Scene 6
A person can lie to others till they are six feet under. But it is usually quite difficult to fool yourself forever. Buffy loved to deny what really lay deep within her heart. She had trouble accepting what she really wanted in life, and usually did whatever was most expected of her. She tended to realize the truth too late. Her biggest incident of realization came as the cave walls shook and crumbled, taking away one of the things that mattered to her most. Maybe she would have learned from this, but she was at a disadvantage, given it never happened in her mind.
The Immortal was a sham. He was a distraction from reality. With him, she could have fun and forget her problems. His mating proposition brought everything crashing down. He wasn’t what she needed. She needed someone who could help her overcome the pain, not someone who could help her to run from it.
Buffy slammed the door behind her. Dawn swiveled around from her seat on the couch. She raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, I finally did it,” Buffy declared.
“Did what?”
“I broke up with The Immortal.”
Dawn stared in disbelief.
“You were right, I’m not happy. This-“Buffy swept her arm around the apartment. “This is a safe haven I created so I wouldn’t get hurt.”
“Wow,” Dawn said, “I’ve never seen an epiphany before.”
Buffy lowered her arm. She went over and slumped into the lounge-chair. “What should I do now?”
Dawn shrugged. “I’m proud of you, Buffy. I was about to beat you over the head with an axe.” Dawn smiled. “I know how to handle one, I was with Mom at the school, remember?”
“What are you talking about?”
Dawn’s face fell. “Oh, never mind.”
“So, I answered your question, although it took me awhile to answer truthfully. Now, your turn. Are you happy, Dawn?”
The teen fidgeted, hesitating to answer. “No. I hate Rome. I don’t know anybody here and it is hard to make friends because everything is different. I can’t learn the language. Most people know English but they’d rather speak their native tongue. I miss our old life. Not Sunnydale, but Willow, Xander, and Giles.”
Buffy quickly stood up. “All right, let’s pack. There’s nothing keeping us here.”
Dawn blinked in shock.
Scene 7
Giles welcomed her with an open hug. Willow squealed and spun her around like a little kid. Dawn received the same treatment. Andrew became mesmerized by the Council’s extravagance.
“It’s like Bruce Wayne’s house,” he said.
The others rolled their eyes. He ran off with childlike glee to check out all the rooms.
As soon as Buffy settled into her room she felt a sense of peace. She was home. Wherever her family was, that was where she belonged. She dug into her bag and brought out a photo of Giles, Willow, Xander, Dawn, and herself. She rubbed her thumb across the gold frame and sighed. If only Xander were there. She wondered where he was and what he was up to. She prayed that he was all right. With care, Buffy set the picture onto the nightstand.
She unzipped her suitcase and took out her cloud pajamas. She dressed and climbed under the covers. She reached over and turned off the lamp, then curled into a ball and fell asleep.
Scene 8
Things didn’t look good. Spike had no weapon. He inspected his comrads. Gunn carried an axe, which would probably only postpone his fall. The blood seeped from his gut heavily. The sight was nasty, and Spike knew for a fact it was painful, but the dark-skinned man hid it well. Illyria was right, ten minutes at best. Angel had a sword. He was the most likely to fare the best in their feeble attempt at victory.
Spike glanced down at his own hands. These were all he had. Two empty palms against who knew how many bad guys. Gunn had exaggerated when indicating there being three thousand on the left and three thousand on the right. Or . . . at least he hoped so.
The rain beat down on the four, drenching them in the tears from above. It was cold. Spike savored the sting on his sensitive flesh. It awakened him, preparing him for the impending battle.
Angel charged in first. His intent was to target the dragon, but the crowd of fiends closed in around him. The armored creatures swallowed the dark-haired vampire up in their massive depths. Illyria went next. Spike got a glimpse of her eyes as she passed. They weren’t blue, but black orbs of void. Gunn entered right after her, clutching his wound.
Spike remained behind for a moment. He watched the mob of demons, dread filling him. We’re crazy, he thought. Complete loonies. They didn’t stand a chance. He was going to die. Again. For the third and last time. He hadn’t minded it before. He’d been happy to do the sacrifice bit. But this time he got no such satisfaction. His turning to dust would mean nothing. Angel, Gunn, and Illyria would still precede or follow him.
There was no turning back now. William the Bloody never ran from a fight.
The band of demons advanced and Spike equipped himself. He put on his best big bad persona, going in fists flying. The battle passed in a blur. He dodged, blocked, ducked, and punched. Usually Spike loved the fight, comparing it to an ancient dance. There was nothing graceful or sacred in this raging chaos.
They kept coming, but Spike held his own. He whirled, hacking off limbs from all sides. His muscles ached, his actions slowing, yet he refused to back down. He’d keep it up till the last second.
He had just gotten done cutting a demon in half when it happened. He turned too late and the sword came at him. Cold metal ran through his stomach, making its way in and then out the other side.
“Oh bugger,” he muttered.
The sword was yanked out. He clutched the hole it created, collapsing to his knees. His eyes widened as he raised his head. A gray-skinned demon with violet eyes hovered over him. It was about to chop off his head.
In that millisecond, when things stood still, Spike had but one thought. One regret. Instead of reading sodding poetry that day he should have called Buffy. Bleeding git he was.
The weapon came down on him.
“Buffy.”
The name tumbled out of his lips just before everything went black.
Scene 9
A slayer dream was more powerful than an average dream. If it involved yourself, it was like a vivid memory, except that it hadn’t happened yet. If it involved someone else (which was most likely the case), you became that person. You experienced what they had/were going to. You could smell, taste, and feel everything around them. Your brain merged with theirs, even catching snippets of thoughts.
Buffy awoke with a start. Her fingers clutched at the comforter and her eyes darted around the darkened room, disoriented. She could still feel the cold rain splashing on her face, the thud of footsteps on the pavement, the roar of battle cries, the . . . She squeezed her eyes shut with emotion. The sting of steel ripping through her chest.
Her name echoed through her brain. He’d said her name with such desperation. How did he know it?
Her bleached angel. She took in a deep breath, trying to steady her heart. He couldn’t be real . . . could he? And why was he with Angel?
She had to do something. If he was really in trouble . . . She threw the covers off her body and flew off the bed. She stormed out into the hallway. Which room was Giles’s? She wandered through the place, each door resembling the last. She came to a dead-end and turned around with a growl of frustration. She went back the way she came.
Fed up, Buffy shouted, “Is anyone still awake!?”
A door suddenly opened. Dawn popped her head out. “I am now.” She yawned. “What is it?”
Buffy rushed over and took her sister’s shoulders. “Where is Giles’s room? I have to find him. I think I just had a slayer dream. There’s a battle, or going to be, I don’t know. But the point is that this guy is in trouble. He’s with Angel, another man, and some blue-haired woman.”
“Angel’s in league with evil forces now. You told gave Andrew that lecture right before he departed for LA. Why should we help him?”
Buffy gritted her teeth. “I don’t care about Angel. I care about my bleached angel.”
Dawn’s eyes widened, abruptly wide-awake. “Your bleached angel?”
“I know it sounds crazy. He’s been in my dreams for months now. I thought I made him up, but now I think I just had a slayer dream with him in it. He’s real, Dawn, and I have to find him.” She paused. “He called out my name. He knows me somehow.”
A gasp escaped Dawn. “Spike!”
“Who?” Buffy asked.
|
