Don't think about it, Buffy told herself.
Her burdens had seemed unbearable the past few months -- or those few months 350 years ago. To get through, Buffy had fashioned those words into a kind of mantra. Don't think about it. Don't look at the overwhelming mass of danger and terror and loss. You only have to deal with one thing at a time. This is just one more thing. Don't think about it too much, and you'll get through this.
In the tiny sliver of her brain that wasn't in profound shock, Buffy knew her mantra had never been the best coping mechanism and was completely, utterly unsuited to deal with a situation such as this one. But at the moment, her griefstricken spirit could come up with nothing else to sustain her.
And so she found herself sitting in a 24th-century training room -- almost unchanged from its 20th-century version -- listening to a Watcher lecture about battle techniques. Instead of screaming at him, or fainting, or slitting her wrists, she sat numbly, thinking, Just one more thing.
"You may think us presumptious, teaching the five of you -- the greatest warriors of your eras -- how to fight," Markwith said.
"Presumptious. That is a good word," Noor said, under her breath. Xiaoting and Agatha shot her disapproving looks. Sumiko was focused on Markwith as if transfixed.
For her part, Buffy sat, cross-legged on the floor, trying to concentrate on what Markwith was saying. On her fellow Slayers, her only peers in this strange new world. On anything besides the litany of the dead that kept running through her mind.
Riley isn't spending any more Christmases in Iowa.
Anya won't ring up any more sales at the Magic Box.
Spike has smoked his last cigarette.
Don't think about it --
"All of you fought in eras when Slayers battled their opponents in hand-to-hand combat," Markwith said.
"What do we do now?" Buffy asked tiredly. "Just flip 'em off?"
Frances frowned at her from the place where the Watchers stood nearby. But Markwith smiled a little. "We have other methods these days."
"What? Magic?" Buffy asked. "Always meant to learn a little of that Wicca mojo --"
The Watchers all froze, and a couple of them gasped. Markwith straightened up and stared at her. Buffy could feel her cheeks flaming. "What did I say?" she said.
Markwith gave her another smile, but this one was distant and forced. "We must remember -- all of us," he said, with a look over at the disapproving Watchers, "that our Slayers come from earlier eras. Their attitudes towards subjects such as magic may be as different as their methods of combat."
"Magic's -- a bad thing?" Buffy ventured.
"You felt free to use it to raise us from the dead," Noor pointed out. "Did you commit a sin?"
Buffy looked over quickly to see the expression on Markwith's face. But he simply nodded. "Some in the Council would say yes. But the truth is more complex. Over the years, there reached a point when far too many people were using magic -- far too many people who did not use it properly. Some devastating things happen. Today, the use of magic is tightly controlled. Only those who have studied for many years are empowered to do so."
"Only sensible," Agatha said.
Suckup, Buffy thought. But in her mind was a vision of Willow looking over at her apologetically while Buffy tried to battle a conjured-up troll that was wrecking Giles' shop.
Only sensible.
Willow -- oh, God, she wanted to see Willow --
Don't think about it. Don't think.
"If not our hands, and not magic, then what?" Xiaoting asked. "And, I must tell you, not being able to use my hands takes all the fun right out of it for me."
Markwith smiled. "That's the spirit. Never fear; you'll be doing plenty of damage. You'll need to. The vampire master in these parts -- a creature called Kean -- has been causing more trouble than usual."
Kean, Buffy thought. She noted the name without emotion, almost as she might jot down something that sounded vaguely test-worthy in one of her classes. She didn't care, couldn't even pretend to, but knew down deep that this would be important soon.
"Kean. He is clever, cunning and deadly. He has found ways to convince humans to keep his secrets, perhaps even cooperate with his schemes -- though we know little of the particulars. We know little of him at all; nobody who knows will speak. But he commands more vampires than any of their other leaders, and he claims whatever lives he wishes, when he wishes. Even with all our resources, we have failed to stop him. This after 30 years he's spent practically on our doorstep." Markwith shook his head. "You'll change that, I hope. You have the ability. And the weaponry shouldn't be too unfamiliar." He nodded to the Watchers, who rolled out a cart containing bows and arrows, crossbows and some things that looked a lot like guns. The Slayers got to their feet and crowded around the tray.
"Archery," Agatha said with something that sounded like relief. "I'm rather good at that, actually. One of the few things I could practice in public." Sumiko picked up a crossbow and tested its weight with her hands, obviously happy to be confronted with something familiar.
"This is your big new innovation?" Buffy said. "Bows and arrows? And this, what --" she picked up a gun-like item with distaste, "this Han Solo blaster? I mean, that's kinda sci-fi and cool, but it's not really thinking outside the box, you know? I figured you guys would be all kinds of high-tech by now."
Everyone stared at her for a long moment. One of the Watchers turned to Frances and whispered, "Do you have any idea what she's talking about?" Frances shook her head sadly.
"The innovation isn't in the weaponry, Buffy," Markwith finally said. "It's in the strategy and philosphy behind our fighting. In earlier eras, Slayers were, frankly, considered expendable."
That's because we are, Buffy thought but did not say.
"Most Slayers lived no longer than a year. Some lived considerably shorter periods of time; there have been hundreds of Slayers who did not survive their first week. The Council accepted this as an established fact of life, as though this were the way things had to be," Markwith said. "We don't think that way any more."
He stepped back from them a bit, looking at them all, as he continued. "Slayers are now regarded with the respect -- the reverence -- they deserve. Your lives are valued. Your lives are preserved."
"In other words, you keep us around long enough to learn our skills properly, so that we can do more harm," Noor said.
"That is another benefit, yes," Markwith said evenly. "And keeping you alive means keeping you at a distance. You can kill vampires very effectively without engaging in hand-to-hand combat. In days such as these, it's not worth the risk. Our extremely limited resources prevent us from developing new weapons, but used correctly, the traditional armaments are more than sufficient. I realize this runs counter to your instincts and to the majority of your experience. But your Watchers will begin retraining you. I suspect you'll see the value of our methods in short order."
Frances and the other Watchers began taking up weapons and leading their Slayers to various areas of the room. Buffy shot Xiaoting a quick sideways glance. "Guess the fun's gone out of it for both of us."
Xiaoting smiled ruefully. "True. But the last time I had that much fun, I got killed."
*********
Buffy would not have thought that you could get really tired just practicing your aim, but after a few hours, her arms were quivering with strain and her eyes felt as though they were going to cross for life.
Agatha's years of practice were paying off as she drilled target after target with the bow and arrow. Xiaoting had apparently mastered the crossbow on her second or third try. Noor worked with the energy blasters like a born gunslinger. And, of course, because the blasters just incapacitated vamps, Noor would actually get to go stake them when she was done. Meanwhile, Sumiko seemed able to perfect every one of the weapons without even breaking a sweat.
But, next to Buffy, Frances was actually wringing her hands together.
"You must have used a crossbow before," Frances said.
"I did," Buffy insisted. "Lots of times. Killed some big uglies that way. Just wasn't ever my specialty."
Frances and Buffy both looked across the room at a target, which had been hit a few times around the perimeter. "So I see," Frances said.
Buffy wanted to hang her head. She wanted to explain that she could aim better than this, but doing so would mean explaining why she was doing so badly. Explaining that her every moment, every movement, was ruled by memory. That she couldn't take the weapon in her hands without hearing their voices.
"You'll be allowed to take up the longbow only after you've mastered this. Now do turn off that infernal racket so you can concentrate."
"You know, Buff, there's only one thing I like more than working long hours with hammer and nail to build you targets. And that's watching you tear 'em up in ten seconds flat."
"These were more common 200 years ago. I was nearly on the wrong end of one a time or two. You can do some real damage this way, Buffy. It's worth the effort to learn."
This target practice was part of her Slaying. And until this moment, she had not realized how much the people she'd loved were a part of her Slaying too.
How could she do this without them? Especially when they were all that still mattered to her, the people she loved --
Don't think about it.
Buffy realized, with a start, that she'd drifted off into memory again. Frances was looking at her uncertainly. "Guess they didn't train you for special ed," Buffy said. "Today, it's like I rode in on the short bus, huh?"
Frances just looked more confused, and Buffy sighed. "Can we just quit for the day? I'm not getting anywhere right now. That's got to be obvious at this point."
"Perhaps you would do better with some rest," Frances said. "Come along then. We'll get you back to your quarters."
As they walked into the hallway, Markwith fell into step beside them. "Not discouraged, are we?"
"Don't know about you guys," Buffy said. "I'm not so thrilled."
"Takes time to adjust," Markwith said heartily.
Frances nodded. "Is there any way we might help?"
Buffy froze. "There -- there is one thing --"
"Yes?" Markwith prodded.
I want to find out what happened to my friends, Buffy wanted to say. I want to know if Willow got her doctorate, if Giles ever got married, if Xander had any kids. I want to know if Angel kept up the fight. I want to know who took care of Dawn.
But if she asked them, they might tell her, and then she'd have to hear it. And as soon as she heard it, it would all be real --
"Buffy?" Frances said.
God, she thought, they're going to think I'm going crazy. Maybe I am going crazy. How am I going to keep from getting completely insane?
"A journal," Buffy said.
"Beg pardon?" Markwith said.
"I used to keep a journal. It was a way for me to, you know, let off steam," Buffy said. "Get my head together. Might be a good idea."
"We can train you on the computers," Frances said. "The interfaces are very simple --"
Buffy shook her head. "No. I need to write it down. With my hands. You know."
Markwith nodded. "We do have paper and pens about. They're generally used for magical purposes only these days; some spells do call for handwritten notes or conjuring words. So some people might look a bit askance --"
"We won't tell them," Buffy said.
"If you think it will help," Markwith said. "I'll have them sent down to you tomorrow."
"For now, perhaps you should just get some rest," Frances said. "You'll do better after some rest."
Rest is the only thing I wanted, Buffy thought. And it's the one thing I'm never going to get.
***
Buffy looked around at the Bronze -- crowded as ever, but crowded with all the wrong people. Where UC Sunnydale freshman should have been milling around, eating onion blossoms and guzzling beer bought with fake IDs, the Watchers were standing, staring, disapproving. Smash Mouth was blaring from the speakers, but nobody was dancing. They were all wearing their drab, shapeless clothing; Buffy looked down at her sequined tank top and bright blue pants with embarrassment. "Nobody told me about the new dress code," she said.
"It was posted on the board," Xiaoting said from her place in the cast-iron swing. "If you don't keep up, it takes all the fun out of it."
"This isn't about fun," Agatha insisted, as she took her feather duster to the stair railing.
Sumiko leaned over the pool table, her cue at the ready. She remained still for a while, studying the table carefully, waiting to make her move..
Markwith and Frances were sitting at a table. Markwith was looking doubtfully at his beer, and Frances was holding up a chicken wing with unconcealed distaste.
"Contrary to popular opinion, there are some very fine American beers," Markwith said. "This is not one of them."
"Why do they call them spicy buffalo wings?" Frances said.
"It's not like they're wings from buffaloes," Buffy hastened to explain. "We all know buffaloes don't have wings. I think they're supposed to be from Buffalo, New York. You know, the city?"
"I meant, why do they call them spicy?" Frances said, dropping the wing back onto her plate. "I've had ketchup with more kick."
Sumiko's stick snapped into the cue ball with a sharp crack that echoed throughout the Bronze, instantly silencing Smash Mouth. Buffy looked down at the pool table as every single one of the balls sank into a pocket.
"You're making a mess, Buffy," Agatha scolded. "You're bleeding all over the floor."
"You should be more careful," Noor said.
Buffy looked down. Blood was pooling on the front of her shirt. She clutched the top in her hands.
Frances crossed her arms. "Blood closes the door," she said. "And blood opens the door."
Buffy could only stare as she saw the bloodstain blossoming out, wider and wider, she felt the pain lance through her heart --
Buffy awoke with a start. She clutched the covers to her chest and gasped in a couple of deep breaths.
She looked around her -- Noor, Agatha and Xiaoting were all asleep in their beds. Xiaoting was sprawled out across her mattress as though she'd melted there, Noor was huddled up into a protective little ball, and Agatha lay on her back with the covers tucked primly up to her shoulders. But Sumiko was nowhere to be seen.
Buffy sat up and ran her hands through her hair. She'd crashed early, thinking she needed the rest -- apparently all she'd bought herself was a long night alone with her thoughts, which were not such pleasant company.
Back to the training room, she decided. Maybe I can just wear myself down. Like I did before. Wear myself down until there's nothing left --
She slipped quietly out of bed and grabbed up her exercise clothes, which as far as she was concerned looked just like the sleep clothes, and padded down the hallway to the training room. As she understood it, Markwith had found this building -- which, though it was a skyscraper, seemed to be long-abandoned -- to keep them secret until they were in top form, when he would take them to the Watcher's Keep. If it's up to me, Buffy thought, that might be a while. And what the hell is the Watcher's Keep, anyway? Sounds all David Koresh to me.
When the training room doors slid open, Buffy opened her mouth to call for the lights -- but the lights were already on. In one corner of the room, holding a pole in quarterstaff position, was Sumiko.
Sumiko looked over quickly, first with alarm on her face, then calm as she recognized Buffy.
"Sorry," Buffy said. "I mean, I didn't think I was interrupting --"
Sumiko stared at her, and Buffy felt a little stupid for trying to have a conversation in English. "Don't guess you speak French," Buffy said. "Parlez vous Francais?"
No response. "Just as well," Buffy sighed. "I'd only be able to tell you that I am going to the market to buy eggs and milk, and that my new shirt is blue. Not really a conversation-starter."
Sumiko kept staring, but her expression was a little softer; Buffy wondered if she appreciated the effort of communication, even though it was futile. "Well, I came here to work out, just like you. So don't mind me. Do your thing."
Buffy changed clothes quickly and without embarrassment -- no point in getting modest in front of somebody you met in the nude -- and glanced around for the crossbows. It seemed they'd been put away --
A hand tapped her on her shoulder, and Buffy jumped. When she wheeled around, she saw Sumiko standing right next to her. "God, you scared me! You are one stealthy little minx, aren't you?"
Sumiko took a step back, then bent her knees, brought up her arms, into a fighting stance. Buffy tensed up for a moment, then realized that Sumiko was making no move to strike. "Oh! You want to spar? Am I right?" Buffy half-dropped into the stance herself, made a couple of feinted moves. "Spar?"
After a moment, Sumiko gave one brief nod. Buffy sighed. "Took all the fun out of it for you, too, I guess. Well, then, gimme your best shot."
Buffy took the stance and hesitated for one more second -- just long enough to realize that Sumiko's foot was zooming toward her face. She ducked just in time, came up fast with her forearm to block a low punch that seemed to be moving at just under the speed of light. Buffy swung her own leg out; Sumiko lept over it effortlessly, aiming another kick at Buffy as she did so. Buffy stumbled back and found her footing almost by luck.
They fought on, blow for blow, block for block, with such blinding speed that Buffy had almost no time to think; she fought by instinct, by reflex alone. In the few moments of clarity she had -- the few moments when Buffy could get a breath, remember herself -- a realization unlike any she had ever known was sinking in.
Sumiko was better than she was.
Buffy had fought creatures stronger than herself, but she'd won by cunning. She'd fought opponents smarter than herself, but won by determination. She'd even fought other Slayers before, but Kendra had precision without passion, Faith passion without precision, and those facts had given Buffy the edge.
But Sumiko gave nothing away -- not an inch, not a blow. Her eyes were alive now, the blank expression she'd worn replaced by something that was half fury, half joy. She had moves Buffy'd never seen before, responses faster than Buffy had imagined possible. Buffy was giving her a workout; sweat was slick on Sumiko's skin, spraying from her long hair as she spun. But if push came to shove -- if this were a real fight, and not just sparring -- Buffy had no doubt she'd have been finished off a long time ago.
Sumiko whirled around in another of her roundhouse kicks, and Buffy didn't have time to truly duck, just to drop. As she hit the floor, she heard a horrified voice cry, "What are you doing?"
Buffy looked up to see Frances standing in the doorway. Sumiko's Watcher was at her side, hands folded across his chest. Sumiko glanced down at Buffy, then looked evenly at the Watchers.
"We were sparring," Buffy said, getting shakily to her feet. "You know. Practicing."
"This isn't practice," Sumiko's Watcher insisted. "This is exactly the kind of fighting you're menat to leave behind."
"Gee, hope you briefed all the vampires on the new routine," Buffy said. "If they drop right on top of us, I'll be able to say, you know the rules! Bad vampire! Get back to crossbow distance!. And they'll just leave. Is that how it works now?"
Frances gave her an uneven little smile. "Of course you still need all your skills, Buffy. But I'd say the two of you don't need any more help in this area. If you're going to run yourself ragged practicing all night, you ought at least to concentrate on the things you do need help with."
"You have no idea how much help I need," Buffy said. "The one thing I needed, you took away from me --"
"I beg your pardon?" Frances said. Sumiko's Watcher raised an eyebrow..
"Forget I said it," Buffy replied.
"You girls have another big day tomorrow," Frances said. "And you need your rest. Come along now."
She held out one hand; Sumiko apparently understood the gesture, because she half-turned to Buffy, made a quick bow, then went to the door. Buffy gathered up her sleep clothes with hands that trembled from exhaustion. Frances came to her side, and the smile on her face looked a little more real. "You simply have to give it time, Buffy. You'll see. I'm sure you were quite good at all the weapons before you were -- well, before."
"Don't you already know that?" Buffy said, looking sideways at Frances as they followed Sumiko and her Watcher out. "All your biographical information?"
"Well, your records aren't quite as complete as those of the other girls."
"You mentioned that before," Buffy said. "Why is that? Did my stuff get lost in the move, or something?"
Frances shook her head. "Your Watcher was apparently rather, ah, selective in the materials he sent to the Council. He didn't seem to feel that he should share the complete details of your activities."
"Giles was funny that way," Buffy said.
Was. The word hit her in the gut, stopped her in her tracks. She hadn't said that out loud before -- hadn't used the past tense.
Don't think about it.
Frances had stopped beside her; either she had a little more tact than Buffy realized or was eager to change the subject. "We chose you because you were one of the best, Buffy. That was our most important criterion, that the girls we would raise would be exceptionally gifted. We know that much about you, at least."
Buffy nodded, her spirits lifted from "abysmal" to merely "depressed." Slowly she began walking forward again. "That was just one of the reasons? What were the others?"
"Well, we meant to get Slayers who all spoke English, though that doesn't appear to have worked out precisely as we wished," Frances said with a quick nod forward at Sumiko. "We could only call back those Slayers from whom we had a -- for lack of a better word, a genetic sample. That's not difficult to obtain for recent centuries, though Sumiko and Agatha were a bit of a stretch. We also wanted Slayers who would work well within our society."
"What does that mean?"
"That we wanted Slayers with a strong sense of duty. An ability to follow rules. A dedication to their task above all other commitments in life. This is a time and place that needs people with a sense of duty, Buffy. And we thought those Slayers most focused on their work, their true purpose in life, would be better able to adjust to this century."
Buffy stopped again and stared at her. "That's what you wanted?"
"Of course." Frances looked at her curiously.
"I'm not any of those things!" Buffy said, gesturing with her hands as though she could grab a better explanation out of the air. "I mean, I do my job. I know it counts. But I always had my friends and my family and, and -- everybody. I did the slaying, but being the Slayer wasn't the be-all end-all for me. And I am SO not into following the rules."
"You're not serious," Frances said.
"No, this is my comedy routine. Of course I'm serious! Giles didn't tell you that? He was always on me about it --" And there was that past tense again. Buffy felt herself starting to tear up; she blinked it back and kept talking. "I'm not any of the stuff you wanted. None of it! So why am I here?"
Frances looked at her for a long moment, the uncertainty on her face shifting into cool disapproval. "I honestly have no idea."
*