cards on your table.  Play ‘em, stay ‘em, whatever, it’s five by five.” 

 

Buffy opened her mouth, closed it, and stared at Faith, trying to understand what the dark slayer was telling her.  There was such a nakedness about the other woman’s eyes, that Buffy was almost afraid to look into them, but she did.  Unlike the last time she’d allowed herself to peek into Faith’s soul, the other slayer’s mahogany brown eyes were guileless, filled with regret and self-mockery. 

 

It was familiar to Buffy.  That look – that edge of pain floating in the translucency of sight – Angel had it, and now, so did Spike.  It was the mark of guilt’s knife, cutting to the soul and leaving behind a slowly healing laceration of recrimination and self-doubt.

 

She was not entirely free of that particular blade’s keen edge, herself.

 

“It’s the past.  Let it stay there,” Buffy finally said, then fell silent once again.

 

Faith nodded.  The sky lightened slowly, as night grudgingly relinquished its hold on Sunnydale.  She turned, straddling the bench.  “Still cold?” the dark slayer suddenly asked as she stubbed out her second smoke.

 

“Yeah.  I should probably go in – the chicks are gonna be screaming for their wor-er-cereal soon.”

 

Laughing lightly, Faith grinned mischievously and started to cluck softly.

 

“You – are – so – dead!” Buffy choked out between her giggles.

 

“Nah.  I think I’m gonna be here for a while,” Faith said, her laughter giving way to a brilliant smile.  “Hey, slide over.  I’m warm enough for two.” She opened her jacket invitingly.

 

Without thinking, Buffy slid closer, sheltering against the other slayer’s body.  It was warm, and comfortable.  The familiar scents of leather and tobacco blended with a fragrance that was spicy and unique to Faith.  After a few minutes, Buffy decided that she rather liked it and that she could easily grow accustomed to its presence.

 

How odd was that?  She’s getting inside again.  I thought I’d never forgive her, but so much has happened – so many pieces of me have shifted.  I’m not who I was three years ago.  Is it possible that she’s changed, too?

 

~*~*~

 

Time, as the linear manifestation of the cosmic reality that governs the ebb and flow of Earth’s seasonal turnings, passed.  Hours of practice, days of discussion and minutes of heart-pounding, soul-wrenching nightmares had all boiled down to this day.

 

Neither Buffy nor Faith could sleep.  As the days went by, both of the slayers had found their dreams increasingly difficult to ignore and as a result, spent much of their time drinking pots of coffee and sitting outside, wrapped in warm blankets, talking.

 

As will happen, a kinship developed.  At first, it was only the task at hand that bound them, but then, slowly, Buffy learned to forgive Faith and Faith learned to trust Buffy.  It was a strange, wonderful gift – but would it be enough to defeat the First?

 

Today would be the day of reckoning.  A breath of minutes would tell if the slayers’ – dark and light – hours of pouring out their hearts were enough to bury old grievances.

 

Willow was locked away in her bedroom, refusing entrance to even Kennedy.  The witch was performing a complicated ritual – to gather her forces and make her soul ready to wield the power she would attempt to grasp that night, according to Giles.

 

Anya was brushing up on her first aid.  The former demon turned financial advisor felt completely useless, but was unable to come up with one good reason why she shouldn’t try to help.  So instead of sitting around, she gathered bandages, read an American Red Cross manual and generally drove everybody crazy by asking them what blood type they were and if they had any allergies.

 

Xander, Spike, and Principal Wood had worked out a training routine separate from the Potentials’ – where the girls were taught to attack and run, the men practiced killing until it was second nature.  When they went after the First, everyone expected the Bringers to try and stop them.

 

Andrew cooked, cleaned house and, against Buffy’s better judgment, filmed everything.  Including the moments no one else noticed.

 

“Your hair...” Faith panted, leaning against the wall of the house, as Buffy ran in place to cool down.

 

Buffy’s hands went to her head, patting self-consciously.  “It’s pretty fragged, isn’t it?”

 

Biting her lip to keep from grinning, Faith nodded.  “Sorry about that last throw.  Shoulda aimed a little left.”

 

Buffy waved her off.  “It’s nothing.  I mean, a little bit of bush won’t kill me.”

 

Eyes widening, Faith shoved her hand in her mouth and bit down.  After a moment, she choked out, “Yeah, sure, B.  Whatever you say.”  The dark slayer’s voice actually cracked on the last word.

 

Andrew nearly gave himself away at that point, because nervous giggles threatened to completely overwhelm him.  He held on, more out of a desire to keep his skin intact, than to add to his already massive collection of video.  Besides, he just loved a good soap opera, and the vibe between the two slayers was enough to suds up an entire week’s worth of television.

 

“Faith, are you all right?” Buffy asked, all concern.

 

“Oh, I’m good.  Just, you know, having this horrid vision of you, and a thousand tiny clones of our Prez, the lovely and talented,  Georgie-pordgie-puddin’ pie – all armed to the teeth with itty bitty little nukes,” the brunette slayer explained hastily.

 

Buffy nodded sagely.  “Oh, right.  ‘Cuz you wouldn’t be sewer bound after my little bush comment, would you?”  One blonde eyebrow rose archly.

 

“Oh no, never.  Not me.  I’m so innocent and pure, ya know, like the driven snow and all that good stuff.”  Faith picked up a towel and began to wipe down her face and neck.  With her eyes covered, she totally missed the well aimed towel snap that Buffy sent her way.  “Ow!  Damn it, Buffy, you’re gonna get it now!”  Dropping her towel, Faith leaped away from the wall and began to chase a gleefully laughing Buffy all over the backyard.

 

When she finally caught her – or Buffy let herself be caught, Andrew couldn’t quite figure it out – she pinned the blonde slayer to the ground and tickled her until she begged for mercy.

 

“Uncle!  Aunt!  Brother!  Sister!  Whatever you want me to say, just stop!” Buffy gasped out between giggles.

 

Faith’s wiggling fingers suddenly paused over Buffy’s bare midriff.  “What if I said I wanted you to – “ at this point, Andrew cursed softly because the dark slayer leaned over and began whispering so softly, not even his fairly sophisticated  sound equipment could have caught it.

 

Whatever it was, it caused the blonde slayer to blush hotly, and stammer soundlessly as a look of pure confusion slowly washed over her face.

 

Perhaps because she had so strongly affected the other woman with her words, Faith decided to relent and stood.  Offering a hand to Buffy, she said, “You can say it after – if there is one.”

 

Not even Andrew needed to be told what “after” was.

 

Dawn tried to stay out of the way – mostly she helped Giles load the old school bus he had somehow managed to buy.  When she could steal a moment of Amanda’s time, the two girls would take off for her bedroom, lock the other girls out and spend hours giggling over who knew what.

 

If Kennedy felt miffed by Willow’s refusal to see her, she kept it to herself.  Her job was to sharpen an already razor-edged blade to the point of hair-splitting sharpness.  The dagger was small, with a simple black hilt and a wedge-shaped blade, but it carried with it all their hopes.

 

If Faith’s dreams were true and if the information Tara’s spirit had imparted to her would work, then the battle would lie mostly on the shoulders of the two full slayers.  The Potentials would only be the batteries that kept them charged.

 

Something about that made Kennedy’s skin crawl – but then, even after successfully de-freaking herself after the portal spell, the eldest Potential still felt that magick was better seen and not experienced.  Of course, the fact that I keep having those freaky assed dreams.  Damn.  I never wanted to know what a tree felt like – guess I don’t get much choice, though, do I?

 

Three more slides of the blade across the stone, and she was satisfied with its edge.  Next, she moved on to carving stakes.  She had no idea why she was making stakes – neither Buffy or Faith ever seemed to use them.  In fact, both slayers were quite apt at making do – and then dealing with the eventual consequences.  Not so, with the Potentials.  Each had their own horror stories about botched “break ‘n stake” attempts, as Faith called them. 

 

She looked down at her hand, frowning at the small cut that marred the side of her left index finger.  The wound was a reminder of the massive sliver she had received earlier, during her morning “break ‘n stake” workout with Faith and Rona – the only other Potential brave enough to face the dark slayer.

 

Until Buffy happened upon the group, that is.  Then, it was all she and the other girl could do to scurry back and watch the two masters of their art take each other on in a no holds barred contest of coup and counter coup.

 

“Tagged ya,” Faith taunted Buffy.  A grin of purely wicked delight was spread across the dark slayer’s face as Buffy frowned, stepped back and readied herself.

 

“All right.  Go!” Buffy commanded roughly.

 

Watching from the sidelines, Kennedy could only wonder how Buffy and Faith got along.  It was clear to her, and several of the other Potentials that the older women treaded the line between love and hate – crossing into either emotion with relative abandon. 

 

A flurry of blows and then, with whiplash-inducing speed, Faith bounced, skipped and jumped around Buffy and tapped the blonde slayer’s right shoulder with enough force to send her staggering.

 

“Tagged ya again.  That’s two, B.  Come on – get me.  You know you want to.”  The line was delivered seductively, as though Faith were courting something other than the golden-haired fury that Buffy could be when irked.

 

Red-faced, with eyes narrowed to mere slits, Buffy circled the taller slayer.  “You know what, Faith?  You talk too much.”  Her words were immediately followed by a leap-kick that sent Faith reeling back against the wall of the house.  As the dark slayer moved away, Buffy casually reached over, tagged her shoulder and said, “Gotcha.”

 

Faith only smiled.  “So you did.”  Shrugging, she held out her hands and said, “I surrender.  Take me away to dust-land, slayer lady.”

 

Kennedy chuckled, amused by her memory.  The energy between Buffy and Faith was amazing – it left her wondering if what she felt for Willow could ever compare.

 

The training session was over, and she had managed to convince Willow that now would be good for some quality time.  The other Potentials were either downstairs watching Andrew’s home movies or up in Dawn’s room, discussing the relative merits of the boys of Sunnydale High.

 

Willow’s hand felt so small, as it grasped her own, and the hum of anticipation that surrounded both of them was almost audible.  Just as they reached the stairwell, Kennedy caught sight of something very interesting.

 

In the living room, seated in lotus position facing each other, with legs touching at the knees, were Buffy and Faith.  Faith was quietly talking while Buffy was bent over her hands, gently removing slivers.  There was a platter beside the blonde slayer that already had several long shards of wood.  A soft hiss of pain was followed by the clunk of something small hitting the platter.

 

Most amazing was the look on Willow’s face.  She was absolutely stunned by the scene before them.  Curious now, Kennedy continued to watch the two slayers.

 

They had switched roles – Faith was now calmly picking slivers from Buffy’s hands, dabbing at the tiny wounds with a soft cloth after each removal.  They were still talking, though the words were far too softly spoken for Kennedy to hear – which surprised her, since her hearing had always been sharper than average.

 

A slight tug on her hand caused her to look away from the living room.  Willow had mounted the first step, and stopped.  Perched just out of sight was Spike.  A cigarette hung from his lips, unlit.  Kennedy’s gaze traveled up the vampire’s body, stopping at his eyes.

 

Naked anguish greeted her.  It was so powerful, that the Potential felt her throat tighten in sympathy. 

 

She opened her mouth to speak, but then, Spike stood, lit his smoke and shoved past, murmuring, “Go on now.  Nothing to see here – everything’s as it should be.”

 

Startled, and confused, Kennedy silently followed Willow up the stairs.  At the top, Willow turned to face her.  “I, um, know you’re probably wondering...”

 

“About the living room?  Yeah, what’s up with that?  I thought, well, you know – all the stories.  They hate each other, don’t they?” Kennedy interjected.

 

Willow shook her head and shrugged helplessly.  “I don’t – if you’d have asked me that last month, I’d have said, ‘Yeah, they’re like oil and water.’  But now – I don’t know.  I mean – did you feel it?”

 

“It?  You mean, the whole, “I wanna rip your clothes off” vibe that was oozing out of both of them?  Yeah.  I felt it.”  Kennedy shivered.  Looking up into Willow’s eyes, she added, “I know that feeling pretty intimately.”

 

A quick smile flashed across the witch’s face.  “Me too,” she said.  Taking the other woman’s hand, she added, “I don’t know what’s going on down there.  What I do know is that we’ve got a little time before I have to start the ritual cleansing and... I’d like to spend it with you.”

 

“I can deal with that,” Kennedy said, willingly following her girlfriend into their bedroom.

 

Later, when Willow had chased her away with kisses and the unspoken promise that they would see each other later, Kennedy stopped once again at the foot of the stairs and looked into the living room.

 

Faith and Buffy were now lying down, sharing one of the large floor pillows that littered the floor.  Buffy was sound asleep, while Faith only rested quietly.  The dark slayer was spooned behind Buffy, with her arm gently draped over the blonde’s hips.  Still awake, Faith was just staring down at Buffy, a smile of gentle wonder perched on her lips.  She looked up at Kennedy, and their gazes met.

 

“Sometimes... wonderful things can happen... even to the least of us,” she whispered, loud enough for the Potential to hear.

 

Nodding mutely, Kennedy strolled into the room, lifted a blanket from the back of a chair and covered the two women.

 

“Get some sleep,” she whispered.  “I’ll make sure we leave you alone.”

 

“Thanks,” Faith mumbled, as sleep finally overtook the exhausted slayer.

 

Kennedy quietly  exited the room, pulling the doors shut behind her. 

 

~*~*~

 

It was late – though not too late, Faith noticed, spying the clock above the mantle.  They had not slept through Armageddon.  A soft snore drew her gaze down to Buffy, still asleep in her arms, a peaceful smile etched on her too-young features.

 

As she watched, the blonde slowly woke.  Muscles twitched and spasmed around her eyes until they opened, blinking owlishly.  Surprise registered within the green depths, followed by curious confusion at their intimate embrace.

 

Hastily, Faith said, “Don’t worry, B.  Your honor is safe.”  She followed her statement with a wry, self-deprecating smile.  “All we did was sleep.”

 

“Oh,” Buffy croaked, even more confused.  Why was she so disappointed?  Why do I wish we hadn’t slept?  Why do I -  Her gaze traveled up Faith’s face, and stopped at the dark slayer’s eyes.  Swallowing, she wondered, Why do I want her to kiss me?

 

Does she want me to kiss her? Faith wondered, as they silently stared into each other’s eyes.

 

Buffy licked her lips, then looked as though she were about to say something.  Before she could speak, Faith lowered her head and captured the blonde’s lips in a gentle, questioning kiss.

 

Breath catching, Buffy hesitantly returned the embrace, bringing her hand up to slowly tangle in the other slayer’s hair.  Her heart was hammering in her chest, and there was a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach that she hadn’t felt in years.  A tiny gasp escaped as Faith pulled away.

 

“I guess that answers that,” she husked softly, tracing Buffy’s lips with the tip of her finger. 

 

Buffy’s mouth worked, but no words managed to flee. 

 

Faith was about to add to her statement when she heard someone clear his throat.

 

“Um, Buffy?  Faith?” Giles’ quavering voice called.  “Are you, um, awake?”

 

Chuckling, Faith rolled away, releasing Buffy.  “Yeah Giles.  We’re decent.  You can let the kids in now.”

 

They heard Giles cough spasmodically and then the doors opened, letting in a flood of Potentials, as well as Xander, Andrew, and an exhausted looking Willow.

 

Buffy struggled up and into the couch before someone else got there.  She needed its cushioned support now more than ever.  Lips still tingling from Faith’s kiss, the blonde slayer sat and stared as the room filled.  There was conversation, though what the topic was, Buffy would not stake her life upon knowing. 

 

Okay.  This is not the time to be freaky-geeky and flitterpated.  Oh, how I wish I could create a nice, pocket dimension in time and drag Willow off for some long overdue girl talk.  I could use her opinion right now.  Especially right now.  Oh my god.  She kissed me.  And I let her.  Hell, I wanted her to!  Does that make me gay?  Am I gay now?  Should I add “lesbian” to my list of accomplishments? 

 

Whoa, hold on a minute there, Buff.  Slow down.  The calm, inner voice that had followed her for most of her life, but which had been mostly silent of late, interrupted her mental freak-out.

 

It’s about time you showed up! Buffy screamed at herself, glad that Willow was in the middle of some long, drawn out description of just exactly what it took to become, “pure” by magickal definitions. 

 

Hey, what can I say?  I’ve got places to be, other people to advise.  Or maybe, you’ve just forgotten how to pay attention to yourself.  But anyway, back to the subject at hand – or mouth – as the case is.  Faith, and her lusciously full lips dancing a merry tango over yours, and playing the chords of your libido like a concert pianist.  No, not penis, pianist – white keys, black keys and you hated the lessons.  Pay attention, Buffy!  Listening?  Good.  Think.  Remember when Faith first arrived?  Nodding imperceptibly, Buffy narrowed her eyes.

 

Yes, you’re right.  That’s where I’m going.  The voice continued blithely.  You wanted her then – but you weren’t brave enough to take what she was giving away.  Or maybe you were smart, and saw through the bravado and sexual allure to realize that you weren’t meant to be some little macha’s belt notch.  If so, then maybe you pay attention to yourself more than I give you credit for.  Whatever.  So, quit the freaky-geeky and move on, because you’ve got a meeting to hold, some Potentials to inspire, and a big bad beastie to slay.

 

Willow wound down her impromptu lesson in magick and waited for Buffy to begin.  The blonde slayer, however, seemed lost in thought.  Looking from Buffy, to Faith, and back to Buffy, Willow raised one eyebrow in query.

 

Faith, catching the subtle question, shrugged, as if to say, “I don’t know what her damage is.”  The tiny smile that kept creeping onto her lips seemed to belie that attitude, though.

 

Finally, Buffy sighed, shook her head and stood.  Pacing for a moment, she met the gazes of everyone present. 

 

“The day is upon us.  It is not a day of prophecy, or of any true significance other than this – today, we will face the First.”  She paused and looked down, then up again.  Her eyes were glassy, and her face bore an expression so sad, many of the Potentials sniffed in sympathy.  “Some of you,” the slayer’s voice broke.  “Some of you might not come home, but I promise you this – none of you will die in vain.”

 

Standing, Faith added, “I will give my own life before I let one of you down.”  Her words were directed at the Potentials, but her eyes were on Buffy.

 

“Buffy, Faith, I must, as your Watcher, interject.  Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Giles asked wearily.  Over the last few months, his face had grown careworn, making the fairly young man look painfully old. 

 

“Yo, G-Man... we’re cool, okay?  I made with the dream mojo – B’s made with the nightmare mojo and Willow’s got the magick mojo.  We can’t mojo this bozo anymore than we already have.”  Faith shook her head and indicated the room full of teenagers.  “This is the future – these girls all have something inside that is dangerous to the First.  Whatever that is, whatever twist it is that makes them, and us,” she nodded at Buffy, “Slayers, has to stand up to the First.  Otherwise, well, there won’t be any us.”

 

Around the room, heads were nodding, and voices murmuring in assent with the dark slayer.  Kennedy stepped forward.

 

“I think we need to do this, Giles.  We’ve been terrified for so long, we’ve forgotten how to feel safe.  I mean, I still have,” she shuddered violently, and looked sick, “nightmares about finding Chloe.”

 

The Potential moved back to her seat next to Willow, who quietly wrapped an arm around her.  They shared a quick hug and then focused their attention on Buffy and Faith.

 

Looking highly uncomfortable, the Watcher finally nodded.  “All right then.  Let’s hear your plan.”

 

“Yes, Buffy.  Let’s hear it.” Principal Wood said, crossing his arms and cocking one eyebrow upwards.  “I mean, since it’s my office you’re planning to use.”

 

“Worried about your precious pencil collection?” Spike asked snidely.  Since Wood had discovered that Spike was the vampire who had slain his mother – a slayer herself – Robin had tried to kill the vampire, a feat that left both men battered and bloodied.  The principal had come away from the encounter with more than bruises – his ego had been summarily crushed when Buffy unilaterally informed him that his vengeance monkey needed to be caged until the First was defeated.

 

Wood’s nostrils flared in repressed anger.  “No, but maybe you should be,” he replied softly and turned away from the vampire.  Under his breath he added, “I really don’t like that guy.”

 

“I’m wounded,” Spike returned sardonically, laying a hand against his chest and raising one bleached eyebrow mockingly.

 

“Who wants cookies?” Anya called brightly from the kitchen.  “Fresh from the bakery!  All full of sugary goodness guaranteed to keep you up all night, slaying evil.”

 

Those between the cookies and the teenaged occupants of the house were nearly bowled over as they rushed out of the room.  Those left behind could only shake their heads in dumbfounded confusion.

 

“I guess not even the First can stand between a girl and her sugar rush,” Xander quipped nervously.

 

After a few minutes, Kennedy slipped back into the room, cookie crumbs liberally dappling her sun-browned cheeks.  Smiling diffidently, she offered up the snacks.  “Here, I brought you guys some before the piranhas ate them all.” 

 

“Bucking for that ‘A’ in Potential school, huh Ken?” Faith teased, as she snatched up the last two sugar cookies.

 

Kennedy shrugged and sat on the arm of Willow’s chair, casually threading her fingers through the witch’s hair.  “Nah.  It’s just – if I hear, ‘But I wanted the pink one’, one more time, I was going to like, slay something.”

 

“Not cut out for dorm lifestyle, Kennedy?” Buffy asked.

 

The younger woman made a face.  “No.  Not really.”  In a rush, she added, “But hey, I’m dealing.  I mean, at least I don’t have to listen to my sister moan about her latest boy toy.”

 

As the girls reappeared, sugar cravings now sated, Buffy retook her position in the center of the room.  “All right.  Now that you’ve all enjoyed intermission, it’s time to get down to the final act of this movie.”

 

~*~*~

 

Sunnydale High was eerily dark and quiet.  No one – not even a stray janitor patrolled its lonely halls this night.  After the almost-riots, Xander and Robin went before the school board, and then the town council, and convinced them to shut down the school.  Neither man had needed to bring up the many arguments he had practiced – both groups were more than willing to see the school closed before further damage could be done. 

 

Though nothing was overtly said, everyone understood that the strangeness that was Sunnydale had once again taken over their quiet town.  People of all ages, of all walks of life, had been affected by the evil emanating from the Hellmouth and the local hospitals were overflowing with the fallout.  Those who were not hospitalized either locked themselves away in their homes or left the town in droves.

 

When Principal Wood came along, offering to find a way to fix things – the council leaped to accommodate him.

 

Leading the way to his office, Robin casually looked around his school, frowning at the signs of the First’s evil that had marked the once-pristine building.  Graffiti spouting hatred and death was scrawled over the freshly painted walls.  Windows were smashed in, light fixtures were broken beyond repair and refuse littered the floors. 

 

Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the devastation, sparing only a moment’s silent rage for the wanton destruction.  As they reached the door to his office, he skirted around a desk.  Earlier that day, he and Xander had cleared out the furniture, leaving the room clear for whatever rituals the slayers intended Willow to perform. 

 

Steeling his jaw, he reached for the door’s handle.  Just as his hand came into contact with the cold steel, he caught a whiff of smoke.

 

“No smoking on school grounds,” he said softly, knowing without looking that it had been Spike who had lit up.

 

“Spoilsport,” the vamp teased as he took a long drag.  “Make me,” Spike added, blowing the smoke out toward the black man’s face.

 

Nostrils flaring, Robin patently ignored the vamp.  He had no idea what his role was to be in Buffy’s little plan, but he was pretty sure it was not to beat the tar out of the smirking, irritating, murderous vampire.

 

No, he was committed to this cause, no matter what.  Even if it meant working alongside the monster that had killed his mother.  Retribution could come later.  He had a name, and a face, to go with the shadow that lurked in the back of his mind.

 

As they had made their through the school, the group had locked and barricaded the halls as best as they could.  Everyone knew that the Bringers could easily fight their way in, but every obstacle was more time that the slayers could use to defeat the First.

 

Anya and Andrew had jokingly donned nurse’s scrubs and were carrying duffle bags filled with bandages and first aid supplies while Spike, Xander, and Robin all carried weapons.  Buffy and Faith wore only loose, comfortable clothing and bore no weapons at all.  Willow carried a bag filled with her ritual supplies and each of the Potentials were armed and dressed as they felt most comfortable.

 

Everyone only had a sketchy idea of their place as Buffy had only briefly outlined her plan.  The night had started with Giles leaving to go and speak to an old contact of his – the coven that had helped Willow regain control of her magicks had called and indicated that this person had something that would help.

 

While the watcher was busy with that, Buffy and Faith, with Willow’s assistance, would try to pierce the veil of the worlds and enter a realm where the First had corporeal flesh.

 

“We can’t touch him here?  Fine.  We’ll take the war to him,” was what Buffy had said as she paced around the living room.

 

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Willow said in a soft, yet calm tone.  “I mean, portals aren’t quite my thing, just yet.”

 

“You can do it,” Kennedy said firmly, resting a hand on her girlfriend’s knee. 

 

“You have to,” Buffy stopped pacing and stood in front of the witch.  “This is it, Will.  This is what I need from you – if you don’t, then...” she shook her head helplessly.  “I need you, Willow.  Don’t let me down.”

 

“You can do it, Red,” Faith spoke up, giving the witch a cocky smile.  “She-who-is-all-aglowy said you could.”

 

“Oh.”  Willow’s eyes filled with tears.  “I guess I can, then.”  She smiled sadly and nodded.  “I’ll do it, then.” she added softly.

 

They would succeed, or die trying.  While the Slayers were busy in the Other Realm, everyone else would try to hold off the Bringers until it was over.

 

“This can’t be the entire plan,” Kennedy said softly as she stood next to Willow, waiting for Wood to open the door.  Even as she spoke, her eyes moved restlessly, searching every shadow for signs that the school had already been breeched.

 

Willow shrugged lightly.  “I don’t know.  She didn’t say.”

 

Further back, Amanda and Dawn stared at the graffiti covered walls and vandalized fixtures of the once beautiful school. 

 

In hushed tones, the tall, thin Potential whispered, “It doesn’t look real.”

 

Dawn shivered.  “I know.  It’s like one of those old horror movies that are really funny – only not so funny, and kind of terrifying.”

 

A soft groan caused both girls to jump and grab each other’s hands.  “Dawn, I don’t think I really want to be a Potential anymore,” Amanda quavered.

 

“At this point, I don’t think you have a choice,” Dawn pointed out as they stared at the doors that led to empty classrooms.

 

Several of the other Potentials had clumped together as well and were milling around, sticking as close to the adults as they could.  Weapons of all sizes and shapes bristled from the girls’ hands, causing one of the older Potentials to quip, “It’s a good thing none of our ex’s are around.”

 

The joke drew a nervous laugh.

 

~Part Two~

 












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Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters, history and storylines are copyright to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, the WB and who ever else owns a piece of them. Elizabeth Blaine is copyright to Wes Craven and whoever else owns her.