Cycle's End - Part Two

by

sHaYcH

All Previous Disclaimers Apply.

The streets were completely empty.  Not even a stray vampire lurked in the corners of Sunnydale’s alleyways as Giles hurriedly strode down the sidewalks.  It didn’t take the watcher long to find the house he was looking for – it was the only two story on a street of ranch style homes.

The house was ramshackle, though not so decrepit that the city could force its owner to fix it.  Bushes and flowers grew in riotous harmony along the walk, obscuring the pathway to the door, but Giles knew the way.  Avoiding the sharp thorns of an overly enthusiastic rose, the watcher sidled up to the door and rung the bell.  After only a few moments, an ordinary looking elderly woman answered.

“My stars and bars, if it isn’t Rupert Giles!” she exclaimed gleefully.  “You naughty boy, you.  You should have called.  If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put on a spot of tea.  Do come in, and set a while, won’t you?”  she said as she drifted away from the door and into the house.

“It’s all right, Margaretta, I haven’t time to stay.”

“Oh, pish boy, you will always have time for Mag.  Now sit, and tell me what brings you to my home.”  The old woman began puttering about, adding a log to an already blazing fire and moving a kettle from the side of the hearth to a hook that hung above the coals.

Margaretta Livingstone was a study in contrasts.  Though she made her home in the middle of a thriving, modern city, she still clung to ways as ancient as she was.  Mag was a Seelie sidhe boggle – what some of the uneducated might have called a hag-wight, in less informed days.  Now, children called her Old Mag, and delighted in the sweet treats she always seemed to have for them.  Adults thought of her as the neighborhood oddity – surrounded in cats and collected detritus of several human lifetimes, she was the mold for every crazy “cat lady” story out there. 

Spell casters – witches, warlocks, wizards and even a demon or six would have known her as a clearing house for all things relic-y.  Artifacts from dozens of cultures could be had from Old Mag – for a price.   If anyone had anything that the Coven considered useful against the First, it would be Mag.

“Really,” Giles said as he sat and automatically accepted a cup of tea.  “I don’t have time.”

“And I said you do,” Mag replied cryptically.  “Now, tell me.  What is it you wish of my collection?  Beyond that, what are you willing to pay?”

Sipping his tea, Giles let his gaze roam around the oddly appointed room.  Stuffed owls, broken swords, books of every imagining shared shelf space with Star Trek toys, china dolls and cats.  There were cats everywhere in Mag’s place.  Overhead, underfoot, and even, as he relaxed into the recliner, in his lap.  Three of the house’s feline occupants immediately found him to be a better seat than the floor and began to investigate this new bit of mobile territory that had entered their domain.

Absently, he stroked them, eased by their contented purring.  “I really don’t know, actually.  You see, I was only told to come – that you would know what it was that I required.”

Momentarily surprised, Mag nodded slowly.  “So it has come to that.”  She clucked her tongue in annoyance.  “Pity, and here I thought I’d have it for another millennium.  Ah well, can’t judge the fickleness of the Powerful these days.”  At Giles’ look of irritated confusion, she said, “Yes, I do know what it is you are here for, young man.  But I should warn you,” she shook her finger in his face, “You will not like the price.”

As though this were part of some great ritual, Giles set aside his tea, shooed the cats from his lap and stood.  “Do I ever?” he asked softly, as he followed the old sidhe into her home.

~*~*~

The diagrams were drawn, the circle cast and all that remained was to light the candles and intone the words that would, hopefully, link Buffy to Faith, and the two Slayers to Willow.

With the dagger that Kennedy had so lovingly sharpened, the witch carefully pricked Buffy, then Faith’s fingers, and then finally, her own.  Coaxing out three drops of blood into a smoking brazier, she began to speak.  “Okay, mighty powers, I think we all know that my Latin skills lack.  Well, they haven’t gotten any better in the last few weeks, so just listen up!  English sucks, but you’re gonna have to deal with it.

                        By cast circle and thrown stones

                        By witch’s blood and slayer’s bones

                        I call thee to bind,

                        to wind

                        and Entwine -

                        My soul, thy soul and thine.

                        Three silver cords, braided fine.

                        Three bright warriors, to serve the divine.”

The blood smoked and crisped, filling the room with a pungent, sickly sweet odor. 

Around the outside of the circle, the Potentials watched, each wearing a similar expression of mixed fear and nausea. 

As the witch chanted, the runes she had chalked onto the carpet began to luminesce.  Willow’s coppery red hair darkened rapidly as the power she summoned flowed through her and into the two slayers.

Beside him, Xander felt Kennedy stiffen as Willow’s eyes shaded from green to black. 

“Just hang in there, Will,” he whispered softly, sending all his love and trust toward his friend.  “You can do it.”  I hope.

Suddenly, there was no time for prayer, as the familiar sounds of glass and wood shattering overrode the witch’s chant.  Uninvited, the Bringers had come to the party.

~*~*~

“It came to me, oh, about half a millennia ago,” Mag muttered as she led Giles through the corridors of her home.  Much larger inside than out, the sidhe’s residence was part Underhill and part in the Mortal realm.  They had long passed out of the world and into the magickal lands of the Fae.  “I’ve had it for so long now, I’d sort of thought it was mine.”

Giles felt extremely uncomfortable in this liminal place.  Magick lived and breathed in the walls of the hag-wight’s home and even a stray thought could cause either wonders or nightmares to burst into being.  Tightening the reins on his fears, the watcher docilely followed the old woman.

“Well aren’t you just a pile of quiet today?” Mag stopped and poked him in the chest.  “I’m going to start thinking you don’t like me anymore, Rupert.”

Gasping at the sharp chill her touch carried, Giles quickly shook his head.  “Not at all, Mag.  It’s just that my friends are facing something very dire right now and I feel like the basest of cowards for abandoning them.”

Mag put her hands on her hips, huffed in exasperation and then reached up and began poking the taller man repeatedly.

“Shame on yourself, Rupert Giles.  Have you forgotten even the most basic of laws of Underhill?  Time?  What is time to the timeless?  Foolish boy - you’d think twenty years would have eliminated most of your doltishness.”  Shaking her head, the hag-wight sighed and turned away from him.

Gasping, Giles staggered back a pace.  He felt like thumping himself in the forehead.  Of course!  There was no time in Faerie – or at least, it moved so differently, that unless he was led out by a willing guide, he would return days early, or years too late. 

“My humblest apologies, Madam Livingstone.  I had forgotten my lessons.  I shall endeavor not to make such a fool of my teachers again,” he said earnestly.

Mag harrumphed again, but continued to lead him through the house.  Reaching a door, she put her fingers up to her lips and made a shushing noise.  Carefully, she placed her head against the gnarled oak of the door and listened.  After a few minutes, she nodded in satisfaction.  “Right.  Nothing’s disturbed it.  Well now,” she said, glee lighting up her eyes eerily.  “I believe there’s a Price we should discuss for this beauty.”  The old boggle rubbed her hands together briskly.  “I’ll start the bidding at one soul, three hearts and a mortal child’s first love.”

“Mag,” Giles said sternly, “how am I supposed to bid on something I’m not even sure I want?”

“Ah, so now you’d like to sample Mag’s wares?  Wasn’t so long ago that you were rushing us along.  I was just trying to pick up the pace for you, boy.  But if you must have your taste, then, now, I guess we’ll just have to do this like civilized people.  Tea!” she yelled sharply.  “We must have tea, and those little sandwiches you Mortals find so tasty.”

Clapping her hands twice, Giles found himself back in the front room, seated by the fire, with his cup of tea and a plate full of tiny watercress sandwiches.  He opened his mouth to speak, and found it full of sandwich.

“Eat,” Mag commanded firmly.  The hag-wight was standing in the hallway.  “Then we’ll deal.  Your slayers will wait that long, Watcher.  Besides, I need some time to let it go.  It’s been a Presence here for quite a while.”  Her voice trailed off as she wandered down the hall.

With nothing else to do, Giles dutifully ate his lunch.

~*~*~

In a flurry of daggers, robes and cut out eyes, the first wave of Bringers came.  They were quickly brought down, leaving ten of their own to bleed and die while the rest pulled back and studied the room’s defenses. 

One of the Potentials was dead.  Xander looked up from tying off a wound to see Amelia collapse in tears as she realized that her best friend Theresa was gone.  Suppressed anger caused the young man to tug a bit too hard on the bandage, drawing a grunt of pain from the girl he was helping.

“Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing up his weapon and moving to stand ready once more.  The Bringers were here and there was no time for grief.  That would come later, if later came for him.  For now, he cocked his head, listening.

They were in the walls.  Letting out a yell, he spun and thrust out his axe to deflect a blow aimed for Dawn’s head as Bringers exploded from the air ducts.

Five of them were now inside the perimeter.  Quickly, Xander, Spike, and Wood raced in to attack while Dawn and the Potentials harried the others. 

One went down.  Two, then three and Xander started to breathe a little easier.  There were only two of the crazy priests remaining.  Two wasn’t so bad, when you ignored the fact that there were still many others, outside.  They were all chanting, which was eerie, but not unusual.  Crazy monk-priests were always chanting about something, and Xander was used to that.

What he was not used to was - Yow!  That was close!  He staggered away from the Bringer’s blade, going to one knee.  He heard the man move, and felt the whoosh of air that the sleeve of the priest’s robe made as he leaped in for the kill and he threw up his axe to block – a blow that never came.

Wide open, face and head unprotected, Xander saw the flash of steel, then felt a white hot flash of pain so unlike anything he had ever experienced, he almost didn’t believe it was real.  Flailing blindly, he buried his axe in the Bringer’s side and then crawled away, choking and moaning. 

Seeing him go down, Anya shrieked, “Xander!” and leapt across the fray to land by his side.

The construction worker raised his hand to his face.  Blood.  There was so much blood, and something kind of gooey – oh gross, was that his eyeball?  Xander almost vomited.  This was almost as bad as when Johnson accidentally cut off his arm last week, only they couldn’t call 911. 

I can’t see.  The thought drifted across his mind, causing him to blink rapidly.  More blood cascaded down his face. 

“No Xander, don’t do that.  Sit still, okay?  I’ve got to get this covered,” Anya’s voice – filled with fear, yet somehow strong, reached through his panic and forced him to turn his head toward her.  Gentle, strong hands applied layers of gauze to the wound, soaking up the blood.

Xander’s face was a mess.  The Bringer’s blade had caught in his hairline and slashed downward, through his left eye, and over his nose.  Anya couldn’t tell if the other eye was damaged as well – there was just too much blood and, she swallowed heavily, tissue to tell.

Buffy, Faith and Willow were still locked in their trance – doing who knew what, and Giles still hadn’t shown up with whatever he went to get and everyone else was up to their arms in blood and Bringers.

Which left her to try and save Xander’s sight.

“So, uh, are you wearing your Florence Nightingale outfit?  ‘Cuz you know...” Xander coughed, then groaned in pain.  “I really dig that one.”  Though his voice was light, Anya could sense the edge of despair that hovered over the words.

“You very well know what I’m wearing, Xander Harris – so stop joking and pay attention.  You are going to be all right!  It’s just a flesh wound, and as soon as these Bringers are gone, I’m taking you to the hospital.  Now, just sit tight and let me fix this.”  Gently, she began to bind the wound.

“An?” he whispered when she was done.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?” she asked sharply, already counting the minutes until the last Bringer died.

“For not running away.  You could have, you know – just, gone and we would have let you.  And then you wouldn’t be here now, to help, so, thanks.”

Even through all the chaos, and even though he could not see, he knew she was crying.  Her tears tasted saltier than his blood – and somehow, it helped to chase away the pain.

~*~*~

“Yes, yes, you get to go out and play.  No, you’re not going to take over the world – you’re taking on Him again.  Oh yes, I know – but it’s been several thousand years and time has made him weak, while you’ve grown strong.  Now, my lovely, it is time.”  Mag’s softly sing-songed words made Giles feel even more uncomfortable about what he was buying, but he refused to let it show.

When she appeared bearing a spear twice as long as she was tall, he almost wept in joy.  The weapon, created by beings who were half god, half myth in an era so long ago that only whispers remained of their memory, was humming softly.  Shaped vaguely like a leaf, the blade was made of a king’s ransom of gold and silver while the shaft was carved ash, with runes and Celtic knotwork spiraling over its entire surface.

Reaching out to accept the spear, Giles reverently whispered, “Long-arm’s Lance.”

Mag smacked his hands smartly.  “Not just yet, boy.  There’s still a price.”

“Name it.  I’m sure you know I’ll pay,” Giles said blithely.  Surely this spear was the answer to their troubles – surely, it would be the edge to their fight.

“Oh, you will – you’ve never reneged a deal yet.  So hear now, Rupert Giles of the Watcher’s Council, what my price shall be.”

~*~*~

From the corner of her eye, Faith could see the battle that raged around them, but she could do nothing to help.  Willow’s spell kept her rooted to her place, forcing her to remain within the circle.  A sickly, grinding nausea had been slowly building within the dark slayer, and soon, she knew the final part of Tara’s plan had to be engaged.

As the last Bringer fell, Kennedy acted.  Reaching out, she grabbed hold of Willow’s dagger and tested its edge.  Grimacing as the keenly sharp blade neatly parted her flesh, she inhaled.

“Potentials! Up and to me!”  she barked in her best drill sergeant tone.  By ones and twos, the girls staggered over to their de facto leader, who was standing just outside of the runic circle.

Wielding the ritual blade, the eldest of the Potentials reached out for the hand of the first girl before her – Amanda.

“All right, this is gonna sting a little, but it’s all part of the plan.  Amanda, give me your hand – when I cut you, I want you to go over to the circle and place that hand against either Buffy or Faith.  You’ll know when to let go.”

Looking paler than normal, Amanda bit her lip and squirmed in place.  “You know, I hated this part of science class.  Could I just – sit this out?  I’ll take the lower grade,” she joked nervously as Kennedy took a firm grip on the younger girl’s hand. 

Gently, but quickly, she slashed open Amanda’s hand.  Blood rushed up, filling the palm. 

“Hurry, Amanda!  Touch her, now!”  Kennedy gave the girl a shove toward Faith.

Stumbling slightly, Amanda reached out and pressed her hand against the dark haired older woman.  Energy arced from her to Faith, causing the slayer to toss her head back and scream.

As quickly as she could, Kennedy worked through the line of Potentials, saving herself for last.  Andrew, Spike and Principal Wood were working to carry the first few Potentials – now unconscious – to Buffy’s old office.

Raising the blade, Kennedy bit her lip and silently counted to three. 

::No.  You must not.::  Words in her head, shaped by the lips of a woman who was slowly appearing before her.  She was beautiful and wrapped in blue light, wearing a smile so warm and gentle, Kennedy felt tears gather in her eyes at it.

I know that face, she thought wonderingly.  Tara?

::Got it in one.  I knew my baby wasn’t stupid.::  Tara reached out, waving her hand over the blade still held in Kennedy’s upraised hand.  ::You must not do this.  You must bide a while.  There is enough power now – your turn will come later.::  With that, the ghostly apparition began to fade away. 

Just before she was totally gone, she cocked her head, laughed brightly and said, ::I know you will and, I’ll be waiting - for both of you.::

Well fuck me, was all Kennedy could think as she stood there, watching as the men began to carry the now-sleeping Potentials out of the room.

~*~*~

“Two sheep, three hearts, six children and a ticket to a day spa,” Mag countered in yet another sally over the cost of the spear.

“The charm of Aurvrad, a maiden’s tears and a kiss from a virgin boy,” Giles offered stubbornly.

“Bah!  What need have I of such things?  I’ve got trunks full of charms and jars full of tears... the kiss – well, I’m a mature woman, and I’ve learned that the kisses of pretty boys are empty things.”  Grumbling, Mag thrust the spear into Giles’ hands.  At the watcher’s startled look, she said, “Take it, boy.  It’ll take its own Price – no amount I could ask for it could ever equal what it deems just.  Just... go, and save the world.”

Cradling the weapon against his body, Giles reached down, captured the old hag-wight’s hand, brought it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss into the palm.  “You have my thanks, Margaretta.”

Giggling girlishly, Mag pulled her hand to her chest, cradling it as though it held a tiny child.  “Oh, Rupert – you always know how to charm me.  Go with my blessing, child.”

Without looking back, Giles stepped out of the house and ran for his car.

~*~*~

Kennedy looked around and sighed heavily.  The other girls were gone, now.  Besides the three women deeply involved in the ritual, the only people remaining in Principal Wood’s office were Andrew, Spike, Wood and herself. 

Dawn and Anya were in the other room, tending to the Potentials and Xander while Spike and Wood quietly traded bits of spiteful banter back and forth.  Andrew nervously paced the room, holding his bloody baseball bat with a fierce determination that belied his outwardly clumsy appearance. 

The former member of what he called, “The Evil Trio” had more than accounted for his misdeed.  Three nasty gashes to his chest bled sluggishly, his right arm hung at an odd angle and he was limping badly.  He refused to be treated, however, until everyone else was safe.

Spike and Robin both bore numerous injuries – Spike’s left eye was swollen shut and Robin’s breath came in short, pain-filled gasps.  Broken ribs, Kennedy supposed, having seen her brother suffer the same injury more than once.

A tiny smile flitted over her face as she thought of her family, and her accident prone, skateboard loving, brother.  They wouldn’t know her anymore.  She wasn’t their pampered princess, nor was she the odd little nonconformist lesbian black sheep they loved to trot out at dinner parties, just to shock their country kinfolk.  She was something they had never dreamed of, and she knew that going home now would be nearly impossible, even if she did survive this battle.

Within the circle, things had changed.

The infusion of Power from the Potentials had been the battering ram needed to break down the walls between this world and the Other Realms where the First was corporeal.

Now, Faith and Buffy stood back to back, eyes closed, lips moving in silent conversation.  Willow too had her eyes closed, her hair was raven black and dark energy flickered and crackled about her in a fiery aura.  A struggle had begun between the witch and the power, and Kennedy suddenly knew her time to act was coming soon.

~*~*~

She was walking down an empty corridor.  Stone walls surrounded her, and torches blazed in sconces high above.  After only a few minutes of walking, the hall opened up into a chamber.  The room was lavishly decorated in the finest tapestries and rugs, but lacked any sort of furniture.  A large, iron bound door sat in the middle of the wall opposite the corridor.  Faith took two steps toward the door, and was stopped by a whispered sound.

“Well.  Well, well, well, well, well.  I certainly didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Mayor Richard Wilkins’ urbanely sweet voice trickled over Faith’s senses like maple syrup.  “Oh Faith, come here and let me see you.”

Unable to resist the siren’s call of that voice, Faith staggered forward.  Out of the shadows, came the man who had lined her path to evil with sugary sweet promises of conditional love.

“My, how you’ve grown.  So big, so beautiful.  But so much pain, as well,” he said, with a sad sigh.  Shaking his head, he reached out for her.  “Come along now, Faith.  I’ll make it all better.  You’ll see.”

Involuntarily, Faith made to follow, but something held her back.  “No,” she whispered around grinding teeth.  The warm memory of Buffy’s kiss slid up through her mind, wrapping her in sweet layers of protection against the red haired man’s mesmerizing voice.

“Tsk, tsk, my girl.  You know how it makes me angry when you disobey me,” Wilkins said, shaking his finger warningly.  “I really don’t want to have to punish you, Faith.  Come.  I have a nice glass of milk and some cookies we can share.  I know how much my girl likes her treats.”

“No,” she said again, bolder now.  “I will not go with you,” she enunciated each word with relish.  “I don’t need you anymore, Richard.  I’m not that girl.  Especially not your girl,” she spat hatefully.  “You can’t trick me with your empty words and your pseudo love.”

Wilkins frowned, and his face turned as red as his hair.  “I had so hoped we could help each other as we had in the past, but I see that is not to be.”  Shaking his head and brushing his hands together, he shrugged.  “Ah well, you win some, you lose some.”  Without warning, he dove at her, hands outstretched and a maniacal expression of malevolent glee lighting his face. 

“I don’t think so, daddy-o.”  Faith ducked his lunge, spun, kicked him in the groin and watched him collapse, clutching at his privates.  A satisfied smirk rippled across her lips.  “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” she purred, waiting for him to stand.

Running a hand through his thinning copper colored hair, Wilkins said, “Well, I’m glad I could oblige you, Faith.  Feel better?  Good.  Now, why don’t you just listen to your Uncle Richard – I really can make it all better,” he entreated in a gentle voice.  “Everything Angelus promised and more, my sweet.  Come on – surely you remember how good it felt to be bad?” he coaxed, keeping his distance from her.  “That lovely flush of adrenalin that hits you like an orgasm after the kill – it can be all that, and so much better, if you would just cease this ridiculous ritual.”

Using the name of Angel’s dark side only worked to enrage Faith further – she owed the vampire her life, her sanity and so much more.  Her more cynical side reminded her that she also had the vampire to thank for her not so legal freedom, such as it was.

Had he not gone and misplaced his soul, as well as the sun, she would still be serving twenty-five to life at the women’s prison.  What a pure bit of irony it was that Wes – her failed Watcher – had been the one to deliver the news.  From the moment she had heard the words, “Angelus is out,” Faith knew she had to find a way to bring Angel back.  She owed him too much to let him suffer.

“Suffer?  You believe your precious little vampire with a soul was suffering?  Oh, my child – you have been led astray!  Why, he was free!  Free to finally be the true demon he was, without that pesky gypsy curse tagging along like an unwanted sibling.”  Wilkins’ words interrupted her train of thought and sent it careening along another track. 

Freedom.  What an unexpected, many faceted gift it was.  Sunshine unrestricted by bars and wires, guards and guns – it was heady, and left her reeling drunkenly each day she had lived in it.  It would end, though. 

“It doesn’t have to,” the mayor whispered silkily.  “I can fix things so that you’ll be free forever, Faith.   Just – come with me, stand by my side, and you will never be caged again.”

Tempting.  Oh, so tempting to just – fling it all away, into the winds and ride the cyclone that was Richard Wilkins’ – or the First’s – power. 

But you traveled that route, Faith.  You rode that pony into the ground and got up, bleeding.  Do you really need to take the Go There bus again?  That token’s more than a little worn.  Isn’t it time to chuck it and move on?  Faith struggled silently, torn between following the well-trod paths of easy choices and the rocky ground of uncharted territory. 

Recent memory invaded.  Red rimmed images of Los Angeles, and Angelus and getting her ass kicked by the evil vampire filled her mind’s eye.  She remembered baiting the trap that would bring him down.  It had galled her to let him beat her senseless and then drink of her drugged blood.  Swimming through the nightmarish morass of Angel’s past, all while Angelus played tour guide complete with barbed commentary was a side effect she just as soon would have skipped, had she had a choice.  Though, she had to admit, it did have its points.

Moving through time in visions, visiting points where Angel stumbled along his path had at first been enlightening and then, confusing, for the slayer.  Finally, in a garbage-strewn alley somewhere in New York, it all came together as Angel and Angelus met and began to interact.

Settling in to watch the two halves of the vampire battle over who controlled the body, Faith waited to die.  Instead of pearly gates or flaming pits, however, she got Angel, and his damned determination not to let her go.

She was so tired and it would be so damn easy...

”I did my time.”  The words came back to her.  Spoken in a dream hell, they were an excuse to quit, to walk away from the karmic redemption plan. 

“Our time is never up, Faith.  We pay for everything.”  Angel’s response, spoken with fierce passion, striking deep and drawing a confession she thought was deeply hidden.

“It hurts.”  A whispered admission, the forfeit of her failure.

She never expected the vampire’s sympathy.  “I know.  I know.”  Somehow, she had found the strength in his confidence to fight off the drug’s effects and come to life in time to save Angel from his courageous, if misguided son.

“What do you say, Faith?  Would you like to have another picnic?”

The former mayor of Sunnydale reached out for her, his face filled with concern, love, and that bright, too cheerful smile she well-remembered.  Fear, anger, confusion – all flickered in the dark slayer’s eyes as she looked at the open hand of Richard Wilkins. 

Faith closed her eyes and shook.  God.  It was too real, too much, too – I don’t want to pay any more!  Tears leaked out, tracking down her face, scorching a path of pain and hate that she thought had been burned away by her years in prison.  She wanted to run, to fly – to get as far away from this place, and this choice as she could possibly get.  Barring that, she wanted to hit something, someone – to damage and destroy until everything around her mirrored the shattered visage of her soul.  God.  I can’t.  I can’t, I can’t, I can’t...  she silently raged. 

Armor, once donned, is able to withstand many blows before crumbling.  Sometimes, that armor is made of chain, plate, or leather.  Faith’s armor was a kiss.  One, single kiss, stolen in a fearless moment. 

Faith’s armor of touch chose that moment to spring to her defense, inserting a sensation memory of Buffy’s lips on hers into her spiraling indecision. 

“How ‘bout a kiss, for luck?” Faith whispered teasingly as they rode in the bus on the way to the high school.

Shyly, Buffy tilted her head up and replied, “Faith, I –“ The blonde slayer bit her lip.

“It’s cool.  I can dig,” Faith said hurriedly, trying to backpedal.  “No rush, no worries.  I’m five by-“ her words were cut off by Buffy’s lips on hers.  The blonde’s kiss was incredible.  Demanding and gentle, passionate and simple and so very...

...Soft.  God, she’s like fucking velvet.  Burns, though.  Right – fucking – there. 

Words came, yapping at the heels of the memory.  How can you not?  For this?  Again, an image, this time of Buffy’s face, limned in shock and desire appeared.  A cascade of memories, all of Buffy – sitting, laughing, crying, dancing, and in a hundred myriad poses, all of which Faith had carefully hoarded.  Visions that she occasionally allowed herself to examine while sitting on the cold, concrete floor of Solitary.  They were what allowed the slayer to keep her sanity, in the dark times, when the one stream of daylight allowed in by a tiny window slit vanished for the day.

As if those memories weren’t enough, then came the letters – carefully written words chosen for their poignant idiocy – from Angel.  Missives contrived to seem boring, but in reality were like drops of mundanity in a world everything but ordinary.  Angel.  Buffy.  Two people she owed so much to – both betrayed and saved by her, and yet, the tally would never be equal.  Angel saved her soul from the darkness and Buffy... Buffy might save her soul from Hell. 

If.

Dark eyes opened and sought the face of her enemy.

“No,” Faith whispered, determinedly.

Wilkins sighed and dropped his hand.

“No,” she said again, louder.

The First’s sentinel frowned and opened his mouth to speak.

“No!” Faith shouted and leaped at and then through the shade of Richard Wilkins.

She hit the door at full speed, shouting incoherently at the top of her lungs.  It was a primal scream of challenge that mere wood and iron – no matter how bespelled – could withstand.  Splinters burst outward around her as the door shattered.  Before her, a new vista expanded.  She stood in a hospital corridor.  It was eerily dark and empty, but for one room where the cool white glow of light peeked out from under a closed door. 

“I’m thinking that this is my battle,” Buffy said quietly as she melted into being, allowing Faith to drift off and take a well-earned rest.

The blonde slayer started to walk forward, but halted her motion when the room wavered and twisted oddly.  Psychedelic fireworks shot through the hall, ripping and pulling apart the scenery.  Pieces of the room broke away, letting in visions of the Mortal realm.  Crackling energy arced from point to point, creating a web of golden power.

Putting her hands on her hips, Buffy viewed the scene before her with an uneasy expression on her face.  “Okay, Dorothy.  Something tells me that the Mojo’s out-witching my wiccan.”  As if to confirm her words, a dark bolt of energy spat down the hall and narrowly missed the slayer, leaving a scorch mark on her pant leg.  “Uh -oh.  This isn’t good.  Not at all.”

~*~*~

“God damn it Willow, get it under control!” Faith shrieked as Willow tried unsuccessfully to wield the power.

The dark slayer had come to just as Buffy’s eyes were starting to roll backwards and was able to catch the blonde before she fell, and broke the circle.  Across from her, Willow was vainly struggling with the combined energies of the Potentials and was losing to the Dark Forces that were joyously grabbing their chance to dominate the powerful witch.

“I can’t!” Willow sobbed brokenly.  The magick had gone wild, stripping her of her control as easily as it had stained her hair and eyes black.  “Shut up you whimpering bitch!” she snarled in the same breath.  Moving as if to seize the reins of the power, Dark Willow reached out with clawed hands and began chanting in flawless Latin.

::Now, Kennedy!::

Slashing open her hands on the dagger, the Potential leaped across the magical barrier, never doubting that she could cross through it.  Landing just behind Willow, she dropped to the ground and slid her arms and legs around the witch.  Fiercely, she gripped the now struggling Dark Willow’s wrists and whispered, “Magic is freaky shit, Red – but it’s your deal, so it’s cool.”  Words came, unbidden, and she shouted, “Take me to thee and set the light free.  I am yours – do thy will!”

Momentarily dumbfounded, Dark Willow lost her control just long enough for Willow to step in and grab the clean, clear energy pouring out of Kennedy.  With that power, she was now strong enough to fight back the Dark Forces and tame the wild magick of the Potentials’ power.

Dark Willow’s unfinished spell melted away under an onslaught of pure golden light that wrapped and shielded the four women within the circle.

“So that’s why she kicked our asses,” Andrew muttered to himself as he leaned against a wall, watching in awed delight as Willow easily manipulated her magicks.  Most amazing were her hair and eyes.  Once midnight black, now both shone golden, and were so bright, Andrew could barely look at them.

~*~*~

Just as things were about to get incredibly uncomfortable, light flooded the corridor, and the world stabilized.  Feeling more confident, Buffy took a step forward, breathing in the slightly dusty atmosphere of the hospital.  The moment her foot touched the carpet, half-heard whispers began to prick her ears like thousands of tiny needles.

“I wanted to be a dancer,” one said.

“I was going to be a doctor,” whispered another.

“How come you didn’t save me?”  This question echoed over and over, building until it was a shout that forced Buffy to cover her ears.  Confidence rattled, the blonde slayer took cautious, shaky steps down the hall.

Each voice had stroked a chord of memory within her.  Students, teachers, friends and even strangers that she had failed.  Even Principal Flutie had slung his own brand of barb, chiming in at the very last with, “I never wanted to be lunch!”

Shivering slightly, Buffy stopped in front of the door and put her hand on the handle.  Breath coming in short, fearful gasps, she stood, tasting the acrid air of the hospital.  Closing her eyes, Buffy took a deep breath and steeled herself.  “Okay, this is just too real.  Just once, I’d like to have one of these battles where everything smells and tastes like chocolate.”

With one decisive motion, she depressed the handle, and opened the door.  As it swung inward, it revealed a dimly lit, single-patient room.  Sounding almost as if they were coming from down a well, Buffy could hear the noises that the various machinery of life made as they bleeped and hummed from behind a privacy curtain.

“Not very intimidating,” she muttered as she crossed into the room.  Taking a deep breath, she said, “All right, Mr. First Evil, let’s see who you really are.”  Two steps brought her to the curtain.  Flinging it aside, she hurriedly looked up at the bed’s occupant.

“Mom?”

~*~*~

“Giles!  Oh thank god, Giles, you’re here.  Quick, we’ve got to take Xander to the hospital – what the hell is that for?” Anya broke off her planned tirade to look pointedly at the spear in the Watcher’s hands.

“It’s –“

“Long-arm’s Lance, I know that.  What I want to know is how the hell did you get it, or better yet, where the hell – oh, never mind!  Xander’s lost an eye and Teresa’s dead and I’m not sure about the others, but this has to end soon because there’s not that many of us left standing and Willow almost went evil again and Giles!” she screeched as the Watcher pushed her aside, hefted and aimed the spear at the center of the circle, right where Buffy stood.

~*~*~

Robin Wood jumped up as soon as he heard Anya scream.  Right behind him was Spike, though the vampire had let out a stifled groan of pain at having to move so quickly.  Both men saw the watcher, looked first at each other, and then at Giles.

“Bugger me,” Spike said, shrugging when the Watcher didn’t move, just held the spear in a carefully aimed position.  The vampire slowly sank back to the ground and lit a cigarette.

“No smoking in school,” Wood muttered automatically, which earned him a finger and a sneer from the vamp.

“Um, guys, why is Giles going all Great White Hunter on Buffy’s Wooly Mammoth?” Andrew asked, sidling nervously up next to the two older men.

“Hell if I know,” Spike said around his smoke.  “But if he skewers her with that pig sticker, I’m gonna eat him.”

“Not unless Faith kills him first,” Wood said, giving the vampire a mocking half-smile.  “She is a Slayer – she could probably kill him and stake you without too much trouble.”

Spike snorted.  “Not like you, hey?”  He turned and spoke to Andrew.  “Boy wonder here couldn’t get it up even with my back turned.”

Andrew laughed uneasily. 

The principal growled and spat out, “Right.  I’m not like you, vampire.  I don’t take cheap shots.”

“Cheap or not, a shot’s a shot.  Everything’s fair in death and war,” Spike said, and then shrugged again.  “Whatever.  Look, for what it’s worth, Robin Hood,” he stressed the other man’s name heavily, “I spend every damned day, hating myself for the shit I’ve done.  So you go on and hate me too, because it’s nothing more than I deserve.”

Robin had no reply for the vampire.

~*~*~

“Oh, Buffy.  It’s so good to see you,” Joyce Summers said, smiling up at her eldest daughter.  The elder Summers’ head was bandaged, her skin was pale and she had dark purple circles under her eyes, but otherwise, she looked great.  She looked – alive.

“Mom?” Buffy repeated, uncertainly.

“So, the doctor tells me that the surgery went well, and that they got out all of that pesky little tumor.  Isn’t that great?”  Joyce searched her daughter’s eyes. 

“Um, yeah.  That’s... um, great!  Yeah,” Buffy stammered.

Patting the bed, Joyce said, “Well?  Don’t just stand there.  Get over here and give me a big hug!”

Moving as if her feet were melting into the floor, Buffy walked to the bed and then sat down.  Joyce sat up and wrapped her arms around her daughter, hugging her weakly. 

“Oh gosh, that feels so good,” Joyce whispered, tears in her voice.  She laughed shakily.  “I mean, I know it’s only been a couple of hours, but it feels like it’s been years since I last saw you.”

Shaking uncontrollably, Buffy blurted, “Mommy!” and collapsed, sobbing.

“Sh, it’s all right, Buffy.  It’s okay now.  Everything’s going to be all right, I promise.”  Joyce held her daughter, stroking her hair and patting her back soothingly.  “I’m okay.  We’ll make it through this.  The doctor says I’ll be as good as new.  You just have to do one thing.”

“Wh-what’s that?” Buffy sobbed as she clung to her mother.

In a softly reasonable tone, Joyce replied, “Kill them.”

“What?” Surprised, Buffy pulled back.

As if it were inevitable, Joyce nodded.  “Kill them all, Buffy, and I’ll be fine.  You, and me, and Dawn, we can all be together.  Forever.”  She smiled beatifically.

“Mom, but, who, I...” Confusion forced Buffy to struggle free of her mother’s embrace.

“It’s very simple, honey.  Kill the girls.  They won’t mind – they’re mostly dead anyway.”  Joyce’s face turned sad.  “Don’t you want me to live, Buffy?”

“Mom.  Yes, but-“ Buffy raked her fingers through her hair, unable to think clearly.  Kill?  The girls?  But- I don’t kill, do I?  I’m a slayer, I slay demons, and vampires... I don’t... kill... people, right?

“But what about Ben?  Wasn’t he a person?” Joyce spoke as if she knew what Buffy was thinking.

“Giles killed him, not me,” Buffy answered, but her words lacked conviction.

“Fair enough.  But...” Joyce cocked her head as an expression of curiosity washed over her face.  “What about Tara?  Didn’t you kill her?”

“What?  No!  Warren killed her,” Buffy blurted, but again, her tone was off.

“Oh sure, he wielded the gun, but really, if he hadn’t been trying to get you, he’d have never been anywhere near Tara, right?  In fact, if you hadn’t been so wrapped up in your pathetic little self-pitying world, you would have caught those silly boys right away.  Instead, you let your own selfish needs interfere with your duty and that – you – killed Tara.”

“No,” Buffy whispered, her face going ashen.

“Yes,” Joyce pressed reasonably as she moved to the edge of the bed.  “It’s okay, honey.  I forgive you.”

Mute, the blonde slayer could only stand there, shaking in denial.

Joyce stood and easily strode to her daughter’s side.  “Sh,” she said, gathering Buffy into her arms.  “It’ll be all right.  After all, it’s not like you’re a superhero.  You can’t save them all.”

..all, all, all... The words echoed in Buffy’s brain, triggering a mad spiral of sounds and images.  Everyone she had ever fought for – even died for – shouting at her with hollow voices, accusing her of failing them.

“Some hero you are, Buffy the Vampire Slayer!” They all shouted in unison.  “We died because you couldn’t save us!  Our blood stains your hands!  You failed!  Failed!”

“No!” Buffy shouted, tearing away from her mother’s arms.  “I’m not your hero!  I don’t want to be a fucking hero!  I never wanted to be a hero!  I wanted to be a fucking cheerleader!” she raged, shaking a fist at the uncaring ceiling.

“An easy dream to achieve, Buffy,” Joyce said, clapping her hands softly.  As easily as that, Buffy was clad in the bright colors of a cheerleader’s uniform.  The letters UCSD decorated the sweater.  “I mean, with me back, you’ll have my income.  You can go to college.  I’m sure you’ll easily dazzle the coach with your agility,” Joyce said coaxingly. 

Buffy let her head fall, and met her mother’s gaze.  “And all I have to do, to have this perfect world, is destroy the slayer line?” she asked in a perfectly calm tone.

“Yes.”

Spinning away from the gently smiling apparition, Buffy began to pace around the room, occasionally touching the machinery.  Suddenly, she stopped, and turned to face her mother again.  “What if – what if I wanted Tara back?  Would you bring her back, too?”

“Of course,” Joyce readily agreed.

“And Jenny – Giles shouldn’t be alone,” Buffy added thoughtfully.

“But of course.  Your Watcher should be rewarded for his long devotion to you,” Joyce said reasonably.

“You’ll give me anything I want – any perfect world – all for the end of the slayer line?”

Buffy, I’m here.  Everything’s in place.  Just give me a sign.  Giles’ mental voice sounded much like the Watcher himself – a little paternal, a little maternal and always very welcome.

“Yes.  I swear it,” Joyce said, putting a hand on her chest.

“Even if my perfect world is a world without you –“ Buffy pointed her finger at Joyce and a bolt of brilliant blue energy lanced out, striking the older woman square in the chest.  Knocked back several steps, Joyce struggled to regain her balance.  “Or anything like you, in it?”

Another bolt flew – a crimson dart of magick that hit Joyce and spread, washing over her.  As the light faded, Joyce’s image vanished, and was replaced by a hollow outline.  No man, nor woman stood before Buffy now.  Only a hazy shape that was indistinctly human.

“I will give you anything you want, if you let the slayer line die, Buffy Summers.”  The voice that answered her was not her mother’s, nor any other she had heard in her lifetime.  Rather, it was an amalgam of sound that made the hairs on the slayer’s arms stand on end.

Buffy pretended to consider the First’s offer.

As she did, the form solidified once more, readying itself to shape the slayer’s desires.

Crossing her arms, she cocked her head and bit her bottom lip.  Finally, she uncrossed her arms, shrugged, and said, “Ya know, I’m afraid that’s an offer I’m just going to have to refuse.”

“No!  You must take it, Buffy!  You must, I insist.  You can’t refuse me, Buffy.  I can be everything you ever wanted,” the First plead coaxingly.

“Oh.  Yes.  I can.  I refuse you.  You will never be anything that I want.  If you want me and mine dead, you’ll have to kill us all, one by one, until none of us is left.” 

“Easily done,” the First snapped waspishly.

“Don’t be too sure.  After all, you’ll have to kill us all – and as long as there’s evil, there will be a Slayer.  We will stand against you until the end of time, and beyond.  We are Slayers – it’s what we do.”  Now!  Willow!  Giles! she sent.

In the Mortal realm, Willow threw open her arms, causing Kennedy to groan in pain as more of her life’s energy was stripped from her.  In the center of their circle, a tiny tear in the fabric of reality began to form, stretching quickly until it was barely the length of a person.  Focusing her power, Willow forced the rift to open until it was several handbreadths apart. 

“Dawn!” Giles called out.

“Here!” the teen answered.

“Take this to your sister,” he ordered, lowering the spear and holding it out to her.

“Um, what?”

“No time to explain!  You must go now!”  He pushed her into the circle just as the rift opened wide enough to allow a thin teen with a really large spear to fall through.

“Oof!” Dawn grunted as she landed in a shadow filled hospital room.  Various pieces of machinery loomed in the background, and two figures were easily visible in the dimly lit room.  Stunned, Dawn watched as her mother turned and smiled benevolently at her.  Across from Joyce, stood Buffy, defiantly posed, anger written in every breath she took. 

“Dawn,” Buffy called quietly, “give me the spear and get behind me.”

“Dawnie!  Darling, what are you doing in here?  I thought the nurses said you were asleep?” Joyce turned to her other daughter, smiling benignly.  Holding out her arms, she started to walk toward Dawn.

“Dawn, get over here and get behind me, now!” Buffy barked.

“Mom?” Dawn asked in a quavering voice.  The spear clattered to the ground.  “Mommy?” she sobbed, taking a step toward the apparition.

“Oh honey,” Joyce cooed.

“Dawn!  That is not our mother.  It’s the First.  It’s a trick,” Buffy yelled, as she leaped for the spear.  Grabbing the weapon, she slashed the air between Dawn and the First.  “Get away from her, you bastard!” she ordered.

Joyce stopped just before the blade.  Holding out her hands imploringly, she looked at Dawn.  “I told you – remember?  She didn’t choose us, honey.  I’m sorry.”  The older woman frowned sadly, and tears formed in her eyes.

Dawn’s face twisted with anger.  “Buffy!” she shrieked.  “How could you?  I knew it.  I always knew it.  You hate me.  You hate her!  You wanted her dead!  I knew it!  It’s your fault.”  The teen launched herself at her sister, hands outstretched like claws.

“Damn!” Buffy cursed, sidestepping her hysterical sister.  “Dawn, I don’t have time for this.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Dawn mimicked.  “You never have time, Buffy.  Never!  You’re always off doing something – patrolling, training, hell, you’re probably fucking Faith, for all I know.  You never have time for me!  I’m your sister!  She’s your mother!  You’re supposed to choose us!”  The youngest Summers attacked again, flailing her arms wildly and scoring a hit to Buffy’s chin that rocked the slayer’s head back. 

“No, Dawnie, no.  It’s not like that.  I love you – I really do.  You’re my sister – my family – but that thing is not our mother!”  Buffy spun and slashed the spear at the First, catching its arm.

“No!” Dawn shrieked as she saw the blade bite deep into her mother’s arm.  Flinching, the teen’s cry died away as quickly as it had come, because there was no blood.  Where the spear’s blade had struck, there was only a tear in the being’s body.  It was as if Buffy had cut open a cardboard box, rather than the flesh of a living human.  Sobbing brokenly, Dawn fell to her knees.  “Mommy,” she whispered.  “She’s gone.  She’s really gone.”

“Nice pig sticker,” the First noted dryly.  “Too bad it’s worthless against me.”

“Oh, this isn’t for you,” Buffy said confidently.  “It’s for that,” she said, pointing.

The First looked.  Below them was the Hellmouth.  A massive granite door lay over it, closing it off most of the way, allowing only a tiny fraction of the evil inside to escape.  The slayer waved a hand and the door became translucent, revealing the armies of Turok-han waiting just beyond the doorway. 

“How did you-“ the First gasped in confusion.

“Know?  A girl’s got to have some secrets, doesn’t she?”

Waving one hand dismissively, the First said, “No matter.  You can see what you’re up against.  Surrender, Slayer, and I might let your friends live.”

Buffy sighed.  “How many times does a girl have to say no?  Sorry dude, but, n-o spells ‘not on your fucking non-existent life’.”

It snarled and attacked.  “Then you shall all die!”  Hands morphed to blades of shadowy steel and slashed out, but Buffy easily sidestepped the blow.

Unable to stop its forward motion, the First stumbled.  The slayer spun the spear downward and slashed across the floor, cutting a rift between the two worlds.  As the First fell, it passed through the rift and into the Hellmouth. 

Thousands of milling Turok-han looked up to see their master fall, screaming, from the sky.

“And stay out!” Buffy grunted, driving the spear through the realities and into the granite door to the Hellmouth.  “Could use your help, now, Faith,” she wheezed, as she tried to pull the gate shut.

“No problem, B,” Faith said, appearing beside her.

The hospital vanished, replaced by the principal’s office in Sunnydale High.

Together, the two slayers gripped the spear and pulled.  The sound of stone grating over stone filled the room as they closed the door.  Distant shouts could be heard, and then, the thuds of bodies against the other side of the gate.

“Faster!” Buffy cried.  “Willow, the sealing spell!  Start it now!”

As the two slayers tugged on the spear, they glowed a bright orange and that glow transferred from them, to the spear and finally to the door.  Slowly, the granite began to move.

“Right.  Um, let’s see, how’s my Ancient Sumerian, anyway?” Willow muttered thoughtfully as she closed her eyes.

“Not nearly as good as mine,” Andrew suddenly interjected.

The young man stepped into the room, picked up the dagger from where Kennedy had left it, looked down at its blood-coated blade and swallowed heavily.  Closing his eyes briefly, he nodded.  “With this blood do I bind thee.  Against the darkness thou shalt stand, until the end of memory.”  Raising the dagger above his head, he brought it down quickly, burying it deep in his chest.

Coughing up blood as he staggered toward the circle, he caught Willow’s gaze.  He smiled weakly.  “Told ya,” he said as he fell against the granite.

The door slid into place.  Buffy let go of the spear.  Dropping to her knees, she grabbed Andrew’s hand.  “What are you doing, you idiot?” she asked, as tears started to fill her eyes.

He laughed brokenly.  “Blood can close gates, too.  Like the Seal, only, voluntary.  You know?  Has to be voluntary.  Couldn’t let one of you die.  Not when I could do it for you.”  His eyes found Faith’s.  They shared a look.  The dark slayer knelt on the other side of him.

“Ya done good, kid,” she said, as she leaned over and brushed a kiss over his forehead.

Andrew smiled crookedly.  “Thank...”  He coughed and blood bubbled up and out of his mouth.  “You,” he finished in a whisper.  His body shuddered once and then fell slack against the portal.

Softly, Willow began to chant.

                        “With his blood I bind, again and for all time –

 this door shall be no more!”

At the last word, there was a bright explosion of light.  Everyone winced, looking away or covering their eyes against the intensity of it.  When their sight cleared, the Hellmouth, the granite gateway, Andrew’s body and the spear, were gone.

~*~*~

The aftermath was upon them.  It was somewhat anticlimactic, for all involved.  Xander lost his eye.  After several days of moping around, decrying against fate, the world and fighting evil in general, he discovered that life as a cyclops wasn’t all that bad.  After all, there were certainly many less interesting pick up lines than, “Argh, I’m a pirate, and I’m here to cart you off for ravishing.”  It worked, too, at least half the time.

After having a good row with Robin in which both men ended up agreeing to

stay out of the other’s way, Spike left Sunnydale.  The second vampire with a soul slipped out of town one night on a railcar headed for parts unknown.  He had left a simple note – “Going to find my Yoda.” – and vanished.

On his way out, he made one last stop.  Robin found him sitting on his porch late one night, waiting.  When the principal walked up, the vampire stood, dropped his leather trench coat on a chair and said, “For you.  It was your mum’s,” and walked off into the night.

The remaining Potentials, all but a few of them, returned to their homes and families.  They were just girls, now.  Teenagers and pre-teens who could look forward to ordinary lives doing ordinary things.

There were a few girls who could not return to their families due to Bringers, circumstance or finance.  They ended up staying with Buffy, because she was not about to send them into the world, alone.

Having extra girls around helped to germinate a plan in the young woman’s mind.  It would take some time, some advice and some money, but if it worked, it would be worth it.

~*~*~

“You kick a mean butt, Faith,” Buffy said, breathing heavily as she sagged against the wall of the house.

“Have to, B.  Gotta get in shape, for the joint.  I’m kitty litter, otherwise,” Faith responded, wiping down her face with a towel.  “Go again?”

“I wish you’d stop talking about that,” Buffy said, suddenly surly.

“What?  Prison?  It’s a fact, B.  I’m going back.  I’ve got a debt to pay,” the dark haired woman said softly.

Buffy turned away, her shoulders slumping in defeat.  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Faith was behind her in two long strides.  Wrapping her arms around the blonde, she gently cradled the other woman against her.  “I know.  But – I just don’t see how I can get a chance card just for saving the world.”

“What if... what if I said that I didn’t want you to go?  What if I said that I need you, here, with me?” Buffy whispered.

Faith’s eyes slid shut.  She shuddered, and held Buffy close.  “Oh god, B... Buffy, I-“

The blonde turned in her arms, and put a staying hand over her lips.  “Just listen, okay?”  Faith nodded.  “I’ve got this – idea.  And Giles agrees, and so do the others, so, I just need you, and it’ll be good.”

Faith narrowed her eyes.  “What idea?”

“We aren’t Slayers anymore,” Buffy started.  They weren’t, either.  One of the weird, wacky and terrifyingly wonderful side effects of using Long-Arm’s Lance was losing their Slayer powers.  For the first time, Buffy and Faith were just normal women.  Sure, each had years of martial arts training, weapons studies, and all the rest of the accoutrements of slayerhood, but neither had the actual power that gave them an edge over vampires.  Buffy no longer had a “spidey sense” and Faith was no longer able to break three ribs, two fingers and her ankle and still walk away whistling.

When they had first figured this out, they had both been angry.  Later, after having realized that they were still alive, they had rejoiced.  Their onus had passed to another, and they were free to live their lives.

“Right.  Poor Ken doll.  Betcha she’s still mad,” Faith remarked with a droll grin.

The new slayer?  None other than Kennedy.  Still bound to Willow, the oldest of the Potentials had received an incredible burst of power when the witch’s spells had collapsed.  So much magick had passed through her body that the young woman’s hair had turned white in streaks.

It was Giles who figured out that Kennedy was the new slayer.  Using a dowsing spell that had passed from Watcher to Watcher down through the ages, he had announced that the still-recovering young woman was now the world’s guardian against the dark forces of the night.

Willow had mixed emotions on the subject.  Proud, and scared, she stoically stood by her girlfriend’s side as she recovered from the magickal backlash.

“She’ll get over it.  There’s a ton of perks – and bloody dust comes out with a nice dash of that oxy-junk,” Buffy quipped.  “Anyway – I was thinking.”

“Always an interesting pursuit,” Faith teased.

“Bitch.”

“In heat, for you, always,” Faith bantered back, tipping her head down to steal a kiss.

“As I was saying,” Buffy murmured, when Faith pulled away.  “The Watcher’s council is kind of, rubble.  So, I was thinking, maybe, we should make a new one.”

“What do you mean?” Faith asked, furrowing her brow curiously.

Buffy smiled brightly.  “Well, Giles, and a few of his other stuffed shirt friends are still around – and there’s me, and you, and Dawn – she’s really interested in the dry research of moldy oldy things – and Angie, Trisha, Heather and Megan will go anywhere I do, because I’m their guardian.  We can gather up some people and, you know, found a new council.  Only, this one won’t work in the shadows – at least not with slayers.  This one is going to be like a school, training people and preserving everything we can about Slayers in general.”

Faith shrugged.  “Sounds pretty cool, B.  But, what do you need me for?  I’m no academic – I never was one for the nerd herd.”

“Right.  Well, a part of the slayer thing is the fight.  You’re the best, Faith.  Better than me, better than Kendra – and quiet possibly better than Kennedy.  We need your knowledge – your edge – to train other Potentials.  They’re out there, somewhere.  We’ve got to find them, and keep them safe.”

“So, you just want me for my butt kicking abilities?” Faith asked wistfully.

“No.  I want you for you.  I want you, because I’m falling in love with you, damn it.  And I’m selfish enough to admit it!” Buffy said furiously.

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment.

“I’d be a fugitive,” Faith finally said, unable to meet Buffy’s eyes.

“I don’t care,” Buffy retorted.  “I’ll change my name.”

“I’d have to leave the country.”

“I’ll learn to speak another language.”

“I’d-“

“Have to live your life, with whomever you wanted.”  A new voice interrupted.

“Wesley?” Buffy called out, surprised to see the former and now, once again, Watcher, Wesley Wyndham-Price.

“Wes?  Wow, you’re looking...”

“Five by five?” he filled in.  “Thanks.  You too.  Here,” he tossed her a hefty envelope.  “This is for you.”  He smiled at Buffy.  “Sorry, I can’t stay and chat – I’m errand boy for this week.  I’ve got a flight to catch.”

“Safe journey,” Buffy said as he turned and left as quickly as he’d come.

Faith ripped open the envelope and quickly read its contents.  As she read, her legs gave way and she ended up on her ass on the ground, staring at the paperwork, dumbfounded.

“Faith!” Buffy cried softly.  “What is it?”

“I, I, I... read it,” she said, thrusting the paper at the blonde.

Buffy took it and quickly scanned the contents.  By the time she was done, she too was on the ground, hugging and kissing the still stunned Faith.

It was a letter of pardon from the Governor.  Someone had quietly informed him that Faith was instrumental in saving the lives of several thousand people.  That same someone had also convinced him that the woman who had been diagnosed as a crazed psychopath had reformed. 

The accompanying paperwork, release forms, information on where to retrieve her personal items, as well as other legal documentation, made what appeared to be wholly unrealistic, terrifyingly true.

She was free.

At the bottom of the stack was a short note. 

Faith, it started, I know you don’t think you deserve this, but you do.  If you hadn’t come when you did, the world would not be the same.  Sometimes, it helps to have enemies in high places who owe you big favors.  It was signed, Angel.

~*~*~

“I don’t know – I feel, like, old,” Kennedy said as she stood in front of the vanity mirror, brushing her hair.

Willow moved behind her girlfriend, wrapped her arms around Kennedy’s waist and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.  “You’re not old, sillybutt.  You’re just streaky.  I bet it grows out.”

Covering Willow’s hands with her own, Kennedy leaned into her girlfriend’s touch.  “Mm, you’re just saying that.  And I bet it doesn’t.  Grow out, that is.  In my family – once it’s gray, it’s there to stay.  I’d kind of hoped that I’d have a few more years, though.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of sexy,” Willow purred, tightening her grip.

“Yeah?” Kennedy asked as she turned around and slid her arms up to encircle the witch’s neck. 

“Oh yeah,” Willow said, a little breathlessly as Kennedy leaned in and began laying a trail of feather light kisses up her neck.

“I think I can deal with that,” Kennedy whispered, then captured Willow’s lips in a long, gentle kiss.

“I love how you do that,” Willow murmured as Kennedy pulled away.  That got her another kiss, which was followed by another, and yet one more until the clearing of a throat caused them to separate, blushing hotly.

“My poor, virgin, ‘I’ve never seen girls kiss before’, eye,” Xander quipped from the doorway.  “Where’s the video camera when I need it?”

“Xander!” Both women protested. 

“Heh.  Gotcha.  Look, we’re all downstairs, and waiting, and hungry.  You think you two mushfaces could unstick your lips long enough to join us for some grub?”  Although he had lost his eye, Xander’s sense of humor was still pretty much intact.

“Food, oh, yeah, bar-b-que!” Willow blurted, smacking her head lightly.  “I forgot.  Right, celebration.  We’ll be right there!”

Nodding, Xander tapped the door, eyeing it minutely.  “Great.  See ya downstairs then.”  He turned to go, then paused.  “You know, I almost miss it.”

Willow’s eyes filled with tears and she started to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

“Miss what?” Kennedy asked gently.

“Fixing this house on a daily basis,” Xander replied, with a half grin.  “What?  Did you think I was gonna say something else?  Right.  Did you see my date?  Come on,” he waved his hand dismissively.  “An eye for a babe?  Nice trade, I’d say.”

“Xander, you’re so incredibly shallow sometimes,” Willow said, mock frowning at him.  She knew he was teasing.  Between him and Kennedy, she had spent the first week after the big battle playing nursemaid to the two of them.  Kennedy’s hands were well on their way to being fully healed – though she would always have an interesting pair of scars running across her palms.

Xander’s eye was taking longer, though.  He still had a large patch of gauze over the wounded area that required daily treatments.  Soon, though, he would be able to switch to the special black leather patch that Buffy had presented him with while he was still in the hospital.

“Hey, I’m a man, I’m supposed to be shallow.  It’s like, my constitutional right, or something,” he said, smirking goofily.  “Now, I shall take advantage of my manliness to steal you away from your woman so she can finish getting ready.”

Willow accepted his proffered arm with a giggle, blew a kiss to Kennedy and together, she and Xander left the newly made slayer to finish getting dressed.

After they were gone, Kennedy pulled up a chair and sat in front of the mirror.

“Hey, you,” she said to herself in a quiet voice.  “Long time, no talk to yourself.”

Turning her hands over, she studied the thin, white scars that traversed the palms.  It covered the flesh that ran from the base of her thumbs, to the base of her pinkies.  The dagger’s razor sharp dagger had easily parted her soft flesh.  She could still remember the flash of pain, though that was quickly lost in the haze of adrenalin that raced through her when she placed her bloody hands on Willow’s wrists.

After that, she had no memory of anything but pain.  Baptism by agony, she had jokingly called it, when Buffy had asked.  The older woman had only smiled sadly, brushed a stray lock of hair from the recovering slayer’s face and nodded in silent understanding. 

It was all so very confusing.  She woke up two days later, her hands gently bandaged and Willow sleeping in a chair next to their bed.  The witch had fallen asleep half way between taking off her shoe and sock, because the shoe was on the bed and the sock was still half pulled off of her foot.

Dawn was standing in the doorway, with Amanda right behind her, and both girls were trying really hard to be quiet, but Kennedy had easily heard them. 

“Should we wake her?” Amanda whispered.

“No, let her sleep,” Dawn replied just as softly.

“I meant Willow – she’s going to get such a stiff neck,” Amanda said, reaching over the other girl’s shoulder and pointing at the dozing witch.

“Oh, yeah.  Probably.  But, be quiet.  Buffy says we need to be really careful around Kennedy, cuz she’s like, shell-shocked.”

“And that’s bad, because of the whole, Slayer thing?” Amanda asked as they tip-toed into the bedroom.

That whole, “Slayer thing”, as Amanda had put it was what allowed Kennedy to overhear the girls in the first place.  While Buffy and Faith had to get used to a dulling down of their senses – a relief in some circumstances – Kennedy now had to deal with being able to hear a dog break wind at a hundred paces.

Not that it wouldn’t come in handy, when she was patrolling, but there were times when great sight, hearing, taste, et cetera made life interesting in the cursed sense.  Like, she woke up at every little crick and creak the house made.  Of course, everyone else did, too.  They were all still on battle footing, as Xander put it, because they had spent so much of the past few months waiting for doom.

Now that the doom and gloom was over, their bodies were having difficulty adjusting to a more normal Sunnydale.  The school reopened, people went to work, and everyone got back to life as usual.

Except Kennedy, because, after her hands healed enough to let her get out of bed, her days and nights were filled with a crash course in Slayer Powers 101.

“So now I can split an arrow at thirty paces, stake a vamp in ten seconds and speak three forms of ancient Greek.  Great, but what does that all mean?” she asked herself as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail.  “And where do we go from here?”

Buffy had a plan – but Kennedy wasn’t certain she was up for it.

Could she really take on the job of being a hero?

Swallowing heavily, Kennedy sighed, pulled a lightweight blouse on over her tee shirt and headed downstairs.

I don’t know, but I have to try.  Because like it or not, I am the Slayer. 

“So, everything’s packed?”

Dawn fidgeted with the strings to her belt.  “Yeah, but, we’re not leaving right away.  Buffy and Willow are taking their girls out for coffee or something.  Last minute pow-wow, double date type thing.”

“But, you’re really leaving?  I mean, as in, moving away, never coming back, asta-la-byebye and thanks for all the weird things, leaving?” Amanda asked, in a babbly-nervous way.  The tall girl had both hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jeans and she was leaning against the door to Dawn’s now empty room.

“Yeah, but not forever – I mean, we’ll visit, a lot.  Anyway, let’s get busy, okay?” Dawn hurriedly opened the closet and started looking around.  Finding nothing, they moved to another room.

The Summers residence was nearly empty.  Buffy had sold the house, and then given the money to Anya with the explicit instructions to, “Find something big enough for a small army.”

Giles had added to the pot with funds from the Council accounts and Anya had gleefully gone house hunting.  After only a few days, she had found a lead on something that seemed, “Really promising,” according to the former demon.

Anya had gone full bore into Realtor Mode.  Dressing in spiffy, slick skirt and jacket suits, she had spent each day visiting house after house until she found the perfect place. 

The paperwork had been signed and later, everyone would troop over to see where Slayer Central, Sunnydale, would be located.

For now, Dawn and Amanda were in charge of doing a last run-through of the old house, making sure nothing was left behind.  So far, they’d found an old stuffed animal of Buffy’s, a baby rattle that Dawn swore was hers, though she couldn’t understand how they had one, when she had never actually been a baby, and two plastic forks.

They had a box of plastic bags for the things they found – there were bits of trash stuffed in odd spots as well, and those went right into a bag.  Then, Amanda found a stack of letters in a corner of the attic.

Addressed to Hank, Buffy and Dawn’s father, from Joyce, Dawn reverently traced the inky lines of her mother’s handwriting.

“Ooh, love letters!” Amanda crowed excitedly.  “Let’s read them.  Maybe they’re all steamy, and romantic.”

Dawn shook her head.  “No.  They’re... private, and I don’t...” the teen’s eyes welled with tears and she looked up at Amanda, gesturing helplessly.

“Hey, hey, okay.  We don’t have to, I just, um,” Amanda knelt down next to her friend and gathered her close, patting her back awkwardly. 

Clinging to Amanda, Dawn cried softly.  “I miss them.  I don’t understand it, I miss them and I never really had them to miss.  Just mom, and god, oh god and now, I’m leaving, and I’m going to miss you, and –“ she sniffled noisily.

“I’ll miss you too,” Amanda said, pulling a wad of tissue out of her pocket and offering some to Dawn.  “But you can write, and you said you’d visit, and –“

“But it’s not the same.  I just got to know you and now I’m going away, and it’s not fair!  I have a friend, and it’s not fair!”  The teenager bit her lip fiercely.  “You might forget about me,” she said in a little voice.

“Never,” Amanda assured her solemnly.  She reached out and brushed the tears away from Dawn’s face.  “How could I forget you, Dawnie?  You helped me dust my very first vamp.”  They both grinned shyly.  “You made me feel normal when everything was weirder than a straight interior decorator.  I’ll never forget that, or you.”  She leaned forward, touching her forehead to Dawn’s.  “Okay?”

Nodding, Dawn shyly pulled away, then barreled Amanda over, hugging her tightly.  “You’re my best friend in the whole world, Amanda – don’t forget that, okay?”

A strangely sad, almost longing look flashed over the tall girl’s face as she hugged Dawn.  “Nope, never.  Anyway, we should, um, probably get the rest of this done, before everyone gets back, right?”

“Yeah.  And hey, maybe they’ll bring us pizza,” Dawn said, a bright, cheerful smile rippling across her lips.

“Hey, can’t go wrong there,” Amanda said, grinning in agreement.

~*~*~

“So, what’s the full plan, anyway?” Willow asked, taking a sip of her steaming hot cappuccino. 

Buffy grimaced and blew into her cup.  “Well, Anya sold the house – “ here, the former slayer sighed heavily.  “Do you know how odd it is to say that?”  At Willow’s sympathetic nod, she went on.  “Giles is the most senior member of the Council left – which means all their funds, everything that wasn’t kept in the London headquarters, is his to control.  He’s given Anya access to a certain amount, and that, along with whatever she got from the house, will be used to buy a new place.  For you, and, Kennedy, and, well, whoever else needs to be there.  Like Anya, and Xander, if they want – and, if you want.  You know?  A place, safe, that new Potentials ...”

“If there are any,” Willow supplied.  Since the battle, none of the other girls had tested positive, by any of the magickal means that Willow and Giles applied, as a Slayer Potential.  “It’s like – presto-draino, and wham bam, thank you ma’am, no more possible Slayers.”

Buffy nodded.  “Yeah,” she said, and set her cup down.  “I – I don’t know if there will be anymore slayers after Kennedy, but if there are, there needs to be a place for them to go, and learn – whatever it is that we can teach.  So – we’re going to find everyone that’s left.  Watchers, researchers – just, whoever was formally associated with the Council – and ask them to help us make the Council live again.  Only, this time, it will be my way, and not the way a group of stuffed shirts thinks it should be.  No more drugging slayers just to see if they’re good enough, no more treating them as if they’re mindless killing machines – from now on, the girls get to be girls, as well as slayers.”

Willow looked impressed.  “I’m kind of liking this plan.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Buffy said, “Yeah, well, I’ve had a long time to think about this.  About how I’d do it if I were in charge.  And now I am, and so-“ she waved her hands about emphatically.  “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” Willow echoed, smiling shyly.  “It’s gonna be weird, without you, Buffy.  I mean, seven years.  That’s like, a marriage, or something.”

Buffy laughed, but there was a wetness to her eyes that belied the mirth.  “Don’t get all weepy on me, Will.  I don’t want to cry in my cappuccino.”

“Right, no salties in the sweeties,” Willow said, as she tried to surreptitiously wipe her eyes.

“Aha!  There they are!” Faith crowed happily, dragging Kennedy along by the arm. 

The former slayer and her protégé had left Buffy and Willow to their own devices while they went off, shopping for the “perfect Slayer wardrobe”, according to Faith.

“Well if it isn’t the Slay-me Twins,” Buffy said, standing to greet her girlfriend with a chaste kiss.

“Hah!  You’re pointed wit has punctured my armor!  You kill me, B, you really kill me,” Faith retorted, grinning mischievously. 

Willow was checking out her girlfriend.  When they had left, Kennedy had been wearing a simple pair of brown slacks, a light blue blouse and a blue denim jacket.  Now, the new slayer was dressed in a pair of black jeans that hugged her legs until they flared out at the ankle just slightly, a belly-button baring dark red top and a heavy leather jacket.  The witch’s gaze traveled down, up and back down her girlfriend’s body.  Unconsciously, she licked her lips and then turned to Faith.  With a purely lustful grin, she said, “Thanks.”  Then, she returned her attention to a now thoroughly flustered Kennedy.

Wriggling her eyebrows suggestively, Faith said, “Anytime, Will.”

“Can we stop acting like I’m a particularly well-chosen present now?” Kennedy asked plaintively.  “Can I get a real hello?”

Slowly, Willow stood and glided over to the brunette slayer.  “Hello,” she purred.  “You look – great,” she added, leaning in and kissing Kennedy gently.

Somewhat mollified, Kennedy wrapped her arms around the witch and said, “Hey.  Thanks.”  They both sat down.  “So, what’s the convo?” she asked, slipping an arm around Willow and looking at Buffy expectantly.

“Oh, not much.  Just planning for the future,” Buffy said as Faith reached over and grabbed the blonde’s cup. 

“Sounds cool,” Kennedy said, hiding a smile as Faith covertly chugged the entire contents of Buffy’s mug, and then made a really awful face.

“Yeah,” Faith said hoarsely, “real cool.  Gah, B, what was this stuff?” she asked, coughing slightly.

“Tripple mocha fudge mint surprise,” Buffy replied innocently.  “Why?”

“Oh god, I think I’m gonna be ill,” Faith groaned and put her head in her hands.

Willow laughed.  “One thing I’ve learned – never, ever, drink Buffy’s coffee.”

Buffy just looked at the table and said, “What?  What’s wrong with my coffee?”

Kennedy shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Sounded fine to me.”

In between her giggles, Willow had the grace to look mildly mortified.

~*~*~

“Are you gonna miss it?” Faith asked as she and Buffy stood outside of the former Summers residence.  The dark haired woman had one arm casually draped over the blonde’s shoulder and the other stuffed into a pocket.  One leg nervously tapped the porch and she was noisily chewing a wad of gum.

“The house?  No, not really.  I mean, a lot’s happened here – some good, some bad, but it’s really just a house.  What’s important are the people and yeah, I’ll miss ‘em.”  She sighed.  “I miss my mom every day, and I know I’ll miss Willow, but she’s just a phone call away, and I’ve learned how to talk to my mom in my heart.  It’s all good.”  She reached over and patted Faith’s tummy.  “You know, if you want a cigarette, I don’t mind.”

Faith shrugged one shoulder.  “I know, but, I kind of want to quit.  Smoking’s a part of my past – a piece of the bad old days that I’d kind of like to kick to the curb, ya know?”

“Still, if you have to – it’s not like I’m gonna quit kissing you.  If I could kiss Angel’s um, blood breath mouth, I can certainly handle cigarette breath.”

“Nice visual, B.  Thanks, but no.  I’m squared up, and doing okay.  I’ll just chew my gum, suck on mints, whatever,” Faith said, making a face.

Buffy grinned.  “You could always kiss me whenever you want a smoke,” she suggested coyly.

“Yeah?” Faith asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.  “Never figured you for the PDA type, B.”

Buffy just shrugged.  “It’s not a PDA when it’s a public service.  I mean, what nicer thing could a person do, than keep someone from polluting?”

“True, true.  Well, I guess there’s no time like the present.”  Faith spat her gum out, turned and kissed her girlfriend rather thoroughly.  Several heartbeats later, she pulled away, smiling wickedly.  “Oh yeah, much better than the patch.”

A honking horn told the two women that their patiently waiting friends were no longer so patient.

“Let’s go.  I think Anya’s gonna burst if she doesn’t show us the new place,” Buffy said, turning away from the house and heading for the bus. 

“All aboard!” Willow called from her place in the driver’s seat.  Besides Faith, she was the only one who enjoyed driving the beast.

Dressed in an eye-blinding, tie-dyed version of an old bus driver’s uniform, the witch was perched happily on a pillow, holding open the doors with a jaunty grin.  It had taken her a few days to learn to drive the monstrous vehicle, but once she got the hang of it, she was hell on wheels.

The bus had been given a paint job, and now sported cool multi-colored flames leaping from the front fender and over the roof, all down the sides and over the back.  The flames masked the intricate rune work that Willow, Giles and Anya had etched into the metal frame of the bus, making the vehicle a roving safe house. 

Deep metallic green paint was the base coat, while the flames were glazed over in light blue and purple.  The old windows had been replaced by heavily tinted ones, so that either Spike or Angel could ride comfortably in the bus without fear of the sun’s killing light.  It wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but so far, people had assumed that the bus belonged to some sort of odd musical group.

“Hate to say it, B, but the bus looks tight,” Faith said softly as they climbed up the steps.

Buffy laughed.  “I think it looks like something right out of Monster Garage,” she said, then shrugged.  “Which I suppose is appropriate, considering.”

“Yeah, well, no one liked my idea,” Xander said in a sullen tone.

“Really, Xander – how are we supposed to maintain a low profile running around in a bus designed to resemble the Mystery Machine?” Anya snapped waspishly.  “Come on, come on, find a seat, settle in, get cozy, people... daylight’s fading and I want you to see this place!”

Buffy and Faith quickly settled into their seats, fastened their belts and indicated that they were ready.  Willow closed the doors, and started the bus.

As the engine roared to life, the witch called back, “Okay, Anya, it’s your show now.  Where do I go?”

Scuttling to the front of the bus, Anya positioned herself as close to Willow as she could and quietly gave directions.  Willow nodded along, competently weaving the massive vehicle in and out of traffic and toward their goal.

Everyone sat in silent anticipation – for Buffy, Faith, Giles and the others leaving Sunnydale, this new house would only be a temporary resting place – but for Willow, Kennedy, Anya and Xander, this would be their new home.  What kind of place had the former demon found them?  Would they like it, hate it?

Buffy’s four wards were sitting in the back of the bus with their heads together, whispering quietly.  They really weren’t interested in the mystery of the house.  What they were most concerned with was whether or not there would be boys wherever they were going, and whether or not those boys would be cute.

Dawn sat nearer the middle of the bus next to Amanda, who had obligingly come along to see the new place.  After all, the tall teen had plans to remain a part of Slayer Central – she didn’t want to lose contact with Dawn.  Together, the two teens giggled and made silly faces at random passersby.

Sitting alone on the other side of the bus was Xander.  Every so often, he would whip out a little mirror and look at his newly eye-patched face, and grimace.  The bandages had finally come off, and now he was proudly sporting the leather patch.  Scars marred the skin above and below the patch, but they only added to the rakish look he was carefully cultivating. 

Surprisingly, the injury, instead of earning him a lot of unwanted sympathy, garnered casual respect from his co-workers, who believed that he had lost it while fighting off a mugger. 

Giles sat near Buffy and Faith, talking quietly with them.  They had held a short memorial for those who had died in the battle the night before, including Andrew.  Each of the survivors had spoken a few quiet words about those who had given their lives, with Faith taking up the burden of speaking for Andrew.  If it had seemed strange to honor the man who had murdered his best friend, none of them had mentioned it.  After all, their group included among them an ex vengeance demon, a reformed murderer and a witch who had nearly destroyed the world.  Andrew’s crimes, while heinous, were in good company.  If they could redeem themselves and still live, surely his ultimate sacrifice was worth a few words.

In a relatively short time, Willow was pulling the bus over and stopping.  “We’re here, according to Anya,” she bellowed, opening the door.  “Thank you for riding with Slayer Bus Services.  Please return your stakes and crosses to their proper positions.  Oh, and don’t forget – free holy water for the first ten return customers!” she added brightly, winking as everyone laughed.

Everyone quickly piled out of the bus, stopping when they saw the house.

Anya’s big find was a monstrous, single story ranch style house that sprawled lazily over what appeared to be an entire acre of land.

“This is our new place?” Kennedy asked, eyeing it skeptically.  A hundred years ago, the house would have been beautiful, but now, it was a dilapidated and dreary wreck.

“Yep!  I got it for a song!  The former owner was dying to sell,” Anya said cheerfully as she skipped up to the front door.

“What is it, haunted?” Dawn asked cynically.

“Yep!  But that’s no big deal for us, right?” Anya said as she turned the key in the lock.  Throwing her shoulder hard against the door, she grunted as it gave way, crashing inward.

“A real fixer-upper,” Xander commented as he stepped inside and turned around, taking in the eighteenth century construction.  “But it’s solidly built, for all of its cosmetic problems.  Haunted, huh?  I guess we can handle a few spooks in white sheets, right ladies?”

“Well, I’ve been here a couple of times now, and I haven’t seen a thing other than dust,” Anya said stubbornly.  “I’m sure that if there are any ghosts, ghoulies or goblins around here, Willow will be happy to witch them away.  Either that, or Kennedy can slay them.  Whichever works the best, because I’m not going to let this place go.  It’s huge!  Ten bedrooms, four bathrooms, and two, count them, two kitchens!  And that’s not including the garden, or the pool, or the rest of the estate!”

“Pool?” Willow asked as she entered the house.  Then she sneezed.  “Dust, ick.  More cleaning.”

“Pool,” Anya agreed.  “This way,” she led the group through the house.

As they walked, Xander would stop every few feet and make everyone admire some little architectural feature, raving on and on about how the builders of old had really known their stuff.  This went on for several minutes until one of the girls sighed heavily.

“All right, Christopher Lowell junior, we get it, this place is the bomb – can we go see the pool now?” Heather asked, putting her hands on her hips and giving the carpenter a pathetic smile.

“Go, go – bask in the sunlight while I immerse myself in the glory that is this beautiful home,” he said, shooing them away.

Outside, everyone got their first look at the pool.  While it was far more modern than the house, it too showed the signs of wear and tear.  It was empty except for a thick carpet of leaves and debris and the walls were covered in graffiti.  Very little of the original design could be seen through the vandalism, though it would have been impressive several decades ago.

Anya turned to face the group.  “So, what do you think?” she asked, smiling smugly.

They were all silent.  Finally, Kennedy stepped forward, looked around and nodded.

“I think it’s pretty cool.  It’s gonna take a lot of work, but what else have we got to do, besides stake vampires, behead the occasional demon and dispel the odd hex?”  The slayer walked around the pool to a gate that led to the garden and from there, to a large open yard.  “We can plant the herbs Willow needs for her spells, and build the exercise yard that I’ll need, and still have plenty of room for a dog.  I like it,” she decided.

Willow nodded in agreement.  “This place is, like, way cool.  I mean, it’s alive, and happy and not all broken and droopy with sadness – sorry Buffy.”

“Hey, I know.  I can feel it too.  It’s like, even though it’s falling apart, it’s just waiting for someone to love it again.  I like it too, and I’m not even staying,” the former slayer said.

“Excellent.  I’ll call the contractors tomorrow.  Xander!” she yelled.  “Get out here and start giving me a list of what you want done with everything!”

“Coming, An!”

“Why do I think I’m going to regret giving her control of the Council’s assets?” Giles wondered, wincing as the two began creating a list of things that needed immediate repair.

“Aw, G-man, relax.  Anya’s a good egg.  Betcha she has that bank account chugging out cash in a heartbeat,” Faith said, grinning broadly.

Giles, being Giles, only appeared to grow more worried.

Faith laughed and walked over to Willow.  “So, witchy woman, how much are we gonna fight over the bus?”  The bus had been a point of contention between the otherwise amicable friendship building between the witch and the former slayer.  Both had grown to love driving the outlandish contraption, and both had argued vehemently over why each should be allowed to keep it with their “team”.  Willow wanted it for patrolling while Faith felt it was perfect for traveling across the country.  They were headed to New York, where Giles was planning to meet up with a couple members of the Watcher’s Council and everyone was a bit leery of flying, since they all seemed to be painted with big, neon green signs that all things supernatural could see.

Willow sighed.  “Well, I was going to throw a really A-plus tantrum, but after seeing this place, how can I complain?  I mean, this is really neat.  Messy, dirty and in dire need of a broom, but still way cool.  So, bus?  Eh, it’s yours and enjoy.  Just, take care of it – and when you leave for the Isles, don’t sell it, store it.  Or better yet,” she smiled slyly, “send it back to me.”

Laughing, Faith said, “Oh, drat.  And I was so looking forward to wrestling you for that hat.”  Then she snatched said garment off of Willow’s head and plopped it on her own, pushing it around until it hung at a jaunty angle.  “Think I could steal the jacket, too?” she asked, making puppy dog eyes at the mildly outraged witch.

“Ooo.  You took my hat!  My funky cool driver’s hat!  Oh, argh!  Here, take the jacket too, why don’t you!  You’re such a little, ergh!” she made comical faces as she pulled off the colorful jacket and handed it to the former slayer. 

“Thanks, Will.  You’re a peach,” Faith said, leaning in and planting a wet kiss on the witch’s cheek. 

“Hey, you better not be scamming on my girl,” Kennedy teased as she wandered over and wrapped a possessive arm around Willow’s shoulders.

Winking at Willow slyly, Faith said, “Nah, we’re just exchanging ‘no shit, it was that great’ stories.”

“Really?” Kennedy put a host of meaning into the word.

Willow turned scarlet, Faith laughed and shook her head.  “I’m just funnin’.  Really, all I wanted was to steal her cool hat and coat.  I think I’ll just leave you two alone... it’s getting to be time for another dose of Buffy.”  Digging around in the jacket pocket, she came up with the keys.  Jingling them, she sang, “Woo hoo.  I got wheels now, baby.”

Eventually, everyone found themselves standing on the front lawn once more. 

A chill was settling over the city as the sun slipped beyond the horizon and they  all felt the need to hurry along.

With help from Xander, Anya got the door back up and locked.  Again, everyone piled into the bus, this time with Faith at the wheel.

Their new driver confidently took them to Xander’s apartment complex, where Willow and Kennedy would be staying until the new house was ready for occupants.  It was here that everyone said their goodbyes.

Gathered into a massive group hug, no one spoke.  Sniffles, a few stifled cries, and a long, wistful sigh said what words could not.

“I won’t say good bye,” Buffy finally said, as she let go of the hug and wiped her eyes.  “Because it hurts way too much.  So, I’m just going to say – see you in six months, okay?  We’ll be back, I promise.”

“Yeah, see you in six months,” Willow said, hugging her long time best friend tightly.  “And before, because, you know, there’s the whole, web-cam, computer thing.”

“Yeah, and the phone – it’s not like, we won’t be calling each other every day,” Buffy said, nodding vigorously.  The two women shared a long look.  As much as they tried to hide it, each knew that this was a huge change.  Their lives were now on different roads, and it was scary.  For seven years, they had been beside each other, on a near daily basis.  Now, it was time for each of them to walk alone, if only for a little while.

“Xander.” Buffy and Willow opened their hug to allow the third leg of their core group to join them.  “God, I can’t believe I’m leaving you guys,” the former slayer cried softly.

“Hey, it had to happen, right?  At least it’s not because, well, I won’t go there,” Xander said huskily.  “Buffy, it’s been the best seven years of my life.  Sometimes it was the worst, but even then, it was the best.  I can’t imagine not knowing you.”

They stayed like that, huddled in a tight hug, until the need to breathe pushed them apart.  Just before they let go, Dawn snapped a picture of the three friends.  All had sad, wistful smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes.

As soon as the teen put the camera back into her pocket, Amanda grabbed her up in a bear hug.  “I should get going,” she said quietly.  “Mom’s starting to think I don’t live at home anymore.”

“Well, for a while, you kind of weren’t,” Dawn pointed out a little breathlessly.

“Yeah, I know, but now, I really want to show her that I’m not one of those sad stories she sees on those forensic case shows she’s always watching,” the tall teen said, letting Dawn go.  “I’ll email you, though, just as soon as I’m done with dinner.”

“Okay.  Take care, okay?” Dawn said, forcing a smile.

“I will, I promise.  If I don’t, Kennedy’ll call me ‘maggot’ and make me drop and do twenty,” Amanda said solemnly.

“I’ll send those books the coven promised you just as soon as we get to London,” Giles was saying to Willow as he helped her carry a couple of suitcases up to Xander’s apartment.

“Actually, why don’t you wait until the library is ready.  I really don’t want to crowd Xander,” Willow suggested diffidently.

“Okay, but don’t neglect your studies.  Anya saved many of the books I had stored at the Magic Box.  There must be something in one of the older texts about what to do after one seals a Hellmouth,” Giles lectured sternly.

“I’m for party hardy rock ‘n roll, myself,” Willow said, with a brightly mischievous smile.

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Giles said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a long-suffering sigh. 

All of Willow and Kennedy’s things had been moved up to Xander’s apartment.  Pizza had been ordered, demolished and the boxes thrown out.  Amanda had gone home.  It was late – nearly midnight – when Giles, Buffy, Faith, Dawn, and the four former potentials boarded the bus one final time.

As Faith closed the doors, Willow put one arm around Kennedy and the other around Xander. 

“You think we should get a nifty set of wheels like that?” Willow asked wistfully.

On the other side of Xander, Anya said, “No.  They smell bad, cost too much to run and require an inordinate amount of maintenance.”

Willow snorted.  “Who died and made you accountant?”

“Giles – but he didn’t have to die to do it.  I’m good with money.  I know how to make it, spend it and save it.  So that makes me – your sugar momma.”  She smiled devilishly.  “Treat me well, kiddies, or I won’t let you buy any new toys.”

“Aw, mom,” Xander mock whined, which earned him a sharp glare and a cuff to the side of his head.

“C’mon guys, let’s get inside.  I’m freezing my slayer-butt off,” Kennedy growled, though she was smiling.

“Oh, can’t have that.  Must protect the butt.”  Willow disengaged her arms and began shooing the group inside.

Xander was the last to leave, standing and watching as the bus vanished from sight.

fin

04/27/03