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Chapter 10

When the bus pulled into Sunnydale in the early afternoon, Buffy was surprised at how much the place had changed.  Or, maybe it hadn’t change.  She’d changed.  The headlong flight out of her hometown almost a month ago had forced her to grow up overnight… more so than when she’d first learned about vampires and Slayers. 

Now the city seemed overly bright.  Its inhabitants overly cheery – and completely oblivious to the events that seemed to occur during the night. 

The bus route into town led them past the high school, and she watched as several students lounged in the parking lot and on the grounds, chatting with others or waiting for rides after having just been let out for the weekend.  Her gaze swung instinctively towards the library where no doubt, Giles, Willow, Xander – maybe even Cordelia – and Kendra were inevitably engaging in some type of research party.  A fleeting smile graced her lips at the thought of the small group before she hardened her heart. 

Wouldn’t do to have anyone witness her smile with the hard-as-nails image she currently portrayed.  Not that there was anyone in her immediate vicinity to see – the occupants of the bus had taken one look at her overly-fake red hair and Goth-like clothes, and given her a wide berth.  It was kind of nice.  Plus, it allowed her to keep her bag within easy reach in case she had to defend herself. 

Yes, dressing like a rebel made it easier to tell Order members from the naturally friendly.  Anyone that tried to get close to her looking like this was instantly suspect. 

The bus pulled into the depot and stopped, and Buffy waited until the last passenger got off and wandered away before she slid out of her seat.  Her eyes were on constant alert for anything out of the ordinary.  Her senses tuned to anything that might make the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. 

Catching a cab proved a lesson in futility, so she ended up walking through the rundown section of Sunnydale to find a motel for her and Spike.  She scoped out two others before deciding on the third since it provided the most escape routes – one of which was through the sewer tunnels. 

With nothing but time on her hands, she leaned back against the headboard and channel-surfed, disgusted with what passed for daytime television.  She finally settled on cartoons but even they confused her, the card-wielding anime characters were nothing like what she used to watch as a kid.  After several successive shows of similar themes, the sun finally started to dip in the sky and she changed the station to the news to see if anything out of the ordinary was happening in town. 

Sunnydale was soon enveloped in darkness, and the Slayer began to get antsy.  Oh, she knew she still had a couple of hours yet before Spike arrived, especially since he’d probably not left LA until the sun had gone down.  Still…this waiting was fraying what little was left of her nerves.  She should have grabbed a book or magazine to flip through to help pass the time – having long since given up on the five whole channels the archaic television was able to tune in. 

The tingling along her scar began as an infrequent buzzing in her subconscious.  A bumblebee that whizzes past your ear, the noise soon fading as it flies away.  She discounted the sensation as a lingering effect of Spike’s rather harsh bite, figuring it was her Slayer’s healing knitting the skin back together. She’d still yet to figure out why he’d bitten her so damn hard, and had put it down to his anger at their impending separation, even if it wasn’t really but for a few short hours.  Probably just him getting back at her – maybe it had been the brooding remark that had set him off – because while the bite had hurt like hell, he’d barely drawn any blood from her body.  And, the lovemaking afterwards had more than made up for any pain she’d suffered. 

The second hum a short while later caused her eyes to widen momentarily at the intensity, and she moved to the mirror to see if maybe she’d caught an infection.  Though, she dismissed that thought as soon as it popped in her head.  Vampires may be of the undead variety, but germs and diseases were just a few of the nice things they didn’t have to worry about. 

She shrugged out of her leather duster, only just now realizing that she’d left it on.  The black t-shirt displaying some obscure punk band on the front was pulled from her body, leaving her clad in a red racy bra almost the exact same shade as her hair.  She leaned in towards the mirror, poking at the puckered scars and examining her latest “wound.” 

“Stupid vampire.  That really is going to leave a mark,” she grumbled under her breath.  She turned this way and that, examining the bite mark from all possible angles.  It wasn’t that bad, actually.  But, the raised scars seemed to smack of ownership – his fangs had completely obliterated those left by the master. 

It was while she was inspecting her neck that she felt her Slayer senses kick into overdrive. 

‘He’s here!’   

She snagged her tee and drew it over her head while she hurried to the door, attempting unsuccessfully to tamp down the rush of excitement his presence seemed to bring her.  Why she was suddenly so giddy at his return raised questions she had no wish to answer.  Definitely something that bore a bit of soul searching at a later date.  Right now she just chalked it up to after having had him constantly underfoot, she’d gotten used to his presence.  And, when he was gone… 

‘Shoving thought aside now.’ 

Buffy threw open the door and stared in slack-jawed amazement.  Humpable didn’t even begin to describe the new look he was sporting.  Her eyes gave him the slow once-over from the tips of his black lace up semi-dress shoes all the way to where his dark locks stood on end and all the places in between, seriously admiring the way the black slacks he wore seemed to cling to his thighs and mold around his cock.  The blue sweater hugged his lean frame and seemed to enhance – in her mind’s eye – the hard limbs and abs it covered.  The piece de resistance were the wire-rimmed black frames perched on his nose that did nothing to conceal the fire blazing within the depths of his blue eyes.  That wicked look combined with the riotous spikes jutting up along the top of his skull contradicted everything his GQ-ensemble tried to portray.  

It was like they’d done a complete flipflop.  She the rebel without a cause, he the upstanding citizen.  It sparked a kink she didn’t knew she had, and when they had more time, she was definitely going to play out that fantasy. 

For now, she settled on wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him senseless. 

Spike quickly warmed to her greeting and was all set to shove her up against the wall and shag her six ways from Sunday, but she nixed the idea, squirming out of his grasp. 

He drew breath to argue, but the look in her eyes – that “I really would like nothing more than to fuck your brains out but we’ve got work to do right now” expression – mollified him somewhat, and he released her so he could grab his bag from where he’d dropped it on the floor just outside the door as she’d begun kissing him.  Duffle in hand, Spike closed the door, expression serious while she laid out her plans for the evening. 

Just a simple reconnaissance.   She’d do a quick sweep of her friends’, watcher’s, and mom’s place; him sticking to the shadows and seeing if she drew any notice.  Both were still hoping that the assassins in town had bought her ploy and were laying low until tomorrow, thus giving them a chance to stalk the stalkers.  And, if they could take out a few tonight…all the better. 

“You gonna wear that?” she asked as they moved towards the door. 

“Something wrong with what I got on?” He stopped, forcing her to stop as well. Never in a million years would he confess to hating the clothes he was wearing, but having seen her overwhelmingly positive reaction to his appearance, he’d staved off changing into something more “Big Bad.”  Nope! That William the Bloody was dressing for someone else’s pleasure would never come to light. 

“N-no…no!  Nothing wrong,” Buffy squeaked, then forced her feet into action.  ‘Nothing that a cold shower or quick round of sex wouldn’t cure.’ 

Oh, who was she kidding…it was going to take a lot more than one round. 

Spike smirked knowingly at her retreating back, then followed her out the door. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

As soon as they stepped outside, it was like their whole demeanor underwent a drastic change.  Gone was the lust-ridden couple, in its place stood two warriors.  Intent on their prey. 

Spike let the Slayer take the lead, allowing her to slip from his sight, until just his sense of smell and his claim would be able to guide him to her.  In his poncy clothes he probably made a picture – an easy conquest – as he strolled down the rundown section of Sunnydale, but as his would be assailants drew near, something in the way the vampire held himself, that cocksure gaze that just begged to be trifled with, made them rethink their plans and slink back from where they’d come.  When he neared the Slayer’s old stomping ground, he melted into the shadows, senses attuned for anything out of the ordinary. 

The school was Buffy’s logical first stop – a quick lap around the perimeter confirmed her suspicion that the building was being watched.  The knowledge forced her to the sewer tunnels to make an undetected entrance.  Her fingers trailed along the wall, memories of hiding out with Spike bringing a reluctant smile to her lips.  A few turns later and she was climbing the ladder that led into the school’s basement. 

Her combat boots were whisper silent as she slipped down the hallway towards the library. 

‘Just a peek,’ she promised herself.  If all went well, no one – her friends, her watcher, not even her mother – would ever know she’d returned.  She’d take care of business here, ensure their continued safety, then beat feet out of Dodge to continue her search for the Order’s stronghold. 

Only…Buffy never planned on seeing her mother hunched beside Giles in the midst of the other Scooby gang. 

It threw her for a loop.  Made her wonder what, exactly, had been explained about her absence.  Honestly, since leaving so suddenly almost a month ago, she’d at first been too despondent to even think about her mother.  And then later, she’d been so caught up in research…and Spike.  ‘Can’t forget about the vampire.’  Her mom was just a distant memory – her parental influence fading with time. 

But, as she gazed upon her earnest expression, a little part of that girl she used to be, cried out for her.  ‘Mommy…’  Her title an unspoken whimper as she held her hand pressed against the library door’s window. 

~*~ 

Joyce sat next to the librarian poring over page after page of text in the hopes of finding some clue as to the secret location of the Order of Taraka.  She’d been near frantic when she’d returned from her latest buying trip to see the Jamaican girl, Kendra, sleeping on her couch, her daughter nowhere to be found.  She’d torn the house apart, shouting for Buffy at the top of her lungs. 

When that had produced no results, she’d rushed off to Willow’s seeking answers from Buffy’s friend.  Practically embarrassed herself in front of the redhead’s mother as she tried to ascertain where her daughter could be. 

It had only been later, back in her own home, Buffy’s pig held tight to her breast, that she’d been told about her daughter.  What she was.  And why she’d left.  

A vampire Slayer. 

She’d stared disbelieving at him.  The man that had shown up unannounced at her door. Giles.  The school librarian.  Only, not just a librarian.  He was a watcher, too.  Sent from some Council in England that oversaw a Slayer’s duties.  He’d been very nervous, but forthcoming, as he paced the small confines of her living room, explaining her daughter’s role of “Chosen One.”  The way he’d constantly cleaned his glasses while he’d talked – a nervous gesture she’d come to associate with him over the coming month. 

It had taken awhile for it all to sink in.  But, it explained so many things about her daughter.  Both since being here in Sunnydale and when they’d lived in Los Angeles.  The tattered clothes, the recent dip in grades that had never been stellar to begin with, the sneaking out that her daughter thought had gone unnoticed.  Her seemingly “troubled” behavior.  It all made sense now, and it broke her heart when she stopped to think of how her daughter had just taken it all – her own mother’s anger and disappointment – never saying a word.  Never even hinting at what she was.  What she did. 

Joyce had vowed right then that she’d get her daughter back.  That she’d help Giles and the others find whatever it was that was out to hurt her girl…and she’d make them pay.  At the request of Giles – and apparently, her daughter – she’d had Kendra move in with her.  Passing off the girl’s presence in her home as her being part of an exchange student program – the same way she explained her daughter’s absence to Mr. Synder. (Not that he’d seemed to mind the “troublemaker’s” absence.  Had actually preened, in fact.) She’d not even batted an eyelash when she saw both Xander and Willow clustered around one of the tables when she’d showed up bright and early the next day at the school’s library.  Had just dived right in and gotten to work. 

The past month had seemed almost endless, her naïve mind exposed each day to some new revelation.  Her motherly instincts had kicked in when Kendra had gone out each night to make Sunnydale a little safer for everyone – not breathing easy until the girl had returned safe and relatively unharmed to her house on Revello Drive.  She’d balked at first at Joyce’s concern, but had given up in the face of the elder woman’s determination to look after her.  And, it eased her mother’s heart that Joyce was able to give the girl something that she’d not been able to give her daughter – even though she hadn’t known at the time. 

She spent her days either at her gallery, or with Giles and the others.  They’d relocated their research session to her home on the weekend, so as not to gain the attention of the mousy-looking principle.  Afterwards, when she closed the door behind Giles and made sure Kendra was tucked in bed, she returned to her room.  Sometimes crying silently in sheer hopelessness.  Other times, her jaw set in determination.  In any case, the last words she whispered at night were a prayer for her daughter’s safe return. 

Now, as Joyce stared unseeing at the blurred text in front of her, something made her pause.  Made her lift her head and glance at the door. 

Where she spied the redheaded girl with kohl-rimmed eyes, her pale face haunted.  She looked so lonely, and heartbroken. 

Her hand covered her mouth as she let out a gasp, tears welling in her eyes as the girl seemed to just disappear. 

Buffy. 

Her daughter had come back. 

She may have done a complete one eighty in appearance, but Joyce would recognize her daughter anywhere. 

“Something wrong, Joyce,” Giles asked distractedly. 

She coughed, steeling herself so that she could respond to the librarian’s question.  Something in the way her daughter had acted compelled her to dismiss her sudden appearance, and she did, brushing aside his concern with some banality about getting blurry vision from staring at so many books for the last few hours. 

“I think we should call it a night,” he told her and the others.  “Kendra needs to patrol anyway, and I think we could all do with a break.” 

Everyone seemed to shuffle to his or her feet, the quiet scraping of chairs against the floor the only sound as everyone but the Slayer gathered a handful of books to take with them to Joyce’s Jeep for transportation to her home.  Friday night was spent skimming through piles of books, weeding out those necessary for further research during the weekend, and Saturday morning she treated everyone to a homemade breakfast – something she’d rarely shared with her own daughter. 

But, now her daughter was back.  And that would all change.  She’d be a better mother, now that she knew.  More supportive.  She’d changed this past month; she just prayed her daughter lived long enough to see it.

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