Whistler swore loudly, and Buffy found she had shut her eyes. There was no way to tell, because it was dark in the deserted subway tunnel. He fixed the lighter, and they pushed onwards through the dark tunnel. Soon, Buffy relised that they were moving uphill. Slowly, the darkness around the small flickering of the lighter faded, and Whistler stopped before another wall in the tunnel. Buffy waited patiently as he fumbled for something along with wall. In a short while, a hidden doorway slid open, and he passed through it. Buffy followed.
She had to close her eyes against the sudden light of the room. After walking for a while in the darkness of the stairway, the bright light was a shock. Her pupils dialated quickly, and she looked around. The first thing she noticed was the ceiling. A beautiful work of stained glass let most of the early-morning sunlight into the chamber. The glass had been designed to look like Michaelangelo's work on the roof of the Sistine Chapel. The Creation of Adam, Buffy recalled. She glanced around the rest of the room. Steep walls rose hundereds of feet around her, painted a brilliant red. Gold-colored finishings added detail to the circular room. Rich, colorful Orential rugs warmed the stone of the floor.
"Nice digs." Buffy said to Whistler. He nodded, glancing up at the ceiling.
"It's about five am. Hungry?" he asked. Buffy shook her head. Whistler grinned boyishly and moved across the unfirnished room. He located a certain spot on the wall, and pushed. A silent door slid open, the opening it left suddenly yawning black in the brillant red light of the room.
"This is yours." Whistler told Buffy, tossing her the black bag containing her clothes. She crossed the room, peeked inside the door, and fumbled for a light switch.
A long, winding stairway twisted up into gloom. Buffy sighed, and began her long walk up the stairs. At the top of the stone steps, an elaborately carved door opened into a bright, sunny loft. Large bay windows that were set in a circle around the room. She could see space and air no matter which way she turned, and the windows offered an eagle's-eye view of the whole of San Francisco. She could see the Pacific Ocean from here, Buffy thought. She turned around. Her new room was really beautiful. Another huge skylight set high above her head made the room incredibly sunny. A canopied bed covered in white lace trappings faced the western-set windows. The other funiture of the room included a white desk, a set of drawers, and a large wardrobe. Buffy sat down on her bed, and sighed. She unpacked her bag, emptying it of a few clothes and many weapons. "Honey, I'm home." she said quietly.
**************************************
This place had changed a lot since he'd been here last, Spike noticed. Haite Ashbury now sported Gaps and Starbucks instead of independant record-stores and psychidelic theme restraunts. It made him sad, in a very human sort of way.
"Nostalgia ain't what it used to be." Spike muttered as he observed a couple of homeless beggars across the street. He was feeling a bit peckish. After he'd eaten, Spike continued his tour of the city. "Now, why would Dru want to come here?" he asked himself. San Francisco was wide-awake at three in the morning, and he missed the after-sunset quiet of Sunnydale. If things hadn't gone so badly back in that town, he was tempted to find Drusilla and get back to the Hellmouth. If Spike was completely honest with himself, he'd admitt that he even missed the Slayer.
The loud sound of a motocycle engine alterted Spike to a gang of tough-looking bikers standing near a flaming trash can. The bikers were passing around a bottle of what had to be whiskey, although it had been such a long time since Spike had tasted whiskey, he could only guess. Although he was feeling a bit peckish, Spike didn't feel like taking the risk of attacking the six drunken bikers, so he turned away and walked around the city, knowing he'd have to find a safe place to sleep before the sun rose.
****************************************
After a good, long sleep, Buffy was feeling much better. She wandered downstairs. She was ready to explore the city, and wanted to start her 'quest for knowledge' by gettting a few answers from Whistler. She heard him signing 'School Days' in a very off-key voice, and followed the sound 'til she found a soft spot on the wall in the main entrance room. Another hidden door slid open, and she made her way down a bright hallway. Buffy found Whistler in the kitchen, unpacking a brown grocery bag.
"Hey." she greeted. He turned, grinning a little.
"Hey yourself." he replied, and started whistling the song.
"Is *that* where you got your name from?" Buffy asked, wanting to cover her ears at the screeching sound he made. His whisteling was even worse than his singing.
"Everyone's a critic." he muttered, but stopped.
"So, what's up?" Buffy asked Whistler. He shrugged.
"Do you feel like helping?" he asked her, holding up a skillet and two eggs. Buffy smiled a little, and nodded. Whistler tossed her the eggs, and she caught the fragile objects with a deft precision.
"Boy, I sure wouldn't have wanted to meet *you* in a dark alley." he commented, finished unpacking the grocery bad. For a few minutes, a comfortable silence pervailed, and Buffy looked around the sunny, airy kitchen. Actually, it wasn't really sunny, she noticed. In fact, with the exception of her bedroom and the large entrance hall with the skylight, they were underground. No windows. Bright track lights illuminated the kitchen, simulating the light of mid-day. Lush, green Boston ferns flourished, lending the room a comfortable, lived-in feel. Buffy looked at Whistler.
"Did you live here, before you came to Sunnydale?"
"Good guess." Whistler said. "Well, San Francisco was only a hop, skip and a jump from Sunnydale, and besides, where are you gonna find another joint like this, eh?" he asked, guesturing around the underground home. Buffy grinned, then sombered.
"I really don't know anything about you." she commented. Whistler scooped up two plates, grabbed a couple of knives and forks, and plunked them down on the island in the middle of the kitchen. He put a carton of Minute Maid orange juice and two glasses next to the plates, then tossed the eggs Buffy had fried on the white porcelin, along with a few strips of bacon and two pieces of toast. He sat down and began shoveling food into his face. Buffy rolled her eyes and sat down before the other plate, picking at her food and sipping the O.J. slowly.
"What do you want to know?" Whistler asked her. Buffy shrugged.
"The important parts, I guess." she said. Buffy really wanted to know how he'd come to know so much about Angel, about herself, but felt that maybe her emotions couldn't take mention of home.
"Okay, well, not much to tell. Like you said out, I am a demon, sent to Earth to even the score between humans and the powers of darkness. Happened a while ago, actually. My assignment delt with Slayers, making sure the girls were called at the right time, protected to the best of my ability, ect. My first Slayer assignment was in 1894. Nice girl. Didn't last long, though." Whistler said, chugging his own orange juice.
"Your deal sorta sounds like the Watcher's job." Buffy commented, resting her chin on her hand.
"Yeah, sorta. Although mine is a lot less exciting. I choose the next Slayer, make sure she meets up with her Watcher, and if the case is extreme, I give her a little extra help."
Buffy closed her eyes. This man, this strange, beady-eyed stranger with the funny accent and the sloppy eating habits, was the one responsible for her destiny. He was the one who had chosen her as the Slayer. She stared at him, trying to summon up some of the old anger and resentment she had always felt towards her sacred duty. Trouble was, the guy was just so....ordinary. So unthreatening. Must be why he was so good at his job.
"Why did you choose me as the Slayer?" Buffy asked. Whistler met her eyes above the rim of his glass as he finished the OJ.
"I choose you Slayers when you're little kids. You were...braver, than most, I guess. Also, you were in the right place at the right time. So, I chose you."
"But it could have been anyone!" Buffy exclaimed, jumping up and knocking the table. A glass tipped and fell, hitting the hard tiles of the kitchen floor with a shattering sound. "It could have been a girl in my preschool class, another kid who played with me at the park on Saturdays! Why...why couldn't you have picked someone else?"
"Because, kid," Whistler said, looking annoyed. "You projected this attitude. That nothing, and no one, could hurt you. Even when you were little. I looked at you one day, and said, yep, that's a Slayer. I'm sorry if this gig has ruined your life, but...if you could go back and do it over, would you really want me to choose someone else?" he asked, wiping orange juice off his lap. His glass, too, had tipped when Buffy had jumped up.
Buffy considered his question. Her mind replayed the events of the last few years of her life. She'd found out when she was fifteen that she was a Slayer. A portly man with a thick mustache had approached her at school one day, and told her about her destiny. Later, he'd taken her to a graveyard, where Buffy had bagged her first vampire. And certainly not her last. The next few months, she'd trained with her Watcher, learning about her duty. Everything had been so crazy, she'd been so confused, that the thought to rebel hadn't entered her mind. Buffy soon lost all her friends because of her weird behavior and her ability to disappear without a moment's notice. The girl who had once been a popular, well-adjusted ninth grader was now a lonely reject. Trying to save the world wasn't easy, her Watcher had said.
Later that year, Buffy had gone to a school dance with the sole purpose of killing every vamp in LA with a finale showdown. One thing had led to another, and Buffy had ended up burning the high school gym down. She'd been expelled from school, and her parents, unable to cope with the pressures of raising a delinquent, had divorced. And Buffy's mom made the decision to move to Sunnydale.
Buffy closed her eyes, and pulled herself back to the present.
"I'm going for a walk." she said, feeling as though she'd faint unless she got some fresh air. Whistler nodded. Silently, Buffy added, "I wish you had chosen someone else."
********************************
It had been far too long.
Willow stared blankly at the computer terminal, which buzzed as the machine conducted an endless seach of hospitals, bus stations, airline ticket sales....it was a seach for Buffy.
Willow clenched the mouse tightly, then released it slowly and lowered her head to the desk. She blinked back tears, thinking of her best friend. Buffy was alone now, lost in a world that had already caused her so much pain. Willow sighed.
A friendly pat on the back roused her a little, and Willow raised her head, meeting the kind, compassionate eyes of the Watcher. Giles smiled a little, but it didn't reach his eyes. He looked tired and very sad.
"Anything?" he asked softly. Willow squared her shoulders and turned back to the screen.
"No, not yet." she said, trying to inject some optimism into her voice. They'd learned a few days ago that Buffy had been expelled from school and had bought a ticket on a bus which had carried her north. The bus had stopped in a little town near San Jose, and there the trail ended. It had been far too long since there had been word of the Slayer. Willow inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Giles," she asked, her voice fearful. "Do you think she would have..."
"No." Giles said quickly. "I know she's battleing some mighty demons right now, figuretivly speaking of couse, but I don't think she would try to end her own life. Buffy has grown far more serious and accepted her duty since...since the events of the past few months. I think she's relized that her ability as a Slayer takes prescedence over emotion." Giles removed his glasses, and Willow was suprised as, instead of wiping them, he put them down firmly and rubbed his eyes. The display of exhaustion was the first she'd seen in the three days they'd conducted a twenty-four hour search for Buffy.
Just then, the sound of someone entering the library distacted them. Cordelia walked in, followed by a rumpled Xander. Willow knew right away that he hadn't been sleeping, worrying about Buffy. He hadn't even changed clothes, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Cordy, as ever, was immaculately groomed and came bearing coffe and sugar-coated donuts. Willow checked the clock above the check-out desk. Just before eight am. Buffy had been offically missing for over four days now.
Joyce Summers had called Willow once, asking if Willow knew where Buffy was. Mrs. Summers had sounded very sad and worried, but not irrationally so. Willow also sensed that Joyce had more questions, but had held them back. And for that, Willow was grateful. She couldn't answer questions about Buffy right now, not when she knew so little anyway. Xander and Cordelia had gotten the same call, but Giles hadn't said anything about it if he had talked to Buffy's mom. Willow glanced at Giles, but he was busy sipping the hot coffee and trying not to spill.
"Any word?" Xander asked, a wild look in his eyes. Willow's heart went out to him, and wanted to at least give him some comfort. She looked at Cordelia, who was filing her nails and basically ignoring her boyfriend's obvious anguish. Willow sighed.
"No, not yet. She's been gone four days, and the trail is cold after San Jose. No passengers listed as Buffy Summers departed on a plane or bus from San Jose or any area around there. And there hasn't been any usual deaths or unexplained occurences,"
"Which means Buffy isn't up to her old Slaying habits."
The voice shocked all of them. Everyone in the library looked at the person who'd spoken. Buffy's mom stood in the doorway, a fierce look in her eyes.
"So, how long have you known?" she asked, an accusing look on her face as she turned to Willow. The hacker looked at her hands, and mumbled a reply.
"Almost from the first." Willow told Mrs. Summers. "She told me after she first moved here. I'm sorry, Mrs. Summers..." Willow tried to appologize, but Joyce only held up a hand to silence her.
"And you?" she asked Xander. He avoided her eyes and looked at Giles helplessly.
"I...I knew from the first, too." he replied softly, suddenly interested in the linolem patterns of the floor.
"And you?" Joyce asked Cordelia. Cordy looked up, meeting Mrs. Summer's direct gaze evenly.
"I didn't know right away, okay? She was just a very strange, scary girl who did not fit in. I figured it out eventually." Cordy said, her defiant tone fading on the last words as she caught the pain and sorrow in Joyces eyes.
Joyce turned to Giles, who winced. He moved closer to her. "Mrs. Summers, I..."
"It was your fault, wasn't it? You encouraged it! You...." Joyce said, her voice breaking. Willow wanted to stand up and comfort her, but she was confined to a wheelchair and couldn't do anything but watch Buffy's mother fall apart.
"I read the diary." Mrs. Summers admitted, regaining her strength and anger. "I understand, now, about how my little girl was forced to be something she didn't want to be, wasn't prepared for. And you made her do it." Joyces voice was filled with scorn and hatred, directed at Giles. She glared at him, hot tears collecting at the side of her face. "And now Buffy's gone, and no one knows where, and I drove her too it..." Mrs. Summers sobbed, covered her face with her hands and began to weep openly. She sank to the floor, and her slumped, kneeling posture was the picture of defeat. Giles looked to Willow, and then crossed the floor. He slipped his arms around Joyce, who turned and sobbed. "My little girl...my little girl..." she cried.
Xander met Willow's eyes, and he, too, seemed to be breaking apart inside. Even Cordy sniffled a little, but Willow only watched the display of open grief and mourning numbly. She'd cried so much the past few days, there weren't any tears left.
After a while, Joyce seemed to regain control of herself. Giles handed her a white hankerchief, which Mrs. Summers put to good use. He kept a comforting hand on her shoulder, and helped her rise. Buffy's mother took a seat by the research table, and rubbed her eyes. "So, what now?" she asked, looking up at Willow.
"We keep looking." the hacker replied, with more confidence then she felt. "Buffy is alive, and she hasn't left California. If we can't find her, she will be back." Willow said, chanting the phrase. She will be back.
CONTINUES