April 3, 2353
Things I never expected to hear myself say, #872 -- I thought I'd gotten over dying.
When I woke up, I was so scared and sad and freaked out. I was able to face dying -- as long as I thought it was permanent. But being in this strange city, this strange time -- I thought I'd never be home again, never feel anything but empty again. So I wanted to die again, and maybe get it right this time. Third try's the charm.
But then I found Angel here. And I got to know the other Slayers. And I started to get used to this weird place. Remembered what my job was about. Once I got started again, it all seemed okay. Not better. Never better. But something I could handle.
Then Noor died, and everything changed.
I don't guess I could say we were friends, exactly, but I did like her. I mean, she gave it to you straight, something almost nobody does around here. Not even Angel, who means well but has never been the master of the complete answer. And she was a Slayer, like me -- trying to do her job her way, like me -- and she got killed.
Just like I'm going to.
What was the good of wanting my life again when it's just going to be taken away again?
I'm a wreck on patrols. Angel hasn't said much about it, but he's obviously covering for me now -- protecting me. He's freaked out too, I think, though I can't talk about it with him. To do that, I'd have to say it out loud. And when I did, what would happen? If I told him I was afraid I was going to die, what could he say besides, "You will"?
Dying isn't really the thing that scares me so much. It's the fact that I probably don't get to stay dead. I've been down this road, and now I know where it ends. My life seems so stupid, so futile. Fight and die. Fight and die. How many times will I have to do this? Will they wake me up again in 100 years? 1000?
I can't seem to focus or keep my head straight. Every single fight, every single enemy, I ask, is that it? Is that the one that gets me? Is this the one that cycles me through to some other world I won't understand? I want to hang on to this place, not because I love it, but because it might beat the hell out of whatever comes next.
I can't slay like this. I have to snap out of it. That's what I keep telling myself.
But it doesn't seem to do any good.
I want to kill Kean; I know that much. Noor deserves that much.
If I'm gonna do that, I have to pull myself together. I have to learn to play by the rules. I never was careful before -- I just ran around and trusted myself to figure it all out as I went along.
And now I know where that leads.
**
"This is recon only," Angel said sternly.
"Recon only," Buffy repeated quietly, rechecking her crossbow.
"Don't make any aggressive moves, no matter what happens. If my guess is correct, Kean's going to have a lot of vampires in there tonight. We're not going up against those odds, not unless we have to."
"Why do you think I would?" Buffy said, rechecking her flask of holy water. "I'm not stupid. I'm not reckless."
"You're not stupid. But you are reckless."
"Maybe I used to be," Buffy said. She undid her blaster holster and refastened it. "But not now. Not ever again."
That was getting too close to the subject. Angel's face darkened, and she could see that he was about to ask questions she didn't want him to ask. Quickly, she said, "Let's go."
They got out of the transport, parked (hopefully innocuously) on a deserted side street. Without a word, Angel boosted her up onto the low rooftop of an abandoned building; this area had relatively few of the skyscrapers that dominated the rest of the London's skyline. She heard him land beside her, a soft thud lighter than a cat's.
Together they began making their way to the Drury Lane Theater.
The area they'd scouted out days before was now buzzing with activity. It was powered up, marquee lights flashing incongruously on the dark street. She could see enough of the theater's lobby to tell that dozens of individuals were milling about as the inner lights flashed off, then on again couple of times. A few forms hurried toward the entrance, apparently running late. Buffy frowned as she looked down at them, then glanced back at Angel for verification.
"Human," he whispered.
They waited until the lights had flickered again and the last people had entered the theater. Then she and Angel made their way to the theater's rooftop. A repair grate they'd found nights before was still unblocked; Angel, working as silently as only he could, removed the grate and let her climb within. Buffy crawled forward inside the vent, hoping the catwalk she and Angel used previously would also be vacant. Behind her, she could hear Angel somehow getting through the skinny passage as well.
The room exploded with sound, and Buffy jumped -- then relaxed as she recognized the noise.
Applause.
She poked her head out of the opening; sure enough, this particular catwalk was abandoned. Buffy eased herself down as quietly as she could and half-turned to help Angel do the same.
Beneath her, she could hear Kean's voice echoing throughout the theater.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you are welcome once again to the theater company of Edmund Kean," he said. "We have some delights in store for you this season -- Hedda Gabler! Plaza Suite! But, as those historians in the crowd well know, my true love is Shakespeare, and tonight we present one of his greatest works, The Tempest. The last thing he did before he died. Doesn't seem to have done anything after he died. So lazy."
Angel whispered, so quietly that even though his lips brushed her ear, she could barely hear, "The audience is completely human."
She pulled him near and, in the same low voice, said, "So how come they're alive?"
He shrugged. She let herself lean forward enouugh to actually see Kean; she knew from her limited, talent-show experience that he would be too blinded by stage lights to see her in return. He was wearing a pale-blue doublet and tights; his shroud was slung across his shoulders like a cape.
"However, before we can present our show tonight, you must of course pay for your tickets." The audience shifted -- uneasily, Buffy thought -- but remained in their seats. "And, of course, nobody can concentrate on the higher meanings of Shakespeare while that's going on, now, can they? So, as our ushers move through the aisles, we invite you to watch our latest skit, Whose Unlife Is It Anyway?"
Another smattering of applause, this somewhat muted, as Kean moved offstage. Angel nudged Buffy in the side and gestured over to a corner of the room.
Vampires were moving from the wings, coming toward the audience. They moved quickly, but purposefully, and the people did not flinch.
"Ishak! Ishak! I've found a way to get more teenage girls for you!" The audience started laughing. Buffy jerked her head back around to see two vampires in heavy stage makeup. Though the resemblance was slight, she realized they were meant to be Ishak and Markwith. She tried -- and failed -- to fight back a smile.
"More young girls?" Faux Ishak rubbed his hands lasciviously. "Tell me how!"
"Why stop at the living when we can get you the dead?"
"If I wanted to sleep with the dead, my wife would do nicely."
"These jokes are old even for me," Angel said. He was scowling down at the laughing audience, then his eyes widened. "Buffy, look --"
Buffy turned her attention back to the crowd and gasped.
The vampires were cutting people. Cutting their arms, drawing blood --
And the people let them. They held their arms out over the vampires' buckets, laughing with the giddiness of blood loss and release as the fake Ishak and Markwith went through their parody.
"The price of admission," Buffy whispered.
"They only take what they need," Angel replied. "They don't kill. They can't kill -- there aren't enough humans to keep killing them. And Kean's found a way to get humans to give him freely more than he could take by force."
A tall, slender girl in bad blackface, with a worse Australian accent, was clinging to Faux Ishak's robe and pretending to sob. "I thought I was your only underage lover!"
"It's no good anymore," Faux Ishak said. "You've hit puberty."
The people laughed and laughed. Their faces were pale in the darkness. Their laughter was shrill and desperate -- but real, all the same. "And this is why they come."
"For a play?" Angel seemed doubtful. "More likely they come to buy themselves some safety."
"How's that?"
"Vampires can sense if a person's lost blood -- through surgery, an accident, whatever. You wouldn't attack one of those people, not if you could get anything else. Anything more filling."
Buffy tried very hard not to be grossed out by Angel's choice of words. "So these people get themselves a few weeks of safety. It makes sense, in the weirdest, sickest way imaginable. But I don't think that's all."
When Angel looked at her curiously, she continued, "Everything's so damn stiff here, Angel. You have to obey all the rules. Be all reverent about the Council. Except here. Here they can laugh and make fun. Not take it all so seriously."
"While they spill out their blood for vampires," Angel said. "That's not worth taking seriously?"
"They're used to it. These people think vampires are just -- part of the world."
A female vamp who was really far too busty to be Xiaoting was rubbing against Faux Markwith in an extremely rude manner. The laughter grew louder. Buffy saw Angel's mouth twist in something like contempt. "And this is what they'll bleed for. This is what they applaud."
"Try to understand. If you never got a chance to lighten up, not ever, you would -- well, you'd actually know a lot about -- hey!"
A petite blonde with a serious underbite had just come twirling onto the stage. Buffy had the sinking feeling that this was not meant to be Agatha. Next to her, she heard Angel make a noise that might have been disgust, amusement or both.
Faux Ishak let his tongue loll out of his mouth. "You! Buffy! You're the one for me!"
Faux Buffy shook her head regretfully. "I'll never be yours, Ishak --"
"What? You think I'm too old for you?" The voice rang out in the theater.
"No -- you're not old enough!" The audience laughed again as a vampire in full game face, his hair shorter than short, came out to clutch Faux Buffy to him.
"Besides," Faux Angel said, groping at Faux Buffy in a way that made Buffy start to blush, "she's the one who's too old for you. She's 20 if she's a day!"
"20!" Faux Ishak shuddered.
"You didn't give up on me when I hit puberty, did you, darling?" Faux Buffy crooned.
"I can pretend you didn't, as long as you don't have breasts."
Buffy's jaw dropped. She didn't even bother muffling her outraged cry; the audience was guffawing too loudly for it to be heard.
Angel looked furious. "You have great breasts," he muttered. "I remember that very clearly."
"You forget my best friend, you remember my breasts," she answered, rolling her eyes. "An undead man is still a man."
Faux Ishak put his hands on Faux Buffy's shoulders, tugging her close. "Come, come, my dear," he crooned. "We all know there are certain services Angel can't provide for you." Faux Ishak punctuated the word "services" with a pelvic thrust.
"Oh, he can," Faux Buffy said, spinning back over to her pretend lover and cupping her hands between his legs. Buffy could feel her face beginning to blaze with a flush of embarrassment and anger. "So what if he gets a little nasty afterwards? Aren't all men beasts the morning after?"
Angel's head was slightly bowed now, and Buffy knew that beneath their shared anger he was also feeling the sting of shame. Her memories of that terrible day after -- and of that beautiful night before -- were rushing through her mind, complex and painful and even joyful in parts; Buffy had never pretended to really understand what had happened in those agonizing days, but she knew they were more than this stupid, bitter cartoon playing out before their eyes.
"Angel," she said through clenched teeth, drawing his attention back to her. "Listen to me! Don't let this hurt you. This -- this is not the truth."
On the last word, she smacked her hand on the catwalk rail for emphasis. The aged railing, unfortunately, had apparently been hanging on by a thread -- a thread that Buffy's smack broke. As the rail broke off and tumbled into the crowd -- which began to scream -- the catwalk lurched from the sudden shift in balance. Angel seemed able to compensate, but Buffy felt herself beginning to tumble --
She turned it into a jump, landed smack in the middle of one of the aisles. A second later, she heard Angel drop to the ground behind her. The crowd was staring at her in paralyzed silence -- were they ashamed of being caught? Terrified of what would happen? No way to know. Buffy began sauntering up toward the stage with her best I-meant-to-do-that swagger. "Real cute, Kean," she said.
Kean had emerged from the wings when the screaming started; he was smiling down at them unpleasantly. "Trespassers. How nasty. You realize you'll have to pay full price like everyone else."
"Some blood may be shed here," Buffy agreed as she reached the front row. "But I don't think it's gonna be mine."
"And this must be Angelus," Kean said. "Edmund Kean. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I didn't think they freed you from your pen any longer."
"They let me out on good behavior," Angel said, with a bravado in his voice Buffy hadn't heard in far too long. "And you're not Edmund Kean."
The vampire actors all stared at Kean, who suddenly seemed a little smaller. After a moment, he sputtered, "I -- beg -- your -- pardon --"
"I saw Edmund Kean," Angel said, "On several occasions, including his turn as Shylock right here in this theater. Edmund Kean was shorter than you. He was hairier than you. And, frankly, he was a lot more talented than you."
The vampire who called himself Kean looked around the stage nervously. The Faux Xiaoting whispered encouragingly, "I'm not actually Sarah Bernhardt, either."
"Ready to work off some of that sexual tension?" Buffy muttered, tensing her body for the jump.
"Hell, yes," Angel said, crouching down.
Kean took the offensive and pointed down at Buffy and Angel. "Seize them!"
Buffy sprang onstage, just clearing the floodlights to land at Kean's feet. She let the force of her jump carry her through, propel her leg as she kicked him hard in the knee. He fell back with a shout of pain. Over his head flew Faux Ishak, apparently tossed bodily by Angel.
The other vamps were rushing her now, not being considerate and taking turns. darn it. Buffy let loose -- punch here, jab there, flying kick. It was terrible and wonderful all at once -- she was in battle, a battle she couldn't possibly win, but she was herself again, flying free. She didn't have to think or fear -- just fight.
She heard a vampire's roar nearby, recognized it as Angel's. He was hitting one vamp's head as fast and furiously as though it were a punching bag, driving him downstage. Glad we're both having fun here, she thought.
Even the vamp ushers were on stage now, and Buffy knew she'd only be able to keep them at bay for a few moments longer. The audience members were crying out in dismay, but their terror of the vampires appeared to be enough to keep them from helping her and Angel out.
Kean reappeared onstage with a few minions -- now carrying swords. "Dead for a ducat, dead!" he cried, leaping toward her with his blade.
Never rains but it pours, Buffy thought.
She ducked the sword, punched Kean hard in the same knee she'd nailed earlier. As he howled, she rolled beneath him to get to one small patch of space.
"Think, dammit, think --" she gasped.
"Buffy!" Angel cried. She spun around just in time to see Faux Angel thrusting his sword down at her. She clapped her hands together, seized the blade, shoved it back at him to send him flying.
"Knew that trick would come in handy again sometime," she said.
Buffy clasped her fists together and rammed them hard into the head of Faux Xiaoting, the only one between her and Kean. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward to butt heads, hard.
"My profile!" Kean shrieked. His face was vamped and his nose was definitely broken. As blood oozed down his face, he yelled, "Damnable woman!"
Buffy pulled her arms over his head -- and his shroud with it. Quickly, she tossed it to Angel. "Put this on!" she yelled. Angel, who now only had one hand free to fend off Faux Markwith, looked bewildered. "Do it!" she urged.
She jumped up as high as she could, caught the rigging in her hands. Buffy swung her legs up over her head and suspended herself there for a moment in one straight line. She could really see the stage now, see the two dozen vamps, half of which were trying to see her through the glare of the stage lights, the other half of which were getting pretty close to taking down a shrouded Angel. She fumbled desperately with her equipment, seeking what she needed --
What is the point of having all these weapons strapped on me if it takes so damn long to get any of it loose? Buffy thought. Gotta get down there and finish this.
When she dropped at last, Kean lunged toward her again. "This one is mine!" he yelled. "I've always wanted to kill a Slayer."
Buffy stared at him. His smile as he came toward her was grim, terrifying -- but real.
He didn't do it, she thought. He didn't kill Noor.
She somersaulted to the edge of the stage, back to the wall. Kean advanced on her. Behind her, she saw three of the vamps finally grab Angel's arms through the shroud, force him to his knees, push his face to the ground. He cried out, half-muffled by the shroud's hood, "Buffy, get out of here!"
Buffy ignored him and concentrated on Kean. His sword's point was now hovering just inches from her throat. "I had thought to enjoy our adversarial relationship for quite some time to come, my dear," he said. "But it appears we have already reached our last act. As all students of Shakespeare know, the last act is often very bloody."
"I studied some Shakepeare," Buffy said. "Hamlet's big question is 'to be or not to be,' right? What say I answer that one for you?"
She grabbed the lever behind her -- the lever for storm effects -- and pulled.
The wind machine began ruffling their hair. A light flashed behind a gray screen for lightning. Tin sheets created thunder that echoed in the eerily silent theater. Rain began to fall.
As the first drop hit Kean's face, his expression turned to horror. He just had time to scream before bursting into flame.
The holy water kept showering down on the vampires, all of them shrieking in agony and collapsing into fire or powder -- except Angel, who was huddled beneath Kean's protective shroud. Buffy patted the empty flask at her hip. "Props to Agatha," she said, laughing as she turned her face up to the cool, artificial rain.
As the water ran out, the rain stopped. The last vamp was already dust. Nothing was left of Kean but the sword at her feet. Angel slowly stood up, pulled the hood back from his face. "Buffy?" he said, half in wonder.
She slicked her wet hair back from her face as thunder rumbled. "Always meant to try acting."
In the back of the theater, one man started to clap. Then another. And another. In moments, the entire crowd were on their feet, applauding, cheering, screaming. It wasn't anything like the approval they'd given to Kean -- no desperation, no fear. Just pure joy.
Buffy laughed as she looked over at a dazed Angel. "See?" she said. "They'll clap a lot louder for the right things. You just can't let the bad guys put on the better show. Should we take a bow?"
Angel smiled at her, a warm, open, utterly unguarded smile she'd never thought to see again. "No wonder I thought I'd dreamed you."
*