DISCLAIMER: I have neither rights to the characters of the television series “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” nor “Angel”. I’m not making any money doing this, but I appreciate the chance to play in Joss’ sandbox.
SYNOPSIS: Buffy’s brought back from the dead…to a world where Angel never existed.
RATING: R bordering on NC-17 for violence and other stuff
DISTRIBUTION: Fanfiction.Net, Land of Denial. You want? Lemmee know. We can maybe work out a deal.
DEDICATION: To Leni, who always wants more of this story and has such interesting comments about Samael. And to Smurfette, for her incredibly funny feedback. You ladies rock!

The city lay before them like a glittering blanket, seeming to spread out forever. Drusilla stared at it in wonder, her eyes bright.

“Tell me again why we need to stop off in L.A. first, Dru,” Samael said, tapping his fingers on the hood of the GTX.

“Whispers,” she said, a smile fluttering on her mouth. “I hear whispers.” Drusilla swayed, as if she heard music to go along with the voices. “They say, ‘come to the City of Angels.’” Her grin sharpened and she whirled back to Samael, clutching at the lapels of his jacket. The fingers of one of her hands crawled up the fabric. “Come and see, they say, see the end of the world.” Dru snapped her teeth at his collarbone affectionately.

Samael snapped back, a little growl rising in his throat. “No other word, baby?” he asked, his large hands settling on her narrow hips, adjusting the fit of her body to his as he leaned back against the heavy car.

Drusilla wriggled closer. “There’s something here for my dark star,” she purred, her voice and eyelids lowering suggestively. “Something wicked.” Her hips rolled in emphasis as she said the last word.

He smiled back, running his tongue along his blunt teeth. “How wicked?” he asked, leaning his face closer to hers, stopping barely a breath away.

“Totally evil,” Drusilla said, raising her open mouth towards his, tempting him to taste her. She rocked her body even nearer, looping an arm around his neck.

“Evil,” Samael repeated, his lips touching hers as he spoke.

“Mm.” Her eyes fluttered closed, then snapped open again as he raised his head from hers abruptly, all senses alert. “People,” she hissed.

“Prey,” Samael said, his voice a low rumble as the car pulled in behind theirs, red and blue lights flashing in sequence.

“How lovely,” Drusilla said, cocking her head to one side as the officer removed himself from the vehicle.

“All right, you two. You’re on restricted property.” The officer stood with his legs apart, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt.

“Are we, officer? I’m sorry, we didn’t realize,” Samael said. Drusilla laughed, keeping herself plastered against him.

“I need you to get into your car and leave.”

“But I like it here,” Drusilla protested. She spun away from Samael, her glossy dark hair flaring out like the hem of her red dress. It almost seemed that fire licked at the top of the grasses where her skirt struck. “All dark and private.”

“She’s a romantic, what can I say?” Samael said, spreading his hands wide.

“Again, sir, I need you to return to your vehicle,” the cop said, his voice tight.

“I understand.” Samael sauntered towards the man, Drusilla drifting behind him, humming loudly. “But you see how lovely she is in the moonlight.” He stepped aside, looking back towards his companion. Her arms high over her head, her lower body undulated as if she made love to a ghost. Her eyes glittered, Drusilla reached down, pulling at the hem of skirt, the red bloody against her pale thigh as she hiked it higher.

“You need to return to your vehicle,” the man said, though his gaze flickered towards Dru as she beckoned to him with one finger. “This is a restricted area.”

Samael slipped up next to the man, vampiric speed making it nearly a flicker as he whispered in the officer’s ear. “She wants you,” he said. Drusilla nodded slowly, releasing the hem of her skirt to run her hand along her body. The other still beckoned to the man. Samael heard him swallow convulsively. “She needs you,” he said, letting his voice become a low rumble.

The cop startled to find Samael at his side. “How did you,” he said then jerked away. “You need to—“

“Return to my vehicle, I know,” Samael said, bored with the familiar refrain. “But that’s just getting so tiring.” He caught the man’s shoulders in his hands. “And you’re starting to bore me.”

Drusilla laughed. “My star doesn’t like to be bored,” she said, wagging her finger at the cop as she moved closer.

“Release me,” the man said, reaching for something on his belt.

“Dru? What do you think?” Samael cocked an eyebrow at the female vampire. She laughed again. “I think she wants to play,” he said, “and I really like her games.”

The scream echoed around the stunted trees for a few seconds, then was cut off abruptly, the sound of two vampires drinking their fill taking its place. Drusilla pulled back first, licking at her rouged lips. She shoved at Samael’s shoulder. “Don’t take it all, my star,” she said, giggling. “Baby wants to play.”

Samael lifted his head, growling at her but allowed her to take their prey from him. She pushed the man against the hood of the police car, stripping him quickly of his weapons belt then loosening his pants. “See how he throbs, my star,” she said, pulling his penis free and roughing it in her tiny hands.

“God,” the man whispered, the word catching in his throat.

“Not quite,” Samael said, leaning next to him to prop him upright. He watched as Dru swooped down, licking at her prey’s erection as if it were a lollypop. The man shuddered and groaned, batting at her weakly. Drusilla rolled her yellow eyes at Samael, her mouth opening wide enough that the moonlight glinted on her fangs. She buried the fangs deep into his penis. Samael caught his arms as he convulsed, ripping the shriek out of his throat as his own fangs settled in there to finish him off.

A short while later, they lay naked on the ground, Drusilla wound closely around Samael, the crickets chirping the only noticeable sound. The body of the officer sprawled near his own car, only his legs visible from this angle. Samael stroked Drusilla’s hair from her face. “You were saying something about the end of the world before we ate?”

She snapped at his fingers playfully, sucking one of his digits into her mouth. “It’s waiting for you, my star. They’re waiting for us now.”

“Well. I guess we’d better get dressed.” Samael pushed her to her feet. “This sounds like the kind of appointment I’d hate to miss.”

* * *

Dusk settled over Sunnydale like a gentle blanket, though the truth of it was always more dangerous than poetic musings of a werewolf bass player. At least, he thought, it wasn’t a full moon. Earlier today, Buffy, Willow and Giles had driven to Los Angeles at the suggestion of Wesley Wyndham-Price, Buffy’s Watcher when she’d been in high school. He’d thought Buffy might be able to get some information from a demon who read souls. Sounded weird, but Oz understood weird. Weird on the Hellmouth was normal. Werewolves, vampires, Slayers; he understood all of that. Demons who read your future by hearing you sing karaoke? Different, but not beyond his ken. Willow was still talking to Giles and Jenny about what she and Wesley had found out about the spell she’d used to bring Buffy back from the dead.

“It’s weird,” Willow was saying, her hands moving almost uncontrollably. “Wesley was so different than in high school. He seemed, I don’t know, human. And the texts he had. He said there would’ve been more, if the office he worked out of hadn’t been bombed.”

“I say,” Giles said, surprised. “I didn’t know about that.”

“What about the ritual?” Jenny asked, her dark eyes concerned for Willow.

The redhead’s face fell. “Wesley looked over the ritual. He said it was right, except for one thing. There was something about a specification? I needed to have had something of Buffy’s, on hand, when I did the spell. Not just a photo, but something personal.” She shook her head, her hair bouncing. “I didn’t have it.”

The bells rang on the shop door and Oz glanced up to see who walked in. “Oh, hey, Buff,” he said.

“Hey, Oz,” she said, her teeth sparkling for a second but no smile evident. She hesitated in the doorway, tucked in on herself, giving off waves of exhaustion. Fear, too, though that wasn’t quite as heavy in her scent. “Hey, everybody.” Buffy lifted a hand and dropped it just as quickly, squaring her shoulders as she entered the shop.

“Buffy! Oh, look, Buffy’s here,” Willow said, twisting around to smile at her friend. Oz pressed his hand against her back, giving her the support he could tell she needed. He could feel the shiver run through her body.

“Hey, Buffy,” Riley said, his voice easy, almost masking the tension that threaded through him. Oz canted his eyes towards the soldier, watching as Riley rose from the chair he’d been sitting in and carefully walked to Buffy. The attraction was there, but one-sided, like a magnet to a piece of iron. Oz filed that away. This wasn’t their Buffy. They all knew that. It was just that she looked so much like their Buffy, even the scent was the same to his nose; it was hard to remember.

“Hey,” Buffy said. She warded him off by ducking her head slightly, stepping past him. Oz wondered if anyone else could see the slight slump in Riley’s shoulders, the way the young man straightened again almost immediately. He wasn’t defeated. Not yet, at least. “I-I guess you want to know what the…demon psychic said.”

“Well, you kind of did call us all together,” Cordelia said.

“How was it, Buffy?” Dawn asked impatiently. “What did you find out?”

“Yeah, tell us. It can’t be that bad, can it?” Xander asked, grinning. That smile fell when Buffy didn’t return it. “It can be?”

“Maybe I’d better start at the beginning,” Buffy said softly. She absently settled into Riley’s chair, perched on the edge, as if ready to run. Her hands knotted together and she stared down at them for a little bit, as if she wasn’t quite sure if they were her hands.

“Buffy, do you need some time?” Jenny asked, worry coloring her warm voice.

The Slayer jerked at that, her wide eyes staring up. “N-no,” she said and tried again. “No. It’s just…hard. Harder than I thought, to tell you. Okay.” She took a deep breath, glanced at her hands again and said, “There are some things you probably aren’t going to want to hear. I-I’m sorry about that.” She looked at all of them quickly. “Y-you might all want to sit down. This might be…a little weird.” She waited until everyone was seated before going on, her eyes fixed on her knees until everyone gathered around her. “First, Riley was right. I’m not your Buffy. I came from another dimension, not too different, obviously. Lorne, the psychic demon, he says he could see my world and it’s not…uh. It wasn’t,” Buffy hesitated and swallowed, shaking her head so her honey brown hair moved around her face. “It’s alike. Slayers, Watchers, werewolves, witches, vampires. Demons.” One of her hands rose to spin in a circle. “The same. I looked through my yearbook the other day, and it’s the same. Same kids, same photos, same signatures. No big difference.”

“Except…the vampire?” Giles asked, his voice level and calm.

“Yeah,” Buffy said, bobbing her head. “Except Angel. Well, a few other changes. We’ve all talked about them. Most of them, at least.” She turned her gaze at them again. Willow trembled under Oz’s hand and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Nothing really major.” He could almost feel the effort it took for her to say that. Buffy bit her lower lip, her forehead crinkling, obviously thinking what she should say next.

“So, this other dimension,” Willow said, leaning forward. “Can we get you back there? I mean, I’m guessing you want to go back.” The corner of her mouth pulled down a little. “Maybe we can find a spell?” She tilted her head to look at Giles.

Buffy’s eyes shimmered and she blinked, clearing them. “I, well, I can’t go back.” She spread her hands, her tone low. “Lorne,” she swallowed and straightened her spine, determined to get through this. “Lorne said that he could see my Willow tried to bring me back, too, but it didn’t work.” Her hands clenched around one another again, her knuckles turning white. “So, because they couldn’t bring me back,” her smile was sickly, “my world isn’t there anymore. My family, my friends; they’re all gone.” She caught back a sob, pressing her hands to her mouth.

“Good lord,” Giles said, his voice a bare whisper. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and circled to Buffy, offering it to her. She took it with trembling hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Buffy curled in on herself, wiping her eyes. Her words were muffled, as much by the fabric as by her emotions. “I-I didn’t want to tell you that you’re stuck with me,” she mumbled.

“B-but, you’re Buffy,” Xander interjected. “You are her and she is you, koo-koo-katchoo.” He waved his hands at the others. “Am I right?”

Dawn slid out of her chair and went to Buffy, kneeling next to her. She laid her hands on Buffy’s knees, looking up into her sister’s face. “You told me it didn’t matter,” she said tightly, giving Buffy’s legs a little shake.

“Oh, Dawny,” Buffy whispered. She brushed at Dawn’s hair.

“We’re not stuck with you,” Willow said, her tone forceful. “We’re not. Xander and Dawn are right. You’re you and that’s what matters. So what if you’ve got a few different memories. You’re Buffy Summers, daughter of Joyce, Dawn’s big sister.”

“The Slayer,” Cordelia chimed in. “And god knows we’ll need one in this town.”

“And we’re all here for you,” Riley said, joining Dawn next to Buffy. “I swear, I’ll be here for you.”

Buffy sniffed, tugging at the handkerchief in her hands. “You don’t hate me, for not being your Buffy?”

“Hello? Are you not listening?” Cordelia waved her hand at Xander, at Willow, at Dawn. “What have they all said? What everybody’s said? You’re Buffy Summers, the Chosen One.”

“Things seem hard right now, Buffy,” Jenny said. “Returning from the dead, finding yourself in a place so like your home but not quite, it has to be strange for you.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Buffy said to the handkerchief in her lap.

“B-but as Riley said, we are here for you. You are still the woman we know,” Giles said.

“We still love you,” Willow said emphatically.

“What she said,” Oz said, nodding at Willow.

Buffy’s shoulders hitched. “Th-thanks, guys,” she said shyly, glancing around at them all again. “I-it means a lot to me, to hear you say that.”

“Buff, you know we’ll do anything you need us to do,” Xander said, leaning towards her, nodding his head for emphasis. “Anything.”

She forced a watery smile. “Thanks.” One of her hands reached out to stroke Dawn’s hair absently. “Thanks.”

Oz watched as Willow got up to go hug Buffy and followed his girlfriend over. “Not really into the hugging thing, Buff,” he said, as she glanced up at him with overly bright eyes. “But the sentiment is there.”

“I understand, Oz,” Buffy said. She turned to Xander, allowing him to sweep her into his arms. Willow watched this, gnawing on her lower lip, then backed away stealthily. Oz trailed behind as she stepped outside the shop.

She pounded her thigh with her fist, saying, “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” “Baby, what is it?” Oz asked, stopping a few paces away from her.

“I got the wrong one, Oz.” Willow turned her sad, beautiful eyes to him.

He held his breath; afraid if he spoke he’d force her to run. Her sorrow overwhelmed him, that and her self-loathing. “Oh, baby,” he said softly, when she didn’t move. “You didn’t know.”

“I did. I knew I was doing something with consequences and I didn’t care!” Willow paced away a few steps, her back to him; her arms folded tightly around her self. “I just wanted my friend back.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “That’s not the worst of it,” she said, her voice breaking. “I doomed another world ‘cause I brought the wrong one here!”

“Shh,” Oz said, moving up behind her, placing his hands on her upper arms and squeezing them gently.

“It was wrong. I did wrong.” Willow pulled free from him, shaking her head. “I-I used dark magic for my own gain and look what happened! I tore someone from her world and forced her into my own.”

“Well, technically, you brought Buffy back from the dead.”

Willow turned then, her face streaked with tears. “Still!”

“And, remember, Slayer in hell-dimension?”

She sniffled, her face crumpling just a little bit. “Hell-dimension?” she asked quietly, almost pleading with him to help her, for him to help her make it right again.

“Yeah. Glory’s dimension couldn’t be much fun for a Slayer, no matter if she was ours or someone else’s,” Oz said.

Willow sniffed again, brushing at the tears in her eyes. “Y-yeah,” she said hesitantly, “maybe.”

Oz opened his arms and she came to him, snuggling into his embrace. “Everything happens for a reason,” he said to her bright hair.

“Everything?” Willow pulled back slightly to meet his eyes. “Do you promise?”

He smiled warmly, giving her a soft kiss. “Promise.”

“So, it’ll, it’ll be okay?” When he hesitated, Willow’s face fell. “It won’t be okay,” she said.

“I think,” Oz said, tightening his grip around her waist so she couldn’t pull away, “Buffy’s here for a reason. We just need to find out that reason for her being here, instead of there.”

“Yeah?” She brightened slightly again.

“Yeah.” Oz pushed a strand of hair off her face. “C’mon, let’s go back inside. Before they come looking for us.” He studied Willow. “You okay?”

She nodded firmly. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“That’s my girl.” Oz took her hand and led her back into the store, where the others waited.

*** “All right. Let’s go over this again. Our sources say the Slayer has returned to Sunnydale. Is that correct?” Holland Manners eyed the group seated around the table, his gaze lighting on a pair sitting next to each other. The young man wore an expensively tailored suit and too long hair, the taller woman exuded poise and competence with her perfectly coifed mane and equally exquisite dress.

“Yes, Holland,” Lilah Morgan said, not bothering to check the notes in the file directly in front of her. “We’ve been notified that the Slayer was brought back from the dead.”

“From the dead.” Holland raised his eyebrows at that. “From the dead.” He repeated the statement, watching the reactions of his subordinates. “The Watchers wouldn’t happen to have any foreknowledge of our plans, now would they?”

Lindsey McDonald smiled that particularly oily grin of his. “No, Holland, according to our spies, they’re still in shock that the Slayer has returned. It wasn’t foretold in any of their prophecies that a Slayer would return from beyond the grave. In fact, there seems to be some concern over this. The Slayer died but no new one rose. Of course, that might have to do with the fact that this Slayer died once before but she was resuscitated. It seems she was dead long enough for another Slayer known to us as ‘Kendra’, no last name available, to be Called. Kendra subsequently died and Faith was Called.”

“Yes, Faith.” Holland drummed his fingers lightly on the tabletop. “What a waste. All that power, harnessed in one little girl who skipped merrily along a path that would have led her right to us. It’s a shame we let her get away.” He focused his attention on Lilah and Lindsey. Both had the temerity to look slightly ashamed. Well, Lindsey did at least; Lilah just tilted her chin a little higher. Good way to get her throat slit. “But that’s neither here nor there. Faith remains alive, in England, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Lilah said. “She still is under the guidance of the Watcher’s Council. They believe they can finish her rehabilitation and it is possible they will allow her to return to the field eventually.”

“If something happens to this Slayer, who’s already returned from the dead twice,” Holland said.

Lindsey scribbled something on his pad. “Our sources at the Council said there were thoughts of killing Faith to activate a new Slayer, one with less questionable motives.” He tapped his pen against the pad thoughtfully.

“If they’d actually done that while the Slayer, what’s her name again?”

“Buffy, Holland. Her name is Buffy Summers,” Lilah said helpfully.

“Damn silly name, that.” Holland smiled, allowing everyone the chance to laugh. “At any rate, what were they waiting for? Why didn’t they either allow Faith back into the field or kill her to Call another Slayer? I am assuming they were unaware of any plot to bring the Slayer back from the dead.”

“A good question, Holland. We don’t know the answers.” Lindsey spread his hands apologetically.

“In other words, our sources don’t either,” Holland said, not really liking that. “So. We have the same Slayer we did three months ago. Do we know who called her back?”

“We have our suspicions,” Lilah said, sitting forward attentively. She did open her file then. “Buffy Summers’ Watcher, Rupert Giles, a.k.a. ‘Ripper’, was known in various circles for his abilities in the Dark Arts during the seventies.”

“Really.” This was news. Holland hadn’t heard that before. “So it’s possible he went behind the Council’s back to bring back his Slayer.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Lindsey said.

Lilah flashed him an irritated glare. “We were able to confirm with our sources in Sunnydale,” she said. “It’s believed that one of the Slayer’s friends is also a witch. At this time, we don’t know what ritual was used to bring Buffy Summers back from the dead but we do have our people looking into it.” She tapped her notes with a nail enameled in a brilliant, predatory red. “It’s only a matter of time before we find out what ritual was used and also who cast it.”

Holland waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t believe the ritual actually matters at this point. We know it worked. And we know the Slayer has two magic-users on her side. It would be a good idea to gather as much information as you can on them. Don’t consider that your main objective, though.” He cocked his head to the side. “Our major concern in Sunnydale is the Slayer herself.”

“I’m afraid I’m not following you, Holland,” one of the junior attorneys said.

He smiled, shaking his head almost sadly. “Ron, the senior partners are interested in moving forward shortly. You might say, the timing is almost nigh. This Slayer, returned from the dead, could prove more of a threat than we anticipated.”

“I’m not sure how, Holland,” Ron said.

“May I, Holland?” Lindsey asked, giving Ron a pitying look.

“By all means, Lindsey.” He folded his hands together expectantly.

“A new Slayer wouldn’t be as worldly. She would be new to the arena she fights in, despite what the Watchers would have us believe. This particular Slayer, Ms. Summers, is extraordinary in that she’s lived as long as she has. She has gathered together a network of assistants,” Lindsey flipped through his own notes, stopping a few pages back, “known for their courage and their willingness to assist the Slayer with any means possible.” He raised his head, flipping his bangs out of his eyes and smiling slightly. “Maybe you didn’t know, Ron, but these compatriots of the Slayer protected the Hellmouth during the time that the Slayer was dead.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Ron said, flinching slightly. “But they’re only mortals.”

Lilah’s grin mirrored Lindsey’s. “A Watcher with a background in black magic. A witch who may have been the one to raise the Slayer from the dead. A soldier who was part of Project 314. A werewolf. A vampire, fighting on the side of good. And two others, both of who have proven themselves time and again in the battlefield. I’d say they’re more than just mere mortals, Ron.”

He shriveled back into his chair, taking furious notes. Holland glanced at his two protégés, noted their expressions and took control of the meeting again. “The matter at Caritas,” he said. “What can you tell me about that? Lindsey? Lilah?”

They glanced at each other and Lindsey gave her the barest of nods. Her eyes tightened at that faint slight but she turned her attention to Holland rather than take action against Lindsey. “Our sources put the Slayer at Caritas,” she said, “but unfortunately, the Host removed the Slayer from the room, so we’re not sure what was discussed.”

“This could be damaging to the senior partners’ plans,” Holland said. “We need to find out what the Slayer was told.”

Lindsey tapped his pen against his notes again. “We don’t have anything on the Host, Holland,” he said, almost apologetically. “That club is clean.”

“Then we’ll need to get something on him or his club,” Holland said thoughtfully. “I want to know what he told the Slayer.”

The telephone beeped and Ron picked it up. “Conference room,” he said. As he listened, he wrinkled his forehead into a frown.

“The demons who frequent Caritas aren’t likely to go against the Host. He seems to have powerful friends,” Lilah said.

“What about bugging the club?” Lindsey asked.

Holland waved his hand. “We’ve tried that in the past,” he said. “I’m not sure what kind of demon he is, but his hearing is fine enough to pick up on the bugs we installed. He cleaned them out within three days. We need a person, demon, human, it doesn’t matter, someone on the inside.”

“Holland,” Ron said, “that was Jeremy at the front desk. He wanted to let you know that a pair of vampires has entered the building and are making their way up to this floor.”

Holland blinked, nonplussed. “Really?” he asked, jovially. “Vampires, you say?” He pointed his chin towards the telephone. “Tell Jeremy to get security on it immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” Ron said, turning his attention back to the telephone.

“It’s a little early for vampires,” Holland said. “And I don’t have any further appointments scheduled for the day.”

The doors to the conference room burst open, a man and a woman framed in the opening. She was dark and petite, dressed in a style that might look more appropriate in a period movie. He was dark as well, though much taller, a long duster swirling around his legs like a reminder of a cape. His smirk was more polished than Lindsey’s, more predatory than Lilah’s. The woman tilted her head to the side, a sweet, faint smile appearing on her carmined mouth.

“Ooh, look, my dark star,” she said in wonder, pointing with her whole hand, “the city is all lit up, like jewels in the night.”

“I see it, baby,” he said, though he didn’t spare the windows a glance. Instead, he focused his attention on Holland, the grin widening slightly. “You must be the one in charge,” he said.

“I must be,” Holland said.

“Holland Manners.” The vampire stepped into the room casually, his companion trailing behind like a spectre.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” Holland said, watching as the male sauntered around the room. The female stopped at the window, swaying from side to side dreamily, the filmy red veil wrapped around her shoulders drifting as she moved her hands.

“I do, don’t I?” The male stopped next to Lilah, his brow raising as he eyed her slowly. She stiffened, glaring back. He snorted, shaking a finger at her almost playfully and went on until he stood next to Holland. “I have that effect on people, a lot of the time.”

“I’m sure that there are others who find it much more amusing than I do,” Holland said.

The female vampire turned, showing a malicious smile. “No,” she said, “no one does.” Her voice took on a wistful tone. “He does it anyway.”

The male stretched out his hand and the female came to him, taking his hand and nestling into his side. She turned her head to survey those seated at the table, her bright blue eyes undeniably mad. Holland felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine when those orbs passed over him. “None of them look like they want to play, my dark star,” she said, her lower lip pushing out into an adorable pout.

“I know, baby. But they don’t know who we are.” He pressed a light kiss against her temple, not taking his dark eyes from those in the room.

The doors opened again, security guards spilling through, weapons pointed at the pair. Holland could just hear the female whisper to the male, “Who are we?”

He murmured back, “You know.”

She opened her mouth, showing teeth that now seemed human. “Oh, yes, I do.” Whirling from his side, she held both hands at the throats of Lilah and Lindsey. Her long, French-manicured nails were poised to strike. Their safety was none of his concern, as the male vampire’s large hand rested lightly under Holland’s chin, his other arm laid over Holland’s chest.

“Tell them to stand down, Holland,” the male said, the soft puff of his words cool on Holland’s ear. “Or Wolfram and Hart will have to get three new senior attorneys.”

“You’d never make it out of here alive,” Holland said.

“That’s just it,” the vampire said. “I’m not alive. I’m already dead.” His grip tightened on Holland’s chin. “Tell them or one of those two dies.”

“They knew what they were getting in to when they signed on with this company,” Holland said.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t really care, myself, and she likes blood.” He leaned in closer, amusement warming his voice. “It gets her hot, almost like she’s alive. And does it turn her on. Why, between the two of us, we could take this entire room, including your guards and rut on this table when we’re done.” He shook Holland’s chin lightly. “It’s up to you to make that decision, though. What’s it going to be? Your life, the life of your subordinates, or the blood?”

“The blood, my star, the blood,” the female said, nearly singing, swinging slightly.

“See? She’s made her choice. And, you know, she’s always at her best after a massacre.”

“Guards? Holster your weapons,” Holland said. His voice didn’t quaver. He had too much training in dealing with the senior partners to allow a little thing like a pair of vampires to shake him.

“But, Mr. Manners,” one protested.

“You heard the man,” Lindsey snapped.

He always got rattled under pressure. Holland sighed mentally. “Please. My…guests…aren’t really that much of a threat.” He felt the vampire holding him laugh silently at that comment but the guards obeyed, holstering their weapons. “Now, back out of the room. I’ll leave the mike open. If you’re needed, you will be called.”

“Very good, Holland,” the vampire said, though he didn’t release his grip until the guards vacated the room. “All right, baby, you can let them go.”

“Aww,” she whined, “I just want a little taste.”

“Maybe later,” he said, offering her his hand again. She took it, pouting once more, hiding her face against his shoulder. “You have to excuse her, Holland,” he said, shrugging as he ran a soothing hand down her back. “She gets like this.”

“I understand,” Holland said expansively. “Would you…care for any refreshments?”

He lifted his companion’s chin, forcing her to look at him. “Do you want anything, baby?” he asked, and when she nodded, he said, not taking his eyes from her, “Refreshments would be appreciated, Holland.”

“Of course.” Holland gestured. “Ron, if you would be so kind?”

Ron rose, smoothing the front of his jacket in place. He went to the coffee pot and poured two cups of the thick, black brew. Carrying them to the vampires, he held out the cups. “Here you are,” he said.

Both turned to him, their eyes gleaming yellow, their teeth long and sharp. “How kind,” the female said. Both grabbed him before he could move, the coffee cups dropping to the floor. The female buried her teeth into his throat on the left, the male on the right. The sound of Ron’s shriek was cut off almost instantly, the two vampires squeezing the air from his lungs in their tight grips.

Holland motioned at Lindsey. “Make sure his family gets a suitable severance. And don’t forget the flowers.”

“Of course,” Lindsey said, writing a note to himself on his pad.

* * *

It’s late.

Or really, really early if you think that way.

I’ve been up all night, not exactly something unusual in my type of job but still.

I guess it doesn’t matter, I can’t sleep anyway. Too keyed up or something.

So I’m writing in my brand new journal, bought from Giles’ shop, with a pretty blue cover with suns, moons and stars all over it. My first diary was pink, with a unicorn. I saw it the other day, in my closet. I’d forgotten all about it until I spotted it, in with my other diaries. I wondered that they hadn’t thrown them out when I died, or, she died, the other me? But I guess that they’re a part of the history of the Slayer. I think I should give them to Giles, since his Buffy is dead but I can’t do it. Not yet. Even though I know those journals from my sophomore year of high school are different than what happened to me, I’d still feel embarrassed giving them to Giles. Who knows what I…she wrote.

And I’m kind of afraid to find out. I don’t want to know those differences. I’d rather blunder through it without that sort of help. So, fresh start. Even though I know that last journal, the one that had a print of “The Accolade” on the cover, wasn’t even halfway filled, I’m not touching it except to put it in the closet, in the box with the others. Maybe later, when it isn’t so new and raw, I might be able to look through those books. Maybe I’ll never be able to. I don’t know.

I did find my senior yearbook from high school. That was almost a surprise. I pulled it out to look, I felt like I had to. That wasn’t so different, you know; I’ve had a little distance from that time in my life. And the signatures and the stuff that my friends had written, those were all the same. There just wasn’t the photo that I remembered sticking in my yearbook, back home, wedged in the pages. The picture of Angel and me at the prom. Instead, there was one of me with Scott, Willow with Oz, and Xander with Anya. No Cordy in this photo. I wondered what happened to Anya. I still do. Where is she? Should I try to find her?

I guess could ask Xander, he might know. I remembered Anya disappearing before the battle with the Mayor. Maybe she left then and never came back. Maybe this Anya stuck around here and got killed, ‘cause we did lose some people in that battle. Maybe she took Angel’s place here.

Anyway, looking at the yearbook wasn’t so weird compared to thinking about reading her journals. So I didn’t.

Earlier tonight, everybody came over. Well, not Giles and Jenny, and I think I’m finally getting used to seeing Jenny alive again. But the gang all came over and Xander and Riley cooked burgers out on the grill. It was like a party. It was really nice, sort of like things were before high school ended, when everything was all new and shiny and we thought nothing would ever beat us. When we were triumphant at everything we did, before I had to face a life without Angel and Mom dying and finding out my baby sister is a Key to another dimension. Before I died.

Still, we all had a good time, Xander and Will dragging everyone into playing that game of theirs where they recite quotes from movies and you have to guess what movie they’re quoting. Cordy’s really bad at it and Dawn stumped all of us by quoting something from ‘Grease.’ I’d forgotten how she’d had that crush on John Travolta for a while.

I remember Dawn having a crush on Angel, too.

God, this is so hard. It’s bad enough that I got dragged out of heaven. I almost feel it worse ‘cause Angel isn’t around for me to talk to about it. Spike knows, he’s figured it out, I think. Or figured out something, he’s going around with that “I know something you don’t” grin and being smarmy again. I found cigarette butts out at the edge of the property, where someone could look in my window.

He’s following me, stalking me. I can feel it.

I just wish I cared.

Everyone’s treating me like I’m fragile except him. He’s almost treating me like normal. But after I told them what I learned from Lorne, I guess they’re going to treat me a little different.

I told them that much. I couldn’t keep it inside any more. That was one thing I could tell them about, though I’ll never tell them about heaven. Bad enough that Willow brought back me rather than her Buffy, I’m not telling her she pulled me out of paradise.

Even so, what I told them, what I said? I almost wish I hadn’t.

Dusk was falling when I came back to the Magic Box. It used to be my favorite time of the day because I knew I’d have a chance to see Angel. Now, it’s just the time the vampires wake up. And the lights were on inside the shop and a woman stepped out of it while I thought about whether to go inside, or just take off. Go somewhere else, not be the Slayer any more. But that didn’t work before and I know it wouldn’t work now. So I went inside, feeling kinda all Christians and lions.

And I told them.

Will didn’t take it well but Oz is spending the night to comfort her. Dawn made one of her faces, but didn’t really say anything, so I guess Oz spends the night here a lot. I wonder if Willow chains him up in the basement on full moons. I don’t want to ask even though a part of me needs to know that, needs to know that the wolf is taken care of on nights when I might be out hunting, to make sure the normal people of Sunnydale remain safe.

I wonder what the Oz on my world is doing for a place now. I wonder if he’s still alive.

Bad thoughts, Buffy. Stop it. You’re here now. Make the most of it.

Even if it isn’t your life.

* * *

Willy’s was noisy, full of humans and demons, all of them itching for a fight. Spike didn’t mind that normally, he could usually find someone to beat up or shag, or both; sometimes pick up a game of chance of some sort or another. Willy’s wasn’t the type of place he’d frequented when he ran as part of Samael’s pack, but Samael had pride. He wouldn’t’ve wanted to dirty his shoes in the muck on the floor of Willy’s. Still, Spike thought it suited him right down to the ground. These were his people. Well, of a sort. Since the Scoobies had taken him in after that bout with the Initiative, he was a horse of a different color. Not exactly friend, not exactly foe. The others were more wary around him, especially after it got around that he could only hurt other demons. Humans were off his hunting list. Made it a little harder to get in with them, since he couldn’t take part in the kill.

Still, he had a reputation to maintain; he was still Alpha bloody male of the vampires in this town and he wasn’t gonna let no punk fledgling take his spot without a row. Didn’t matter that they considered him the Slayer’s lapdog. He’d gone against a hellgod at her side and that alone proved his wrinklies were still the biggest. None of them had even thought about going against Glory. They’d been too busy hiding. Who knew what kinda demons Glory had in her realm. Something nastier than a vampire might be in her food chain.

Spike hadn’t exactly worried about that. No, he hadn’t wanted to lose punk rock, dog racing or Piccadilly; any more now than he had back when Darla and Dru had tried to raise Acathla. And he hadn’t really wanted to lose a chance to shag the Slayer.

He didn’t remember when he’d realized she’d gotten under his skin. Sleeping with Harmony hadn’t taken away the desire for the Slayer. Seeing Drusilla before they’d gone up against Glory hadn’t doused the fire that burned in his gut. Buffy Summers was the woman he wanted. Didn’t matter what she was. Didn’t matter what he was. He actually thought they’d be a good match. Slayers dealt death, just like vampires. They were hunters, predators of the highest caliber. Would only stand to reason that they’d be good mates.

He’d been hurt when she’d leaped from that bloody tower, in an attempt to rescue the niblet. Should’ve asked him; not that he would’ve leapt for Dawn or the world for that matter. Spike liked the world with him in it and he thought it might be a lot less fun for certain people if he were gone. The Slayer, for one. But if the stupid chit had thought to staunch Dawn’s blood, rather than jumping…it might’ve worked. No, she’d gone and leaped to her death. And Red had gone and brought her back.

Nice piece of work, that, even if something weird was going on. The Slayer had talked a little with him when they’d gone out that night before her boy toy came back from bloody South America. And that was another thing, why hadn’t Dru or Samael eaten him? Spike knew that was where the pair had been; knew when soldier-boy left town that’s who he was hunting. Hell, he’d dropped enough hints to send a battalion down there. But here was soldier-boy, back and apparently healthy as a horse, taking up with the Slayer again. Wasn’t right. Still, didn’t seem that she cared for her lover boy as much as she did before she took her jump. It was something, but not very much. Spike would’ve preferred it if Samael had taken the boy out. Preferably slowly and with a lotta pain. The boy deserved it.

Spike sneered at his drink, guzzling it down. Blood, not fresh, never that, outdated stuff from the blood bank. Still, he couldn’t really be picky, could he? And it was time to make that bleeding phone call. Worse than being a dog on a leash, that phone call. Still, he did promise to make the report.

Finishing off his drink and waving over Willy for a bottle Wild Turkey, he took the bottle with him as he made his way to the pay phone. Propping his bottle on top of the phone’s casing, Spike fished in his pockets for change and dropped them into the slot. Picking up the receiver, he punched in the numbers, rattling them off from memory. Two rings, and the connection was made.

“It’s me,” he said. “Just listen, I don’t have much time. The Slayer went to Caritas.”

“Old news, Spike.”

He swore under his breath. “Do you know what she found out?”

“We’ve got people looking into it now.”

“Huh, people. I can just imagine.” He rolled his pale eyes. “I could find out for you.”

A purr from the other end. “Really?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t take much time.”

The voice became sharper and strident. “We don’t have much time, remember.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard that one before. Do you want me to have a go at it or not?’

A pause, then the voice said slowly, “Yes. But the Slayer can’t know what you’re up to.”

“Well, du-uh,” he said, taking a swig of his whiskey. “That’d take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?’

“Fun. You’ve always had a peculiar notion of it.”

Spike bared his teeth at the receiver. “You never had any complaints.”

The laughter tinkled through the line like wind chimes. “Maybe. Maybe I just never told you.”

“Oh. Here’s something you don’t know,” Spike said, wanting to rub it in. “The Slayer asked questions about a vampire named ‘Angel’. Seems he Sired Drusilla. Among other things. She seems to think he hung the bloody stars.”

“Angel?” the voice repeated distastefully. “What a foolish name. What did you say?”

“Said I didn’t know any angel,” Spike said, feeling the whiskey hit his stomach hard. It mixed with the blood; his favorite cocktail. “Get this: the Slayer says this ‘Angel’ is a vampire with a soul.”

“She what?” The voice trembled with ill-hidden laughter.

“Almost as stupid as a vampire with a chip in his head,” Spike said. “Gotta thank you properly someday for helping me get rid of mine.”

“Aren’t you already? I mean, you’re betraying the Slayer for me.”

“Just remember, when it starts, she’s mine,” Spike said.

The voice went hard and cold. “As long as she doesn’t get in my way.”

“I’ll keep her out of your path of destruction.”

“See that you do.” The voice lost some of its sharpness. “On the other hand, there’s a part of me that wouldn’t mind a rematch. I doubt she’d be expecting to see me again.”

“You’re probably right, love,” Spike said. “I’ll call again when I find out more.” He hung the receiver in its cradle, breaking the connection and picked up his bottle again, taking another long swig. Trouble was brewing in the corner between a Nichi demon and a vampire. Spike swaggered over to watch.

With any luck, there’d be blood. And who’d want to miss that?

* * *

He was here.

She could feel his presence, even through the space between them. Only he had the ability to make her body tingle, make her sluggish blood rise. Her joy bubbled up in her throat, spilling out of her mouth. The man next to her raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He knew better to challenge her lead, not while she held the power.

She stepped out as the elevator doors slid open, striding purposefully along the corridor, her head held high. The others fell in behind her, Elizabeth, James, Penn. Soon, the rest of the pack would be assembled. Soon, the world would tremble at their passing. The humans that remained alive would worship them as the gods they deserved to be.

Everything was coming together now. Even the resurrection of the Slayer wouldn’t stop them.

She led the way to the conference room and paused, allowing the male vampires to move ahead of her and swing open the doors. Elizabeth moved through first, then Penn and James. She swept in at the last, surveying those in the room, the smell of blood and fear and death still hanging in the air like the sweetest of perfumes. She caught sight of the tall, dark figure, ensconced in a chair like it was a throne.

The corners of her rouged mouth turned up in delight as Samael rose to his feet. “Hello, lover,” Darla purred.

* * *

Buffy wandered down the stairs, blinking at the bright morning light that seemed determined to burn her eyes. The smell of bacon cooking had dragged her out of a dream, something she could barely remember, even a few short minutes after she’d got out of bed. Almost sleepwalking, she wandered towards the kitchen.

A voice sang in there, the crooning strange to her ears. She stopped just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame to scope this out before actually entering.

Riley stood next to the range, frying up bacon with a deft hand. A dark green t-shirt and camo-pants protected his skin from the popping grease. Dawn supervised from her barstool, a strip of bacon in her hand. “Remember, scramble those eggs hard,” she said. “No one in this house likes runny eggs.”

“Got it,” Riley said, and broke back into the lyrics he’d been singing as Buffy’d walked down the stairs. “Her eyes, they shone like the diamond, you’d think she was queen of the land. With her hair thrown over her shoulder, tied up with the black velvet band.”

“That’s the depressing song,” Dawn said. “Sing the other one.”

“Danny Boy?” Riley asked, flashing a grin over his shoulder at her.

Dawn made a face. “No. That drinking song.”

“I’m not sure my underage sister needs to know the words to a drinking song,” Buffy broke in, deciding to make her presence known.

“Buffy,” Riley said, turning his attention to her. “Good morning.”

“Hey,” she said, walking into the kitchen and climbing onto one of the stools next to Dawn.

“Want some bacon?” Dawn offered Buffy a plate.

Buffy looked at it and wrinkled her nose. “Um, no. Just some coffee? Is there any ready?”

“Of course. Coming up.” Riley scooped the bacon onto a folded paper towel and reached for a cup. He poured the coffee into it and started to hand it over the counter to Buffy. “You are going to eat something, right?”

She reached for the mug. “Too early for food.”

Riley pulled the coffee out of her reach. “You are going to eat something, right?’

“Riley makes the best eggs,” Dawn bubbled.

“All right. Some eggs.” Buffy glared at her sister. “But not enough to feed your whole regiment or anything.”

Riley grinned and set the coffee in front of her, following it closely with eggs, bacon and toast. “There you are. Eat up.”

Buffy frowned at the laden plate. “I can’t eat all of this.”

“Try it. You might like it,” Dawn wheedled, bumping her shoulder against Buffy’s. “And that burnt stuff on the edge of the crusts?” She pointed at the crispy corner. “Riley tells me it puts hair on your chest.”

“Oh, really,” Buffy said dryly. “I think I’ll pass on a hairy chest, thanks.”

“Burnt only causes hairy chests in boys,” Riley said. “Girls get curly hair.” He took a sip of his own coffee, his eyes sparkling with amusement over the rim.

“Great. Who knows what affect it has on Slayers,” Buffy groused. Still, she took a bite of the eggs. It wasn’t the first time she’d eaten Riley’s cooking. Sometimes, on nights when he stayed over, he’d get up early and make her breakfast. Though she couldn’t remember Riley ever singing before.

“Well?” Dawn asked.

“They’re good.” Buffy offered Riley a smile. “Thanks for cooking.”

“Hey, no problem. Scrambled eggs are Chef Finn’s specialty.” Riley made himself a plate and leaned back on the cupboard counter to eat.

It was quiet for a bit, no conversation, just the sounds of people enjoying their food. Buffy couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt comfortable around Riley. When her mother had been in the hospital, it had been the beginning of the end of their relationship. At least, it had been that way on her world. Buffy picked at the slices of bacon, breaking them into smaller pieces.

“Stop playing with your food,” Dawn said, smacking Buffy’s wrist. “There are children starving in…where are there children starving at now?…who’d be happy to get that food.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. The speech was totally Mom. She answered her sister in a whiney voice. “Even broccoli? Are you sure they want broccoli?”

Dawn screwed up her face and whined right back. “I’m sure they want broccoli. And they’d like it.”

Riley chuckled. “Broccoli?” he asked.

“Dawn hates broccoli,” Buffy said.

“It’s of the cabbage family,” Dawn said with an exaggerated shudder. “Broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, all rank up there in the big ‘ew’ category.”

“They’re good for you,” Riley said, gesturing with his coffee mug.

“Uh, huh,” Dawn said, not buying it.

“No, really.”

“Like burnt toast?” Buffy asked, holding up part of the offensive crust of her bread.

Riley nodded. “Exactly.”

“So, they put hair on your chest?” Buffy asked innocently.

Riley’s mouth opened for a retort then snapped shut, a flush tingeing his cheeks. Dawn burst into laughter at his expression, nearly spilling her orange juice. Buffy caught the glass. “I think you’ve had enough,” she said. “We’re cutting you off.”

“Aww,” Dawn said.

“And isn’t it time for you to be getting off to school?” Riley asked, pointing at the clock.

“All right,” Dawn said grudgingly. “I’m going.”

“Got your lunch?” Buffy asked as her sister picked up a backpack.

“Got it. Unless,” Dawn’s expression turned hopeful, “you have any extra money to spare for me to get a cinnamon roll.”

“A cinnamon roll is not lunch.” Buffy folded her arms, realizing that her flannel sheep pajamas were probably not the best thing to be wearing when taking a firm stance with a younger sister.

“Xander says it is.”

“There’s a sterling recommendation,” Riley said.

“Xander thinks Twinkies are the perfect food group,” Buffy said. “Go.”

“Okay.” Dawn surprised Buffy by throwing her arms around Riley first, then her. “See you guys later.”

“Have a good day at school, Dawn,” Riley said as she opened the door and slipped out of it. He smiled fondly at her retreating figure, finishing off the rest of his coffee. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best,” Buffy said. “Of course, I say that now, when she’s not in the house and driving me crazy.” She dragged a hand over her hair. “It may change in a matter of minutes.”

Riley rinsed out his cup, taking the three plates from the bar and setting them in the sink. “But you’re willing to die for her,” he said quietly. He turned back around to face her.

Buffy lifted her shoulders, trying to shrug it off. “She’s my only sister.”

“You did that…jumped in your world, too, didn’t you?” Riley asked.

She couldn’t look at him. “Yeah.” She fiddled with the cuff of her pajama top, running her fingers over the soft fabric.

There was a pause, then Riley said, “Well. What are your plans for the day?”

Buffy glanced up at him, giving him a grateful smile. “I don’t know. Probably head over to the Magic Box and talk to Giles. You?”

“I need to call my commander, find out when he needs me back.” Riley didn’t touch her but Buffy could tell he wanted to. “You do know I have to go back, right? I’m on an emergency furlough.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said. She nodded her head, wondering that she felt a little pang at the idea of Riley leaving. He was nice. Solid. Dependable. She tried to shake off the idea she was describing a washing machine rather than the man that the her of this world had accepted as her fiancé. “I’ll…miss you,” she said, “when you’re gone.”

His face lit up at that admission. “It means a lot that you’d say that to me,” Riley said. “I know things are weird here. But I swear it’ll get better, Buffy. I promise.”

“Thanks,” Buffy said. “I needed to hear that.” She met Riley’s blue eyes and held them with her own. He reached out slowly, his fingertips tracing her hair away from her forehead. The touch was so soft and gentle. Buffy found herself leaning into that comfort.

“Do I smell bacon?” Oz stood in the doorway, his orange hair rumpled more than normal. “Oh. It looks like I interrupted a moment.”

“No, it’s okay, Oz,” Buffy said, stepping back hastily. She canted her eyes towards Riley. “I think I will get that shower now and take you up on your offer.” She darted out of the kitchen past her friend.

“What was that about?” Willow asked as she followed Oz into the kitchen.

Oz stared after Buffy, an eyebrow lifting. “Man, I’m truly sorry about that.”

“No, it’s okay, Oz,” Riley said. “Things are weird here for her and she’s just got to…adjust. It’ll take time.”

Nodding his understanding, Oz said, “It’s killing you, huh.”

“A little more every day.”

Willow laid a hand on his arm comfortingly. “It’ll get better, Riley,” she said, echoing his words.

“I know, Will,” Riley said, covering her hand with his own. “It has to.”

* * *

Jenny glanced up at the hesitant knock on the apartment door. Rising to her feet, she walked to it, peering out the spyhole to see the top of a honey-brown head. Unlocking the door, she swung it open. “Buffy,” she said, “good morning.”

The girl stood on the stoop, twisting her hands together. “I-I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked.

“No, of course not. Come in,” Jenny said, stepping back and gesturing. Buffy tentatively stepped over the threshold, her head lowered slightly. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Okay, I guess,” Buffy said, her voice barely carrying.

Jenny smiled sadly. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Buffy,” she said, squeezing the younger woman’s shoulder. “But if there’s anything I—we—can do, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Those huge expressive eyes flicked up and Buffy straightened slightly. “There are a few things,” she said, as Giles walked into the room, ruffling his still-damp hair.

“Oh, good morning,” he said, taken slightly aback. “Buffy, I d-didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I-I’m not imposing, am I?” she asked.

“N-no, not at all. Come in. Would you like some coffee?” Giles gestured towards the kitchen nook.

“Please.”

“Sit, I’ll bring it out. Jenny, do you want anything?”

“Coffee for me as well, Rupert,” Jenny said. She guided Buffy to the sofa, sitting her in it. “Did you sleep at all last night?” she asked, taking in the dark circles ringing the Slayer’s eyes.

“Not well,” Buffy said, a hand coming up to make some aborted gesture, falling back into her lap. She bit her lower lip, glancing towards the kitchen. “I-I’ve had some time to do some thinking. Remembering, actually.” She waited as Giles carried in a tray full of cups, creamer and sugar bowl.

“Here we are,” he said. “I’m afraid I have no whipped cream for your cappuccino,” he said, setting the tray on the living room table.

“We finished it off last night,” Jenny said, patting her lover’s thigh.

Buffy’s eyes widened even more.

“She neglects to say it was in our hot cocoa,” Giles said dryly, “so your belief that I’m too old for sex can be assuaged.”

“Thanks,” Buffy said, accepting the coffee and shooting Jenny an irritated glance as she poured in the cream and loaded it up with sugar.

Jenny smiled back, reaching for her own cup. “Buffy was saying that she’s been doing some thinking, Rupert.”

“Oh? About what?” He set his mug back on the tray, turning his faded blue eyes towards his Slayer expectantly.

“Well,” Buffy said, taking a sip of her coffee then setting it aside. “I was going to tell you about a dream I had yesterday but I forgot about it. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “After what I found out from Lorne…it, well,” her voice trailed off.

“That’s understandable, Buffy. Yesterday was rather, ah, traumatic for you,” Giles said, his voice warm. He removed his glasses and began polishing them on a napkin. “But a dream, you say?”

“Yeah.” She flashed a weak grin. “I-I dreamed I was at the Bronze, meeting Willow, Xander and Cordelia. Only, when I went to sit with them, they wanted me to sit on this platform thingy.” Buffy took a sip of her coffee again, buying time. Her eyes were focused inwardly, a faint frown knitting her brow. “There was a throne made out of bones on the platform. And there was another one next to it.”

When she hesitated, Giles leaned closer, the polishing stopping in his concentration on what Buffy had to say. “Is there more?” he asked.

“Y-yeah. I-I saw…” Buffy swallowed, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. Her fingers toyed with the engagement ring on her hand. Lifting her head, she said, “I saw them.” She looked from Giles to Jenny and back again. “Drusilla and Spike. Together. And…him.”

“Him who, Buffy?” Jenny asked, though she thought she already knew.

“A-Angel. He…was evil again.” Her face twisted and Buffy put a hand to her forehead, as if the thought of it pained her. “H-he wanted me to join him.”

Giles leaned back, a frown settling on her face. “Angel?” he asked, almost to himself. Absently, he tucked the earpiece of his glasses in his mouth, rising to his feet to pace the length of the small living room. “Buffy,” he said, halting to look down at her, “we have not found any word of this vampire in our books. The Council does not have any word of him.”

“I-I know,” Buffy said, biting her lower lip. “Don’t you think I know that?” She rose to her feet, as if she couldn’t stand to sit any longer. “But I saw him in my dream.”

“Maybe you saw him out of stress,” Giles said hesitantly. At her snort of disbelief, he defended himself. “It is possible, a reaction to being h-here.”

“I don’t think it’s a reaction, Giles,” Buffy said, her hands clenching into fists. “I think it’s a warning.”

“A premonition?” Jenny asked, now worried as well. “Is that what you believe, Buffy?”

The girl turned toward her, as if actually realizing she was there for the first time. Her eyes narrowed. “You,” she said, her voice trembling. “Why are you here?”

“Why?” Jenny asked. “I don’t understand. I live here, Buffy.”

“No, that’s not it,” Buffy said, her tone lowering. “Why. Are. You. Here?”

“Buffy,” Giles said reproachfully. “Jenny is my wife.”

“Wife?” She whirled on her Watcher. “You married her?”

“W-why, yes. Marriage is common enough when two people love each other,” he said.

“All right.” Buffy nodded as if this was something new but she’d fit it into the scheme of things. “On my world,” she said, “Jenny Calendar was a gypsy, sent to Sunnydale to keep an eye on Angel. She knew about his curse because her tribe set it on him.” She leaned down to Jenny. “Who are you?”

“Buffy!” Giles snapped. “I will not have you speaking to Jenny in that tone of voice.”

“No, Rupert,” Jenny said, holding up a hand. “It’s all right.” Her dark eyes met Buffy’s stormy grey ones levelly. “You’re right. I am Rom. And I was sent to Sunnydale, but to watch out for you, Buffy.”

“What?” Giles asked even as his Slayer nodded.

“I thought so,” she said. “Why else come here, if not to spy on one of us?”

“Not to spy,” Jenny said, trying to defend herself. “No. I was sent here by one of the wise women of my people. She saw…many things happening in Sunnydale. One of the things she foretold was your coming. And your return from the dead.” Jenny moistened her lips, glancing from her husband to the angry young woman in front of her. “Rupert, Buffy, please sit. This story…it’s not so easy to tell.” She gestured at the sofa. “Please.”

Giles obeyed, only because, Jenny thought, he might fall rather than continue to stand. Buffy warily took a seat next to him, perched on the edge of the cushion, as if she might leap up at any second. Jenny offered them both an apologetic smile. “I know this is hard, Rupert,” she said. “I-I didn’t want to tell you at first. I was afraid you might think that I was going against your Council if I told you.”

“So you l-lied to me?” Giles asked, his voice hushed and shaking with anger.

“Not lied. I am a computer teacher, Rupert,” Jenny said, hoping he would understand. “I am a techno-pagan. And I didn’t know if the wise woman’s visions would come true.” She tried to reach for her husband’s hand and swallowed her disappointment when he withdrew. “She was old when she told them to me, these visions she’d had when she was so much younger. But the wise woman…she was so insistant. She said I would do much good if I came here, that I could right a wrong. And she said I had to watch for you, Buffy, for the second coming of the Slayer.”

Buffy’s lip curled. “So she knew I’d die?”

Jenny nodded slowly, a wisp of dark hair coming loose from the bun she’d put it in only a short time ago. “Yes. She didn’t tell me that part though. Her words were that a new Slayer would rise from the old, like a phoenix.” She motioned at Buffy. “That Slayer can only be you, Buffy.”

“Why?” Buffy asked, still antagonistic.

“B-buffy,” Giles said, “the phoenix builds a pyre and self-immolates itself. It rises again from its own ashes, reborn, if you will, resurrected…but not quite the same as it was at first.” Absently, in shock, he reached out and picked up his mug, taking a long draught of coffee into his mouth and swallowing it.

“That suits,” Buffy said dryly. “So, someone knew it’d be me who came to this world and not your Buffy. What else did she have to say?”

Jenny caught her breath, looking directly at the younger woman. “She said that your return would herald the beginning of the end.”

“The end?” Giles asked, his attention focusing on her sharply. “The end of what?”

“The end of the world.”

Another knock sounded at the door. Giles stared at Jenny, a slow frown showing on his face. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

The knock came louder, more insistent. “Get the door, Rupert,” Jenny said softly.

“N-no, I must know what you mean.”

“The door,” Jenny said.

“I’ll get it,” Buffy said, popping from her seat and spinning around the edge of the couch to open the door. Sunlight spilled in around the lanky figure standing in the doorway, Buffy’s nonplussed, “Riley,” announcing who it was.

The young man stumbled in, grabbing her tightly in his arms and crushing her to his chest. “Buffy, Buffy,” he moaned.

Jenny saw the girl stiffen in her fiancé’s grasp but she didn’t shove him off as it seemed her hands wanted to. Instead, they patted at him awkwardly and Buffy guided him into the living area, managing to hook a foot on the door and close it behind them. “Sit,” she ordered, prying herself free.

“H-has something happened, Riley?” Giles asked, pulling himself into the present to question the young man.

Riley shook his head, catching hold of Buffy’s hand before she could move away. She settled on the arm of the chair next to him, letting him hold her hand. “They’re gone,” he said, his voice sounding lost.

“Wh-who’s gone?” Giles asked, gentling his tone.

“My unit. They didn’t answer, so a squad went down to check on them.” Riley’s smile was out of place on his face, a squatter in a mansion. “Turns out,” he swallowed hard. “Turns out they all…died.”

“Died?” Jenny asked sharply.

“How?” Giles asked.

Riley raked his free hand through his hair. “A-an attack. They pieced it together best they could. Seems it happened the day after I left the camp.” He glanced up at Buffy, who’s face took on a concerned expression. “They were…overrun by vampires. The nest, the ones we were hunting, I guess they turned the tables on my men.” Riley shook his head as if to clear it of the images. “No one was left alive. They said it was an out-and-out slaughter.”

“Here,” Buffy said, grabbing her coffee and pressing it into Riley’s hand. “Drink this.”

He obeyed, swallowing the milky concoction without any emotion. “I don’t understand,” he said, clutching the cup tightly. “They weren’t that dangerous. They weren’t…they couldn’t have been clever enough to know what we were doing.”

“They’re not animals,” Giles said exasperated. “We’ve told you that time and again.”

“Rupert,” Jenny said sharply. “He doesn’t need to hear that now.”

Giles shook his head. “So, you’ve lost a cadre of soldiers, set out to hunt a nest of vampires.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get killed,” Buffy said softly, patting Riley’s shoulder. His hand crept up to cover hers, squeezing it tightly.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice just as soft.

Buffy turned her attention to Jenny, her eyes darkened. “So. Did your wise woman predict this, too?”

“No. She only predicted you.”

Riley roused himself. “Prediction? Wise woman? What’s going on?”

“Jenny was sent here to watch me,” Buffy said, flinging a hand at her. “Seems that my coming here was pre-ordained.” She laughed harshly. “What else is written in the stars, Jenny?”

She shook her dark head. “I-I have notes,” she said.

“And you didn’t think to haul them out sooner?” Buffy asked sharply.

“Buffy. Jenny is my wife. Do not berate her as you would a child.” Giles stood by her, his hand reaching down to her shoulder, squeezing it much the way Buffy’s hand rested on Riley’s shoulder. Mirror images, Jenny thought, all in reverse, thankful that Giles would stand up for her. Maybe this would work out.

“It might’ve been nice to know what was going on,” Buffy snapped, not backing down.

“Rupert, it’s all right.” Jenny touched his hand as Riley had touched Buffy’s. “I know you probably hate me right now, but I couldn’t,” she protested. “Not until I knew exactly what was going on. I didn’t know for sure until last night, when you returned from Los Angeles. I didn’t want to say anything and be wrong.”

“Right,” Buffy said, pulling away from Riley to pace again. They all watched her as she made her way to the pass through window to the kitchen, gripping the frame’s edge with her hands until her knuckles went white. Her head bowed, her back stiffened with tension. “God,” she said to the counter, “some things never change. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, there’s always a stupid prophecy!” She released the frame to slam both fists down on it. The wood groaned ominously. Whirling around, Buffy fixed Jenny with her rage-brightened eyes. “What does it say? What am I supposed to do this time, since I’ve already died?”

Jenny swallowed. “Hell is rising, Buffy,” she whispered. “You’re supposed to face it.”

Send feedback to S. J. Smith

Back to the Fanfiction Archive