Chronicle Four: LA Story

Disclaimer: Joss, blah blah blah. Fox, blah blah blah. These characters, this storyline, all of it, not mine. This is fan fiction, which by definition means, I made it up! : )

Hmm, what we have here is… yet another story in a series. Yeah, me, writing series’, who’d a thunk it? Anyway, if you’re curious, the first story is "Her Little Secrets", followed by "Prison of Choice" and finally "The Rat’s Tale". This is story number four, following The Rat’s Tale by a few months.

Angst-O-Meter: Slapping a big ol’ Kleenex warning on this one. There are scenes of violence herein. Some of these scenes involve children. This is not meant to be gratuitous, but to tell a story. I do not in any way condone or support violence against children. If this is something that will bother you, please read something else. Thank you. : )

There be much f/f shippyness ahead. Heck, there be shippyness of a m/m and f/m flavors ahead, as well. Not quite the Baskin Robbins of shippydom, I know, but enjoy anyway!

This story is for Nic. After I finished “The Rat’s Tale”, I was pretty Buffy-ied out, and I took a break to write other fic. But she kept asking about stuff and her questions and her perseverance reminded me that there was still quite a bit left to tell of the Chronicles. So, thank you, Nic.

“You scared me,” Tara said softly, clinging tightly to Willow. The blonde Wiccan stroked the naked skin of her lover’s arm, following her touch with a light kiss.

The two wiccans lay entwined on their couch, a warm fire crackling merrily in the fireplace that dominated one wall of the first floor of their tower home.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” Willow promised sleepily, nuzzling her cheek against her lover’s bare breast. Tara sighed softly, running her fingers through Willow’s dark red hair, loving the way the strands coiled and bounced.

“You really shouldn’t try conjuring spells with Anya,” Tara said, frowning a little in consternation.

“I wasn’t,” Willow said, sitting up and reaching for her shirt. “We were just having a little… discussion… and bam! Troll summonage. How was I supposed to know that the crystal had Anya’s cheesed off ex trapped inside of it?”

Tara fidgeted with a tassel on the couch and shrugged. “Maybe if you and Anya didn’t fight so much –“

“Who says we fight? It wasn’t a fight, it was a… a… a difference of opinion!” Willow retorted, her ears turning bright red. She made a sour face and added, “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be supportive girlfriend? Because I’m not sensing the support right now.”

“And another thing, it’s Anya who starts these things, always pestering me about spell components and stuff!” Willow angrily shoved her arm into one sleeve and then the other of her shirt. Her shorts quickly followed. “I’m going to bed. I don’t want to talk about this anymore!”

“Willow…” Tara tried again, but the redhead ignored her, stomping upstairs and noisily going about her nighttime ablutions.

Tara sighed again, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. Things between Anya and Willow had come to a rather roiling boil lately. Buffy, still floating on cloud nine in her newfound relationship with her girlfriend, Amy, hadn’t noticed, but the others had, and it was beginning to put a strain on the Scoobies.

Xander had started avoiding any gatherings where both Anya and Willow would be present, just so he wouldn’t be stuck between the woman he loved and his best friend. Giles and Joyce had taken to eating out most nights, not wanting to listen to the two women bicker over who was the better cook. And Tara was stuck, silently watching her lover turn into the most obnoxious of shrews.

Even BJ was tired of it, and she was a ghost! Not to mention that their friends, the two female detectives, Vanessa Richards and Elise Manning had stopped dropping by unannounced. Even Spike and Aliz were avoiding them, choosing instead to spend their time antagonizing each other, rather than watch Willow and Anya bicker.

Tara ground her fingers in against her skull harder, trying to stave off an impending headache and failing miserably. She couldn’t even remember the last time Faith and Cordelia had visited, which was amazing, since the two women had been up nearly every weekend for several weeks.

The Wiccan was almost ready to wish for something big, bad and nasty to move into Sunnydale, just so there would be something to get the two young women to work together. The Hellmouth had been relatively quiet since the summer, and it was now edging into spring. About the most exciting thing around had been the fireworks between Anya and Willow, and that was so not entertaining, that Tara would rather have a root canal than be in the same county as both of them.

“It’s only going to get worse,” BJ said softly as she materialized in the room.

Tara looked up as the ghost slowly solidified, then settled down on a chair next to the couch. “I know,” she replied, reaching for her own clothes and getting dressed.

BJ’s narrow face twisted into a smirk. “You know, you don’t have to do that. I’m not the least bit interested in your nakedness.”

Tara flushed. “I, um, know, I’m, um, just, c-cold, you know, cold,” she stammered.

One of BJ’s finely sculpted eyebrows rose as she surveyed the young Wiccan’s flushed skin. “Whatever you say. I’ve lost track of mortal sensations like cold and hot.” She crossed her long legs, the beads on her flapper-era black crepe dress tinkling musically.

Once Tara was dressed and settled back on the couch, the ghost picked up where she had left off. “As I was saying, Willow isn’t going to change until she learns some lessons.”

“I’ve tried talking to her, but she just won’t see how much Anya has grown,” Tara said sadly.

“It is not Anya’s growth or lack thereof that are bothering your lady-love, Tara. It’s the fact that she commands a greater part of Xander’s life now,” BJ said succinctly. The waning firelight reflected off of the crystals on BJ’s ghostly dress, creating odd, illusive rainbows over the dark fabric of the outfit. She shifted in her chair, watching Tara think.

Tara mulled that over. Spaz jumped on the couch and Tara idly began to stroke his fur, smiling faintly when he began to purr loudly. “She misses their closeness, the brother-sister type interaction they had shared while growing up,” Tara intuited, while Spaz got comfortable on her lap.

“Or something of that very nature,” BJ said. “Soon, she will have to come to terms with that, or she will lose him forever.”

“Does Xander know?” Tara asked softly, setting the orange-striped cat aside. A log cracked in the hearth, sending sparks floating up the chimney. The Wiccan stood and set another branch on the fire, waiting until it had caught before settling down again. Spaz climbed back into her lap, kneading her leg for a bit before settling down.

“If he doesn’t consciously realize it, he does understand that Willow, like Anya is acting out of jealousy,” BJ replied contemplatively. “I have tried to keep from observing their private lives, as you have requested. I can hear them, at times, when they escape to the roof to wander the garden.”

“Why is Anya jealous?” Tara blurted, startling Spaz. Her hand came up over her mouth as she made an “oh” sound, and then nodded in understanding. “History. Anya’s all about history, and Xander and Willow have the most history of all of us. That’s got to tear her up inside. She’s so caught up in not being outed as inhuman, because there isn’t anyone who has known her as a human in so long.”

“It doesn’t offer her comfort in her darkest hours,” BJ replied softly, as she thought of the lonely walks the young former demon sometimes took when Xander had to work nights. BJ’s heart had gone out to fiercely honest woman, and she had taken to shadowing her as she wandered the grounds of Chesley Manor. “Are you going to do anything about it?” the ghost pressed, hoping that Tara would be able to help.

BJ chuckled. “Yes, you. We already know that Buffy is still in ‘lovey-dovey land’ and Giles and Joyce aren’t the right age to point things like this out to them. Everyone else is too close to the situation and I’m just the ghost.”

BJ cocked her head to one side and smiled. “Because they both like you, so you’re least likely to be blasted or cursed?”

Tara squirmed uncomfortably on the couch, her expression plainly saying that she didn’t want the job, but she knew that BJ was right. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.” Anya likes me? Huh. Well, I guess she doesn’t hate me, Tara considered, remembering the last time she had gone into Pandora’s Box to buy spell components. To avoid any difficulties, she had paid for them rather than just taking what she needed, as Willow was prone to do. Oh, she knew that Mr. Giles didn’t mind, especially when she and Willow worked on spells to help Buffy, but she liked being able to pay for things – it was the least she could do with the money she had inherited.

“That’s the spirit!” BJ enthused, starting to fade. It was hard for her to maintain a physical presence for very long, and this little conversation had just about reached the limit of that ability.

“Wait!” Tara called out, causing the spirit to pause mid-transfer. “Why are you so interested in this, anyway?”

BJ’s face grew very still and her eyes saddened. “I sometimes sense things, Tara. I can see shadows in the well of worlds, and some of those shadows are reaching for this world. It may be that I am seeing constructs and fantasies, but I would rather see your group blend as a solid whole, than fractured by mistrust and ill will.” An impish smile flitted across the ghost’s lips. “Besides, I like Anya. She’s got the best sense of humor!”

“Oh,” Tara replied, bemused by the spirit’s words. She could feel the fear that laced through the prophetic nature of BJ’s statement, and the humor in her declaration of fellow feeling. The Wiccan hoped that the ghost was right, though, and that what she had seen was just a fleeting nightmare. Sunnydale was interesting enough without help from other dimensions.

“Bloody bastard!” Spike groused, ducking another wildly thrown punch. His mug of ale went tumbling across the bar, spattering the other patrons liberally with the dark liquid. “That was my last bloomin’ lager!” the vampire barked, reaching over the bar top and grabbing an empty bottle.

“It’ll be your last anything, kinslayer,” growled his opponent, a seedy looking, newly risen vampire. Greasy brown hair fell into flat brown eyes, partially obscuring a pimple-covered face. There was still a large contusion on the vamp’s face from where it had impacted a car window. Spike sneered disdainfully. He had heard some of the younger ones were cruising the highways after basketball games, taking advantage of the seemingly never ending stream of young, dumb college kids who would binge drink themselves to death. The blonde vampire didn’t think that using the kids was wrong, what bothered him was the fact that some idiot had sired one of his cheap meals. What a waste.

“Hey, hey, guys, guys, outside with your squabbles,” Willie the bartender said, not bothering to look up from drying out the now-empty mug. “I’ll spot the winner a beer and blood if you’ll take it out back,” he added nonchalantly, refilling the mug and handing it to another customer.

The other patrons, who had begun a betting pool, grumbled, but grudgingly herded the two combatants toward the alley behind the bar. No one wanted to be on the bar’s shit list. Willie’s was the only place in Sunnydale that served human and demon alike, without batting an eye.

Spike grinned, jazzed at the prospect of a good fight. A loud, rather put upon sigh drew his attention to a darkened booth where his employer sat, quietly sipping a glass of dark red wine. Alizelle was the half-human daughter of the demon lord, D’Hoffryn. Currently, she was out of favor with the Unseelie courts, which was why she, and her formidable mother, the Sorceress Helen, had hired him. Aliz glowered darkly at him, her displeasure written clearly on her face. He shrugged and mouthed, “’Snot my fault the bloke’s got a chip on ‘is shoulder.”

She turned away and blatantly ignored him. Bloody damned Fae, Spike thought nastily. Every last one of ‘em’s got a chip on ‘is shoulder bigger than the Queen Mother herself. It’s no wonder the lot of ‘em squabble like children! Spike rolled his eyes and allowed the crowd to shove him out into the alley. If she was going to be like that, then so be it! A bloke had to have his jollies, right? He grinned as a particularly attractive demoness leaned over and stroked her fingers through his hair.

“’Ere luv, hold this for me, will you?” He slipped out of his leather trench coat and handed it to her, causing her to giggle prettily. “You’re such a dear, luv,” he said, oozing charm. The blonde vampire pushed up his sleeves and made a few test punches at the shadows. “All right then, let’s row, mate,” he said to the other vamp, whose reply was to lower his head and charge.

The cheering crowd formed a loose circle around the combatants as they fought, making sure that neither man left prematurely. Several blows were exchanged, but it was really no contest. Spike was older, stronger and less inclined to play fair than the other vamp and in just a few minutes, it was all over.

At first, the English vamp let the youth get in a few sharp blows, but he soon tired of having his nose be a target and grabbed the kid’s fist, twisting his arm around until he heard a loud popping noise. The younger vampire screeched in pain and backpedaled away from his opponent.

“Had enough?” Spike asked, crossing his arms over his chest and giving the boy a smug grin.

“You broke my fucking arm, you bastard!” the other vampire whined, cradling his arm against his chest protectively.

Spike shrugged and wiped a hand across his face, only now noticing the blood that sluggishly coated his mouth and chin. “And you broke my nose. I think we’re even, mate.” He looked around at the crowd and smirked. “Wouldn’t you all agree?” Some of them nodded, others growled uncomfortably, wanting more of the bloodsport.

“I think you should let the child go,” a familiar voice floated down from above.

Spike glanced up and noticed Alizelle looking down at him, a distasteful grimace coloring her otherwise attractive features. He sighed and looked away. Why did she have to act like his bloody mother all of the time, anyway?

Unfortunately for Spike, the distraction proved to be a perfect opening for the other vampire. The injured boy, thinking to gain the upper hand, launched himself up from the ground, the muscles of his face rippling as they shifted to push out his fangs.

“What the?” Spike had time to splutter just as the boy’s head caught him under the chin, ramming his jaw into his tongue, nearly severing it.

Spitting blood, the bleach blonde vampire roared in pain and anger, grabbed the other vampire’s head and twisted around, throwing him over his shoulder. There was a wet thunk and a grinding crunch and then a spray of crimson as Spike ripped out his opponent’s throat.

He sat there, momentarily stunned as blood dripped from his hands to the ground. This was always a moment of such bittersweet amazement for Spike. The animal lust for the kill still burned in his veins, and yet there was a tiny spark, a shadow of the poet he once was that gibbered insanely over his actions. A stake clattered to the ground next to the boy’s body. Spike felt, rather than heard the low, rolling chant from the crowd.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. You lost to William the Bloody and now comes the thrust.” It was corny, and it was something he hadn’t heard in years, not since… a nasty smile cracked over his face… not since he and Dru had eaten a village in China, all those years ago.

Spike closed his fingers around the stake, exulting over having control over the bane of all vampires, and then, with one powerful blow, drove it home into the young vampire’s chest.

He stood and dusted off his pants. “Right then, where’s my coat? I need a smoke.”

“Just get out, Faith,” Cordelia Chase yelled at her erstwhile lover while the other woman winced at the angry tone in her lover’s voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m gone already. Just let me get my boots and I’m so gone, you won’t remember my name,” Faith mumbled, searching in vain for her other shoe. Dennis, Cordelia’s house ghost, decided to be helpful and scooted the black leather shoe out from under the chair where it was hiding. “Thanks, Dennis. I knew I could count on you to help me find the door,” Faith muttered, shoving her feet into her boots and pulling on her coat.

“Are you gone yet, Faith? Because if you aren’t, I’m going to have to ask Dennis to toss you out on your lily-white slayer ass!”

The slamming door was Faith’s only reply. Once she had made sure that the slayer was truly gone, Cordelia allowed herself to flop down on the couch and cry. Great, wracking sobs exploded from the young woman as she let out her grief and frustration. Weakly, she punched a pillow, whispering, “Why, Faith, why?” over and over. Dennis, unable to do much to comfort his friend, caused a small whirlwind of papers and books to dance about the room in frustration.

Faith trudged down the street, hands shoved deep into her pockets and head bent so low she could count the eyelets on her boots. I’m such an asshole, she thought sadly, kicking a stray stone into the street. She knew that Cordelia hated it when she took chances, but still she went out every night and slayed. It was her job, her calling, something she couldn’t stop doing. Yet, by its very nature, slaying put her in mortal danger, and Cordelia had asked, several times, if she would just not do it alone.

The sometime actress, sometime seer hadn’t even tried to make her promise not to risk herself – just do it with someone, like Angel, or Wesley or even their new hire, Gunn, but no, Faith was Faith and Faith didn’t have partners. Slayers were loners; they were supposed to be dark hunters of the night, like their prey. Slayers weren’t supposed to have friends, or family, or especially, girlfriends who could see when they were getting into trouble. Which was why she was in the proverbial doghouse with Cordelia.

It had started simply enough. Angel received word from one of his demonic informants of a new vampire nest forming in an abandoned apartment building. Using what the demon had told Angel, Cordelia and Wes had tracked down the actual place and she and Angel had planned to go in and take out the nest.

But Faith knew that the best way to take out a nest was by day, and with Angel as a partner, there was no way that would happen. So she had gone alone, taken out the nest and returned to Cordelia’s place, covered in blood and dust. So a little of the blood was hers. It was just a flesh wound, nothing that a little bit of soap and water, and two stitches wouldn’t fix. No big deal, except, of course, to Cordelia, who treated it like she was about to die.

As soon as she had finished caring for the wound, Cordelia was all over her. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” she had screeched, all but shattering Faith’s eardrums with the intensity of her voice.

Faith had shrugged nonchalantly, her head aching and her muscles screaming from overuse. She was so tired of Cordelia’s near-constant nagging. “My job, sweet cheeks.” After all, Cordelia knew exactly what she did, and if she couldn’t take it, well then, Faith guessed she would just have to find someplace else to park her truck.

“Oo, you make me so mad!” Cordelia had growled, then had paced around the living room and had outlined, in detail, just how angry she was at Faith.

By the time she was done, Faith felt like a world-class heel. Because Cordelia wasn’t mad she was out slaying, no, she was mad because she was doing it alone.

“You should know better than to go rushing into a situation without someone to watch your back, Faith,” Cordelia had said, sadness rimming her eyes. “I know that I can’t stop you from slaying, and in truth, I don’t want you to stop, but I would really appreciate it if you’d take a minute to care enough about yourself to get backup. It’s one of those little things that would make me feel as if you care about tomorrow.”

I didn’t even bother to try to explain, Faith sighed, kicking the stone again. I just left, like I always do. Running away from my troubles, rather than working through them. I thought I was done with that. She sighed again and fumbled around in her pockets until she found her truck keys.

The huge, black beast had been her bed before and tonight would be no different. The camper shell she had installed on the back, along with the carpeting, futon mattress and other amenities had been meant more for weekend getaways to the mountains with Cordelia rather than as a roving motel, but they would do until she could find someplace else to stay.

The sleeping bag was a chilly alternative to Cordelia’s warm body, but it was better than a pile of newspapers and a cardboard box, which had been Faith’s bed more than once before. As she lay there staring at the white fiberglass of the camper shell, she felt a familiar presence begin to fill the back of the truck.

“Hey, Gran,” Faith muttered, not certain she was happy to see the old ghost.

“Tsk, Tsk, Faith. You’re so susceptible to foot-in-mouth disease, aren’t you?” Gran admonished gently while gently lifting her shirt and examining her side. The stab wound was more of a shallow scrape, and hardly warranted the two stitches Faith had put into it earlier. Still, the mentor liked to double-check her student’s handiwork now and again.

“I’m what to what?” Faith asked, frowning at the ghost, who was in the process of settling down in a cozy cross-legged position across from the slayer.

“You haven’t yet learned the finer points of discretion when it comes to finessing Cordelia,” the ghost explained, patting the slayer’s leg with an ethereal hand. “No matter, it will come to you in time, child. Since you’ve got some free time, though, we shall use it to discuss the finer points of teamwork.” Ever since the ghost had come into her life, Faith had been undergoing what Gran called, “Remedial Slayering”. Since her first Watcher was dead, and her second Watcher would rather have dental surgery with anesthesia than mentor her, Faith felt honor bound to pay attention to Gran’s lessons.

Faith sighed heavily and bent her head to listen to the ghost’s words, knowing that in the morning, she would be thoroughly quizzed on the night’s lecture.

%%%

“Spike, you’ve got to learn a little more discretion. We’re supposed to be laying low, not beating up every demon between us and my father,” Aliz said to her bleach blonde bodyguard as they quickly exited Willie’s Bar.

“Bite me,” Spike said cheerfully, stuffing a wad of cash he had just been handed into his pocket.

“No thanks, I like my food to be fresh,” Aliz replied smartly, pushing past him to climb into the back of their waiting car.

“You know, maybe I should just take my pay and cut out,” he said as he settled in the seat across from Aliz. “After all, you being in Sunnydale and all, I’m sure the Slayer and her pals would be more than happy to baby-sit you,” he grumbled while crossing his arms.

“Spike,” Aliz sighed in exasperation, fumbling with the hem of her jacket. “If that’s what you want, fine. I can have the money by tomorrow.”

Spike frowned. It wasn’t what he wanted, exactly. What he wanted was for some-bloody-one to come and take the bloody damned chip from his head so he could live like a normal vampire again, instead of the clipped bird he was now. He wanted to drink the blood of a thousand innocents and bathe in the tears of virgins while Drusilla; his sweet, beautiful, wicked, crazy Drusilla sang disharmonic melodies in the background.

“Uh, Spike? Hey, you okay over there?” Aliz asked, drawing the blonde vampire out of his reverie.

Aliz rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m great, you’re great – you’ve got game face, by the way, we’re all great. We’re a couple of great fucking people. Isn’t that lovely?” the half demon snarled sarcastically.

Spike felt the muscles in his face contract and release. “Sorry ‘bout that, guess I was a little caught up in past glories, there, luv,” the vampire grinned cockily.

Alizelle shook her head in disgust. “I don’t get what you find so fascinating about violence, Spike.”

“Power, luv, it’s all about power. I’ve got it and they don’t. Or at least I used to have it. Still do, if it’s me against a non-human.” He shrugged and lit a cigarette.

“You must have been somebody’s whipping boy as a human,” Aliz said tauntingly. “Else why would you be such a bully now?”

Spike took a long drag and exhaled the smoke into Aliz’s face. “Maybe I just like to see them quiver.” He couldn’t, however, meet her eyes.

Aliz leaned forward, pressed the intercom and ordered, “LA. I’ll tell you where to go when we get there.”

Spike wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously. “The little lady’s got her mind up for an adventure, has she? Well, well, perhaps the night’s not so dead after all.”

“I just want to go home for a bit, that’s all, Spike. Anyway, what were you like before you were turned?” she asked conversationally.

Memories of his time as a mortal danced mockingly in Spike’s mind, reminding him that he was once the very thing he now despised. “About like you’d expect,” he said, pasting a sneer on his face.

“Ah, you must have been the butt of everyone’s joke,” Alizelle replied bitingly.

Spike glowered at her and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.” He turned to look out of the car’s tinted windows and into the distant past.

Tittering, jeering laughter followed William out of the mansion. Taunting, singsong voices sang, “William, William he’s the bloody worst poet of London, William the Bloody he is!” The chant chased him into an alleyway, where he collapsed into tears, clutching his notebook close to his breast. It was like this every time, yet he couldn’t seem to stop. There was so much emotion flowing within his body that he had to share it, he had to tell the world how he felt! She was so beautiful, and he loved her so much… Another poem, that’s what he would do! He would write another poem, this one so perfect that everyone would see that he was truly worth her affections, that he wasn’t the failure that the prissy dandies made him out to be.

He looked up once to see the object of his affections exit the building several minutes later in the company of one of his tormenters. It was too much right now, when his heart was still composing paeans to her beauty. He could not allow that to be marred by the presence of another suitor.

He pushed away from the wall and stumbled blindly into the darkness of the London alleyways. A pile of garbage cushioned his fall as tears of frustration spilled down his cheeks.

That’s where he met her. His savior, his redeemer, the one person in all the world who could feel his pain, and soothe it with the slightest touch – Drusilla.

“Oh Dru, I miss you so much,” he whispered softly. A warm hand brushed his knee, and for a fleeting instant; he thought that somehow, his beloved had heard him. He turned his head, expecting to see his lover’s beautifully maddened eyes, but instead, it was only Aliz.

“Leave off,” he growled, causing her to withdraw her hand as if she’d been stung.

“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of Sheba, I’m not going to let you steal one more particle of powdered bat’s eye until you show me the color of your money!” Anya said in a determinedly agitated voice to an equally agitated Willow.

“But I need this for the spell that Tara and I are working on. It’s for Buffy…” the red haired Wiccan tried reasoning, but Anya frowned.

“Don’t you think you’ve used Buffy as an excuse enough today, Willow?” Anya said, raising her voice a little.

The slayer in question raised her head and looked over at the counter. About a month after the gang had defeated Adam, the demonic cyborg, they had found the owner of Sunnydale’s only magic shop dead from a vampire attack. Giles, upon learning how lucrative the business was, decided to take over the shop and now had a thriving little business. Anya, surprisingly, had become his assistant, her strange brand of customer relations adding to the charm and mystique of the shop.

Pandora’s Box had quickly become a favorite after class hangout of the gang. Willow and Tara, especially, found that they were surrounded by a Wiccan wonderland of magickal paraphernalia.

Amy’s hand slid up Buffy’s knee, distracting the slayer from her reverie. Blue eyes danced merrily as the blonde slayer turned to look at her girlfriend. “Honey, I think maybe we should go find some dinner now,” Amy suggested softly.

“Uh…” Buffy said, swallowing as Amy’s fingers lightly scratched at the bare flesh of her leg. “I’ve got to stop wearing this skirt around you,” she finally muttered, causing Amy to laugh lightly.

“But it looks so good on you,” Amy said, continuing her caress. She leaned over and whispered, “I really like the way it hugs your curves – it inspires me!”

Buffy flushed and stood quickly. “Well, I’m all for inspiration,” she said breathlessly as Amy stood with her. “Dinner?”

Tara watched them go, wishing she could join them, but realizing that the shop was now empty of anyone but herself, Anya and Willow. Sighing, Tara got up to go and begin the mediation process.

Cordelia sighed heavily. Angel rolled his eyes and tried to ignore her. She sighed, again. The tall, dark and brooding vampire had just met his match in a not so tall, yet still dark, and brooding girlfriend to his associate, Faith.

For several days, Cordelia had been moping about the office, mooning over Faith. If she wasn’t griping about some little detail he had obviously left out of his reports just to spite her, the typist, then she was staring at the picture on the wall of the Angel Investigations gang at their last Moonlight Picnic. Aside from that, the secretary had rearranged her desk six times in the last hour.

In the photo, Faith had her arm draped lazily over Cordelia’s shoulder and she was leaning over, whispering some naughty secret into her lover’s ear, because Cordelia was blushing a deep scarlet.

Cordelia sighed and looked at the picture again. Angel fretted with a pencil on the desk, and then gruffly said, “I’m going out.”

Cordelia didn’t even notice when he spun on his heel and stalked out into the darkness.

Night in the desert was a strange, ephemeral thing. There was something so starkly absolute about the eerie quiet that Faith nearly got back into her truck and drove back to the city as fast as her truck would take her. Instead, she forced herself to work past her fears, climbing to the roof of the camper shell and lying down. Slowly, she began to count stars, linking the constellations she knew, creating new ones out of whole cloth for others.

Soon, the fear abated, leaving her with only a sense of empty peace. She had been coming out here since Cordelia threw her out three weeks prior. The dark haired slayer couldn’t say why she was drawn to the desert, but every night after patrol, she would come out here and count stars.

“Gotta hand it to you, Faith, you sure know how to pick hiding places,” a familiar, but not welcome voice said, followed by the thump of a body landing gently on the roof next to her.

Angel shook his head. “Wish I could do that,” he said, shrugging lightly. “But you see, there’s someone down there,” he gestured over his shoulder, toward LA, “who would stake me if I did.”

“Fine. Stay. I don’t care,” Faith replied, closing her eyes to block out the sight of her friend and employer.

Angel silently lay down next to the slayer. After a period of silence, he asked, “Don’t you ever get tired of running away?”

Faith blinked and sighed. “Go home, Angel. I’m not one of your helpless clients.”

“Now see,” he said, turning on his side to look at her. “There’s where you’re wrong, Faith. You’re more my ‘client’ than any one of those people down there,” he gestured toward LA again. “You’re a friend,” he said softly. “And I can’t stand to see my friends hurting.”

“Should have thought of that before you slept with the Buffster,” Faith pointed out mockingly.

Pain flickered across Angel’s handsome face, but he shoved it away. “Got another one? Come on, we can trade barbs all night,” he said softly.

Faith rolled away from Angel, landing with a soft thump on the sand below. Angel followed her.

“Come on,” he taunted, but she turned away. He stepped in front of her. She moved around him. It became a dance, and then she lashed out, pushing him away. He bounced up and got in her way again. She punched and he ducked. She kicked and he caught her leg. “What’s the matter? Getting rusty, Slayer?” he mocked dropping her foot to the ground.

“Go to hell,” she spat, trying to move away, but he was there, in front of her.

“Been there, nice place but I wouldn’t want to set up a kingdom there,” he quipped.

Faith looked up and was overcome with a desire to wipe the self-mocking grin off of the vampire’s smugly handsome face. Without thinking, she lashed out, slapping him as hard as she could.

He rocked back, and then rubbed his chin. “I deserved that,” he said, and then lashed out with his foot, taking Faith down hard. “And you earned that,” he added.

Faith jumped up and they began to fight in earnest, trading blows, creating a deadly dance illuminated only by stars and moonlight. They fought hard, but neither went to the point of killing frenzy. It was oddly stately, blow for blow, a moment to rest when it got hard to breathe, this dance that the slayer and the vampire wove under the moon.

Gran watched from the roof of the truck, wincing whenever one or the other of the combatants got in a particularly nasty blow. Dark energy poured off of the two people below her in pulsing waves, gathering to form a whirlpool of angry energy that sparked and crackled ominously. Only the spirit could see the energy, but she knew it would eventually draw the attention of the Unseelie court.

Startled, Angel and Faith broke apart, staring up at the roof of the truck. Hovering in midair was an elderly woman cloaked in clear, crackling energy.

“You two are acting like children,” Gran said as she settled on the ground and allowed the energy to dissipate.

“Gran-“ Faith started to say, but the older woman gave her a stern glare, causing her to quiet down.

“You,” Gran turned to Angel and gave him a once over that left him feeling like he had just been caught snitching tarts from the bakery window, “should know better.”

“I-“ he started to defend himself, but was quelled to silence by the same stern glare.

“Faith has a lesson to learn and your coming out here and chasing her all over the desert with your fists isn’t going to teach her any faster,” Gran said in a softly determined voice. “Now get into your car and go back home before the sun rises. You will be needed tonight,” she ordered clearly.

Faith tried to take the opportunity to escape, but Gran reached out a ghostly hand and tapped the slayer on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, but where do you think you’re going, young lady?” the older woman asked, a hint of her usual humor creeping into her strong voice.

Faith looked at her feet and sighed. Oh boy, I’m in trouble now, she thought. Turning, she replied, “Where do you want me to go?”

Gran smiled warmly, “Now that’s the spirit!” The spirit gestured, the doors to Faith’s truck popped open. “Come on, we’ve got a journey to take, and miles to go before you sleep,” she said in a mysterious tone.

Faith looked at Gran from the corner of her eye and smirked, “Isn’t that from a poem?”

Gran chuckled as she walked around to the passenger side of the truck. “Probably, but it sure sounded nice and hokey.”

“Oh great, I’m about to go on a road trip with Hokey the friendly ghost,” Faith quipped, sliding into the driver’s seat and revving up the truck’s engine.

“Willow, I think we should just pay for the supplies,” Tara said softly, wedging herself between her lover and the highly irritated ex-Demon who ran the counter at their favorite magic shop.

“Yes! Pay, as in cash, money, here, in the money place!” Anya agreed enthusiastically, tapping the ancient register lovingly.

“Is that all you care about?” Willow snapped bitingly. “Oh, wait, I forgot about your precious orgasms. You should be a prosti-“ her lips were covered by an almost painfully fervent kiss from Tara.

Fingers stroked her temple and she weakly allowed Tara to draw her away from the fight.

Anya watched them go, feeling the resentment and anger build in her chest until she thought she would explode. Just then, Xander wandered in and smiled at his girlfriend.

“Good afternoon,” he said brightly, leaning on the counter. “How’s my beautiful girl?”

She melted. Anya couldn’t help it, but when Xander looked at her with his big brown eyes, she felt all the pain and hurt of Willow’s words drain away.

“Very good, now that you’re here,” she replied, leaning over to steal several small kisses.

Xander nuzzled her head, and then looked over at Willow and Tara, who were sitting at the table, talking quietly. “What’s up with the wiccas?” he asked softly. “Anything I should be aware of?”

Anya’s eyes darkened and the smile left her face. “Not that I know of,” she said dully.

Anya leaned back, looked at Willow and Tara once more and then nodded. “Yes. It’s time for my break,” she decided fervently. Anya walked around to the front of the counter, tilted her head up toward the second floor and shouted, “Giles, I’m going to take my paid lunch break now.”

A moment passed, then the sound of rustling books filtered down to the waiting couple and finally the appearance of Giles’ dusty head. The former librarian’s tie was mostly askew and his ever-present tweed coat had vanished. “Oh,” he said, nodding at Xander, who smiled up at the older man knowingly, “All right, I’ll be down in just a bit.”

“You know something, Anya girl? I love you, really I do. But I hope I never piss you off,” Xander said, dropping his arm over her shoulder and hugging her close.

Willow watched as her oldest friend oozed affection all over yet another unworthy woman. Why does it always have to be the ones I hate? she asked herself bitterly, thinking about Xander’s relationship with Cordelia and his subsequently brief fling with Faith. The fact that the two women had ended up together, in a relationship that was looking to be as close as hers was with Tara did nothing to assuage the deep feelings of anger and resentment that boiled in her heart.

Soft fingers wove delicate patterns through the fringe of her hair, bringing Willow back to the present.

“Willow, can we talk?” Tara asked while continuing to play with her lover’s hair.

Green eyes looked into blue and for just one fleeting instant, Willow wanted to run away and hide under her bed like she used to do as a child. But there weren’t any sirens chasing her down the street, just the calm blue eyes and soft, loving voice of her lover.

“I-,” Willow bit her lip, trying to fight past the urge to babble insanely. “Of course we can talk, Tara. Talking is a good thing. We always talk, what did you want to talk about? Was there something you needed help with? Do we need to work on that report still?” the words fell out in a rush and Willow mentally kicked herself. Chicken! she accused silently, avoiding Tara’s gaze.

“We need to talk about Anya,” Tara said, the words crashing into Willow’s brain like knives.

Tara sighed and stroked Willow’s cheek with her fingers. “Yes, dear, Anya. And since I know this isn’t going to be easy, why don’t we go into the practice room?”

Silently, the two Wiccans stood and walked to the practice room located in the back of the magic shop. A kick bag hung in one corner and a speed bag in another. The walls were lined with weapons racks and the floor was painted with strange and mystical symbols. Against the back wall, there was a padded bench and it was here that Tara led her lover.

Willow stared at her feet, unwilling to begin a conversation she never wanted to have.

“Okay, this is going to be hard, but I want to make sure you understand before we really get into this that I love you and that I’m not doing this to hurt you,” Tara began softly, biting her lip when Willow’s head shot up.

“Then let’s not do this,” Willow suggested, leaning in toward her lover in an obvious “let’s neck” pose.

“Honey, no, we really need to talk about this,” Tara said, forestalling Willow’s amorous nature.

“Oh, all right. Talk,” Willow said grumpily, crossing her arms across her chest and pouting like a two year old.

“You’re so cute when you’re mad,” Tara said, laughing lightly, causing Willow to frown even more. “Baby, it’s just that it’s hard to see you pick fights with Anya. I guess… I don’t know why you don’t like her. She seems pretty nice to me,” Tara said, fumbling with her words.

A sour look rippled across Willow’s face as she replied hatefully, “She’s a demon, what’s to like?”

Tara’s eyes widened slowly as the hate in Willow’s tone hit her in the face. Against her will, tears formed in her eyes. “Do you… really feel that way about demons?” she asked, fighting to get the words out over the sudden lump that erupted in her throat.

“Yes!” Willow replied. “I hate them. They use people for their needs. Always wanting something. Blood or money or magic or sex or,” Willow ground on, missing the wash of hurt that spread over her lover’s face.

Something about Tara’s voice speared through the venom in Willow’s diatribe, causing her to stop and look up at her lover. Willow’s words and anger dribbled away as tear after tear won its battle with Tara’s iron will and trickled down the blonde Wiccan’s cheek.

“What have I… I don’t understand?” Willow whispered, her own eyes filling with tears.

“You hate demons,” Tara replied, her voice a shadowy whisper. She cleared her throat and went on, “And I’m part demon.”

“What? No, no, you’re not, you’re Tara, you’re my baby, my girl,” Willow babbled tearfully, reaching out to smooth away the tears on Tara’s face.

Tara allowed the touch, needing to connect, if only briefly. “Willow,” she said deeply, “I am a demon. Or at least, a part of me is. You’ve seen the file; you’ve studied it with me. You know, more than anyone else, what Mother did to me.” The blonde Wiccan stood and began to pace around the room, angrily dashing away the tears that now flowed freely down her cheeks.

Willow’s mind opened like a computer file and coldly ran the information she knew about her beloved like a shoddily written program. Data stream after data stream flickered in her mind’s eye, reminding her, forcing her to recall the fear and pain she had felt as she had feverishly worked to fool Adam, Maggie Walsh’s other creation, into thinking she was writing a virus capable of shutting him down.

Tara Walsh was the daughter of Maggie Walsh, the former head of the Initiative and a once powerful witch. Many years ago, Tara had contracted leukemia and had died as a result of the disease. Maggie Walsh couldn’t stand to see her child go, so she had used her knowledge of magic and science to blend her daughter’s body and soul with that of a vampire. The result had not been pretty. Only many years of more experimentation and finally, the powerful magicks of Tara’s grandmother had brought Tara to the human-like state she was in now. Yet, there were traces of her vampiric nature that remained.

She liked rare meat. She could get “game face” as Spike called it, that strange twist of the facial features that allowed for the feral, demonic side of her nature to physically manifest. She was nearly immortal. She had a strength that belied her small size. And half her soul was demonic.

“I’ll never believe that anyone so pure as you could be anything bad,” Willow said in a choked voice, standing and walking up behind Tara. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around Tara’s waist and rested her head against a sweater-clad shoulder. “You’re one of the good guys, always.”

“Then why can’t you extend that same courtesy to Anya?” Tara asked in a whisper, covering Willow’s hands with her own, preventing her from pulling away.

The grip around her waist tightened almost painfully, then relaxed. A tiny sigh ruffled the blonde hairs at the nape of her neck and finally, Willow answered. “He used to be mine,” the voice that spoke was Willow’s, but it was a Willow of too many years ago, of the Willow that would sit and stare at Xander Harris in math class and wish, just once, that the tousle haired young man would just look at her once. “And then he wasn’t. He was Cordelia’s,” she spat the former Prom Queen’s name out like it was poison. “And then…” Tara turned so that she could see Willow’s face, only feeling a little hurt at her next words, “there was Oz.” A happy, shy, secretive, sexy smile drifted across Willow’s beautiful face, and Tara couldn’t help but echo it.

“You loved him,” Tara said softly, needing to hear it confirmed for some reason.

“Oh yes. I could have loved him forever,” Willow said, nodding slowly, but not letting go of Tara. “I never told anyone this, but I wanted to kill Faith for taking Xander’s virginity,” she said conversationally. Tara blinked, not having known that the other slayer had been intimate with their friend. “But I got over it, and then there was the clothes thing and Xander did look at me, just like I had always wanted him to, and it was wrong and it was so right,” she finished on a breathy tone. Willow looked into Tara’s eyes and saw only acceptance and curiosity there. “It was bad, and it hurt two people I really cared about deeply. And Anya took advantage of that, using Cordelia’s pain to cause chaos. I might have forgiven her that, and I’m sure I would have forgiven her trying to use me to get her powers back, but then she took Xander away from me and…”

“Huh? How, well, she, um, she’s always with him and we never spend any time together and…”

“But we all live together, and I know that Xander’s always got time to talk to you,” Tara said gently.

Willow looked at the floor, the walls and finally the ceiling, anywhere but at Tara’s gentle, loving, curious eyes. “I’m afraid she’s going to hurt him,” she finally admitted in a tiny voice.

“A little, after the troll thing. We kind of talked about stuff, but… I’m still afraid,” Willow replied.

“Oh honey,” Tara sighed and drew Willow close to her, hugging her tightly. “I remember you telling me about that. I know you’re scared, and I know it’s hard to let him go, but-“

“I have to,” Willow said, breaking down and sobbing. “He’s not mine anymore, he never was,” she cried.

Tara mutely held her lover, knowing that this was what she needed, knowing that this was the first step toward harmony.

“Mm, that tastes good,” Anya said, licking her lips while Xander blushed slightly. They were “sharing” his chocolate milkshake. He would take a drink and then she would kiss him so thoroughly that he was certain his head was going to explode. They were sitting under at tree at a tiny little park that was just around the corner from the magic shop, enjoying the afternoon sun with their lunch.

“You’re so cute,” Anya said, leaning against his chest. “I think I’ll keep you,” she said, sighing happily.

Xander wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, cuddling her close. “That’s good, cuz I’m sticking to you like desk gum.”

“Wh-what?” Xander blurted, nearly inhaling the rest of his milkshake. After several minutes of coughing and back pounding, Anya sat across from him and picked at the grass.

“Willow. She hates me. Not in a ‘I’m going to cast a spell and burn you up into little bitty cinders’ hate, but she does things she knows annoy me,” Anya explained.

Xander cocked his head and looked at his girlfriend. He knew of some of the troubles between his best friend and his best girl – he’d had a very painful introduction to their squabbles recently, ending up with him having to wear a cast on his wrist for several weeks. “I thought you two had worked all that out,” he said slowly.

“Oh, we did. Or at least I did. She’s gay now, so she’s not a threat. And I’m fine with that, really. She’s quite a nice person, when she’s not stealing from Giles. Or lording it around with that ‘Hoo-hoo I’m such a powerful witch and you’re just a lowly ex-Vengeance Demon’s attitude,” Anya said, gesticulating wildly.

Xander’s eyebrows rose mightily and he found himself replying, “Why don’t you just talk to her? The worst she could do is turn you into a frog!” the last was said as a joke, but Anya didn’t laugh.

“And have to wait three years until she de-frogged me?” she asked incredulously. “Would you still love me if I ate flies and ribbited?” she added playfully.

“Endlessly,” Xander said, leaning over to kiss her lightly. “I’d bring you nothing but the choicest flies and the softest lily pads for you to rest your warty green behind on,” he said, eyes twinkling merrily.

“You’re such a romantic stud,” Anya said, kissing him again. “You really think I should just talk to her?” she asked a little bit later as they snuggled up against the tree again.

“You betcha,” Xander replied confidently. “Willow’s a talk to kind of girl. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to work things out.”