Chapter 10
Italics =thoughts
"I don't get it!" Buffy twisted her hands together and stared at Willow. Her
friend was curled up on the bed, idly playing with Mr Gordo's ears.
"Get what, honey?" Willow peeked up through her lashes and waited with baited
breath for Buffy to speak. It had been a week since the raising and the two
friends were still tentatively rebuilding their friendship. There was a
reticence to Buffy's manner that annoyed her- there had still not been the
falling into her arms and thanking her for the big save from hell and it bugged
Willow.
The redhead could hear the horrified screams in her mind, that had emanated from
Buffy when she first caught sight of Anne, her 'replacement', and the entire
house and probably the whole street had! It had taken Tara and Dawn a long while
to calm Buffy- once her scream-a-thon had been stopped with a quick slap on the
cheek from Anya. The entire meeting of the two Buffys had been a disaster from
start to finish. She’d hoped to ease Buffy into meeting Anne but it had been too
late
Once Dawn and Tara had managed to calm Buffy down, everyone had noticed that
Anne had disappeared into her room- the one that Buffy had since reclaimed. When
they tried to get her to come out and talk, their attempts had been met with a
telling silence. The four Scoobies had stared at the firmly shut door, each of
them filled with guilt and worry.
Spike had slipped outside before they had entered the kitchen and was only
visible in the darkness by the glowing ember of his cigarette. His lack of
involvement in the entire situation was telling to Tara and Willow. It had even
given Anya and Xander pause, but for now their attentions were directed towards
other more important and more immediate problems.
They had thought that by bringing Anne over that they were getting their Buffy
back. But in their despair and arrogance, all of them had forgotten one
important fact - Anne was a person in her own right and not a clone of Buffy. It
was a dark realisation, but a necessary one. Even Anya agreed during the hushed
conversation in the upstairs hallway that they had been insensitive towards Anne
and that they all had to make more of an effort with the scarred slayer. More so
now that Buffy was back
Willow had reluctantly revealed what she and Anne had discussed on patrol that
one night she had accompanied Spike and the Slayer. The other three had been
shocked into silence at the idea that Anne had believed they would send her
back. Before they could talk anymore, though, they heard Buffy calling for them
and they rushed to her.
It had been a fraught evening, not the celebratory one that the four Scoobies
had been anticipating. Dawn and Buffy sat wrapped up in each other's arms on the
sofa. All glistening eyes and trembling lips as the others explained the events
leading up to the ritual to raise Buffy from the dead. Tara, and surprisingly
Anya, noticed the dulled look in Buffy's eyes when Willow said that they had to
rescue her from the hell dimension she had been held prisoner in. Dawn had then
started yelling at them for not telling her what they had planned and neither
woman had a chance to ask Buffy why she looked so distraught. The slowly
emerging looks of frustration and muttered grumbles from Buffy directed at all
of them as the evening progressed were heartening. It reminded them all of the
past.
Eventually the conversation had turned to Anne and how they-- with Giles-- had
brought her over from the other dimension. Buffy had blinked in surprise at her
errant Watcher's involvement in the casting, and then reminded of his absence by
the mention of his name, she had asked where he was. The resounding silence from
everyone was enough of a response for the tired and sensitive Slayer; another
man she loved had left her. Dawn felt the tiny tremors that overtook her
sister's skinny frame and tried to soothe her.
Buffy had seemed to gather a hardness inside and pushed aside her abandonment
issues. She was well versed in living with them and demanded to know why they
had felt it necessary to call over Anne. All of them winced at the angry looks
Buffy aimed at them, and when they revealed that possibly more than a few others
had slipped through the portal into this dimension, they had waited for the
explosion. Instead they got a tired, resigned sigh.
As the evening continued, Xander took up the role of storyteller, trying to
explain why Anne had been called over by them, allowing the others to interrupt
and add their two-penny’s worth.
Tara had been the one to hesitantly explain that they needed someone to help
them fight. The shy wiccan had almost curled into a ball when Buffy had asked
why Spike hadn’t helped, hurt and betrayal filling her voice. Willow had rescued
her girlfriend from Buffy’s cross-examination with a few simple words. She told
Buffy that Spike had shredded the Bot.
Dawn had squirmed guilty against her sister when Buffy had asked why Spike had
been upset enough to waste the Bot but had barely looked at her when he had come
in. There had been no answer to her question, they didn’t know and couldn’t work
out the blond vampire’s complete about face.
Tara had not said anything about her suspicions wanting to wait until she had a
chance to talk with the younger Summers sister alone. Xander had hefted a
weighty sigh of relief that his earlier comments to a disoriented Buffy about
their suspicion of magic seemed to not have lingered in her muddled ‘back from
the dimensions of hell’ mind.
Buffy sat curled up against Dawn and half listened with a growing horror and
anger. She was still struggling to come to terms with her brutal revival and
clung to the familiar, her sister, the being she had died for. Unaware that she
was only partially taking in all the explainy stuff her over excited friends
continued to babble at her. So she had let their words drift over her and she
nodded here and there, just to give the impression that she was listening. Buffy
recognised their usual motif of a quick fix and then leave whatever or whoever
it was to their own devices. Their self-absorption was of the norm and this time
she was too tired to call them on it. Once they had called Anne over they had
pretty much left her to her own devices. Only Dawn and Spike had attempted to
make her welcome.
Buffy had dazedly glanced towards the kitchen, still wondering where Spike was
and why he hadn't greeted her with open arms. It was a weird. He had been
curiously nonplussed by her reappearance and from everyone else's reactions they
were just as weirded out by his ‘oh hey’ attitude. Once he had cleaned up in the
kitchen, Spike had bypassed the reunion in the sitting room with nary a glance
inside and had stalked downstairs to his room.
He had taken up residence in the basement. When he had officially moved in—as
opposed to his being held captive in restraints designed for his own safety—he
sub-consciously avoided Buffy's abandoned room. The scents that infused the
girlie room had caused a miasma of pain in his head, so the peroxide vampire had
taken up residence in the basement and never ventured across the threshold of
Buffy's domain of his own accord again.
Buffy felt something clench inside her at the abrupt dismissal of her presence
by her vampire, and her full lips firmed in disappointment. Unnoticed by any of
them, Dawn watched the misery on her sister's face over Spike's disappearance
downstairs and guilt filled her again - she needed to break the spell and fast!
Buffy focussed back on the conversation about Anne and there was sadness to her
countenance. One that the Scoobies and Dawn were all too familiar with.
******
Even a week later Willow and the others could tell that there was a huge amount
of issues between the two Slayers. None of them had any idea what to do or say.
Instead they had decided to take their lead from Buffy, as they had often done
in the past. The only problem with that was that Buffy was being very quiet,
spending most of her time with Dawn. She also barely seemed to recall the
intense conversation the night she came home, so they had all decided to let
Buffy slowly readjust to life before talking to her again and filling her in.
Willow also was a bit frowny over how easily Dawn and Anne had settled into
sharing a room - there had been a serious lack of space in the house. Spike had
mentioned moving out but when Dawn had burst into tears, he had retracted his
offer. Instead, they had all played sardines and squished a cot into Dawn's room
for Anne. Once everyone had settled, a routine slowly established.
The most telling result of Buffy's return was that she and Dawn were much
closer. So much so that Willow was beginning to get a teensy bit jealous of the
two sisters. Added to that, Tara was not happy with her, and Willow had no idea
what that was about. Every time she tried to bring it up with her lover, Tara
would get a funny look in her eyes and begin to talk about training exercises
for them to do with their magic. Willow had dismissed the suggestion with a
faint giggle, saying that she was beyond the need to learn how to control her
magic.
After a few attempts, Tara had retreated into herself and began to stutter
slightly whenever the others had talked about the resurrection or magic in
general. The speech impediment had become so repetitive that Willow had noticed
it, and then she had tried to talk it over with Tara. She had been rebuffed
firmly. Willow was getting tired of Tara's twitching over every little spell.
The redhead kinda wished that she had a magically inclined buddy to have fun
with and not be all lecturey and ‘no, you can't do it like that’ because it
wouldn’t be keeping the balance of nature; of good and evil.
"Get what, honey?" Willow asked. She had been lost in her thoughts and had been
unaware that Buffy hadn't replied to her question, so in good gossip fashion,
she repeated it.
"Huh?" Buffy was pulled back from her ruminations. She had been sitting there,
brushing her hair and gazing sightlessly into the mirror. Her thoughts were
filled with Spike and Anne; she had no idea what was going on with them, or with
her life. To be honest, it was all too much for her. Buffy felt like she did
just before she had jumped from the tower: hollow, lifeless and alone. Even
moreso because Spike was not even looking at her, let alone talking to her.
Instead, he trained and patrolled with Anne. Buffy's frazzled mind veered away
from the 'other Slayer', still not ready to address that hornet’s nest.
"Get what, Buffy?" Willow repeated patiently. She was prepared to sit here until
doomsday if it meant Buffy was doing the talky best-friend stuff again!
"Spike." Buffy pulled her hair up and tied it into a ponytail. She eyed the
length and wondered if she should get a trim and also go and replace the
highlights that seemed to have faded out while she had been interred. Buffy was
more than a little wigged out that her hair had kept growing after she had died.
She made a mental note to get to a hairdresser and have something done with it.
'Maybe if it was blonder, Spike might notice.'
Willow shifted uncomfortably. She had been wondering when Spike would come up.
Truthfully, she joined Tara in her worry about the totally underwhelming
response to Buffy's return by her once most ardent admirer.
"What about Spike, sweetie?" She decided to err on the side of caution and wait
to hear what Buffy had to say about Spike. In the past--before Buffy had died--
Willow would’ve freaked at the idea of Buffy and Spike. But now, after
witnessing Spike’s grief, Willow accepted that he loved Buffy and if her friend
decided that she wanted to pursue him, then there was no way she or any of the
others would object. Much…
"He acts like he doesn't remember anything about me!" Buffy twisted her hands in
her lap and then turned to face Willow on the bed. "It's weird. He goes from
chaining me up and threatening to stake psycho momma to nothing!" Buffy stood up
and began to pace back and forth.
Willow’s brain clicked into gear when she heard Buffy. Spike had no memories of
the recently returned blond that made sense of his lack of 'yippee, the love of
my unlife is back from a hell dimension and not a drooling mess from whatever
she went through'. Up until now, Willow had considered that Spike had cast a
numbing spell on himself so that he could function without Buffy in his life.
But now...now, Willow realised that Spike seemed to have no memories about
Buffy. Every time any of them had begun to reminisce, he had rubbed his temples
and left. It was almost as if he didn't have anything to discuss, and he got
uncomfortable. Willow frowned slightly, 'no, that wasn't right, he was
usually all ‘owie my head hurts’. From what Dawn had said and what she and
the others had witnessed of Spike's pain, it was very real.
But then again, the pain these days was not so noticeable; it had changed about
five days ago. Something had changed on a basic level. Instead of grr argh, it
hurts! Spike was now just ‘Buffy who’? Willow hurt for her friend. She knew that
Spike's rejection had wounded Buffy, and she had no idea how to help her.
********
Dawn pressed her ear against the door and tried to hold her breath. When she had
heard Spike's name fall from her sister's lips, the Key was hooked. She had
already tried to do a reversal spell on Spike the day after Buffy had been
returned to her. Various snippets she caught, combined with the yearning looks
her sister shot Spike’s back, left Dawn with a need to set things right. Now, if
only she possessed the skill.
His lack of reaction and complete dispassion was killing her. Dawn knew that
unmagicked Spike would have been over the moon with Buffy back. And in a way
Dawn felt like she was cheating Spike of something by having cast the spell on
him. At the time it had been a necessity; she had needed him to survive for her,
and himself. But now he was starting to freak her out with the zombie Spike
stuff. Also with all the freaky bonding time with Anne? Wrong much? He was meant
to be with her. Dawn rolled her eyes at the teen poutyness that was here?? Her
or there?, and tried to eavesdrop on Willow and her sister.
The spell had been a general reversal one that she had found in one of the books
Willow had borrowed from Giles and never returned. The only thing that was
worrying Dawn was that Buffy had knocked on the bathroom door and interrupted
her. Dawn could tell that Spike still had no memories, but at least he wasn't
bleeding from his orifices. She had promised herself to try again when the house
was quiet, yet so far that had been a non-starter. There had been someone around
pretty much all the time. Maybe it was time to fess up to Tara and get her to
help fix Spike.
******
"I hate how he is all Slayer buddies with Anne."
Buffy pouted at Willow.
The redhead was secretly revelling in the conversation -- they were finally
doing the best friendy thing and Willow had missed it!
Buffy flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, her fingers laced
behind her head and a small frown marring her forehead. "He spends all his time
with her: training, patrolling and talking. He used to do that with me."
Willow arched a brow at that blatantly false memory of the facts. She was
greeted with the patented Summers eyeroll and it made her giggle.
“Okay, not so much. But it sounded nice, and he was helping us a lot before
I…you know…jumped.”
"I know, sweetie. But you have to remember it was real tough for him when you
died." Willow wondered if she should tell Buffy about all the nights they had
dragged him from her grave and locked him up so he couldn't greet the sunlight
in the dawn. It may help Buffy understand more about Spike, but Willow was not
gonna tell her blonde friend anything about her magical suspicions.
Buffy was not too cool with people using magic on themselves or others. Willow
couldn’t stop the grimace as she remembered Buffy's reaction to the whole ‘Will
be done’ spell incident. Also, if she brought that up then Buffy would wanna
'talk' about the resurrection and also the bringing over of Anne and the extra,
scarily dangerous and nightmare inducing vamps. Willow mentally sighed at the
ongoing problem of the vampires -- no matter how hard they all tried they
couldn't dust them or find where they were hiding. Willow was starting to freak
over her vampy alter ego cos sometimes she acted so familiar—way too familiar
and it was creepy.
Buffy rolled her head on the mattress, hope filling her eyes. "Really, was he
upset?" Giddy excitement coloured her voice.
Willow futilely braced herself against the 'oh please spill' look in Buffy's
eyes even as she cringed inside at Buffy’s eager need to hear that Spike
suffered for losing her. "Yeah, maybe he's just staying away cos he doesn't want
to get hurt? Also, he and Anne were close before...before..."
"Before you raised me from the dead?" Buffy supplied, a tinge of resentment in
her voice that Willow missed entirely. She deliberately avoided the whole Anne
and Spike were close comment, because if she spoke it out aloud, then it'd be
real. Buffy was starting to feel a teeny bit of resentment towards Anne. The
other version of her had replaced her not only in her room and her life; she had
also taken over her patrolling and her vampire.
The anger was starting to build in her. Buffy tried hard to ignore it, but it
was there in her heart -- like an insidious growth. She pushed the bad moody
feelings down and turned to the Spike situation. She was filled with hope that
if the blond vampire had mourned her, then maybe he felt something. ‘Cause with
the way he was behaving now, Buffy suspected that if she were on fire Spike
wouldn't help her. Instead, he'd roast some marshmallows on the blaze.
"How sad was he?" Buffy couldn't help herself. Since her return, she had begun
to examine the feelings she had for Spike and had been surprised at their
strength. The blonde had wondered if it was because he wasn't interested in her
anymore? A case of wanting what you couldn’t have. But she dismissed that.
Sometimes she'd catch him looking at her and there was something in his eyes,
not at the level of puppy dog devotion that it had been - but something was
definitely budding in his heart. 'If she could just pry him away from Anne, then
maybe something might happen?'
These feelings she had for Spike were new and fresh, but Buffy had learned the
hard way not to wait for good things to happen to her. If she did then either
they went bad, or she died.
Buffy remembered one of her first conversations with Willow in the Bronze, about
living in the now and enjoying life. She sadly wondered where that innocent girl
had gone. And then remembered she had died nightly on patrol as she had staked
vampire after vampire and fought demons. Later, during the whole 'Faith trying
to prove she wasn't evil and working for a snake to be Mayor', Willow had told
her to seize the day.
It hadn’t only been the attrition of patrolling that had tarnished her
innocence, it had also been somewhere mid-Angel angst that her hope and youthful
joy at life had been forgotten. But not any more, dammit! She had died for the
cause and now she wanted something for herself. And if it came in a leather
wrapped package with fangy yummy goodness, then so be it.
She did wonder where the nummy feelings for Spike had come from and when they
had started. Buffy had lain awake in her bed—deftly avoiding nightmares by
refusing to sleep—trying to fit it all together. As far as she could work it
out, it had been when he had sat beaten to a pulp in his crypt. The
determination to protect her and Dawn from Glory was the only thing keeping him
upright, then the brush of their lips. A spark of something had started in her
heart with the first soft touch of his lips. It might have been love, but she
had died too soon, again, and had not even had a chance to examine it.
That kiss was probably when she had started to feel something more than
revulsion for Spike. It had been a teeny tiny spark deep inside her but slowly
it had begun to warm through her body, and then that last night was a rush of
more understanding. His face when she had invited him back into her house and
his chocked words, then it had clicked in her head and she knew. But she had
died and it had been too late.
So now Buffy was determined to seize the Spike, even if she was confused as hell
as to what she was feeling and worried that he hated her guts.
"Well, he..." Willow gave in. She hadn't wanted to give Buffy the full
disclosure over Spike, but it started to pour out of her and there was nothing
she could do to stop it.
Buffy lay on her side, her solemn eyes never leaving Willow's face as the entire
sequence of events since her death were laid bare for her to analyse. As Willow
talked, something warm filled Buffy's heart. If he had been so upset-- suicidal
and manic-- then maybe his feeling for her were still there.
Buffy burst into tears when Willow described the awful night when Spike had
wasted the Bot. "He really did that? Willow, I don't understand what changed.
How did he go from doing that to barely even noticing me?"
"Oh Buffy, don't cry." Willow reached over and took Buffy's slim hand in her
pale one and squeezed her fingers, trying to reassure her as well as calm her
down. Willow's small chin firmed. She knew what she had to do -- she had to fix
this. Spike was a poopy head for being all 'ohhh, so your back. Like I care la
la la. I cast a spell to stop the hurting, so there!' It was making Buffy cry.
Willow needed to fix everything so that everyone was happy again.
Willow didn't realise the darkness that tinged her eyes as she considered the
way in which she could change things magically. There was a foreboding air to
her demeanour - one that was beginning to take permanent root in her ever since
the resurrection and the massive amount of dark magicks she had accessed to
bring Buffy back. Buffy needed her.
*********
"Try the kick again, pet. You're not following through hard enough." Spike
adjusted his grip on the punching bag and braced himself.
Anne bounced on her toes and then span and kicked out and up.
Spike grunted and held the punching bag steady. "Not bad, pet, but you're
slightly over balancing. If you are fighting someone seasoned then they'd have
you on your arse before you could regroup."
Spike sauntered over to Anne and circled behind her, unaware of the look of
sheer excitement that coloured her eyes when he placed his large calloused hands
on her hips.
But their hidden observer did. Buffy felt a rush of anger at the swoony teen,
not feeling even the slightest bit of sympathy or encouragement for this version
of herself. She briefly wondered if she had been like that with Angel.
Rage filled her for a split second and then subsided, her hands fisted at her
side. Not only was Spike touching and training the interloper, they were using
her training room- the one Giles and Xander had made for her! Anne had taken
over just about everything in her absence-- from her room and clothes, to her
sister and Spike. Buffy was trying so hard not to freak out, but slowly it was
building to a nice out of control fire.
After spending the morning talking with Willow, the two of them had headed out
for some pampering time. Buffy and Willow both had their hair done, and they so
looked all with the cuteness now. It had been so good to have a girlie bonding
session, catching up on all the missed opportunities before she’d dived off the
tower. It had relaxed their mutual wariness slightly, and so it’d been
completely of the good.
Buffy reached up and twirled a strand of her newly golden hair with her freshly
manicured fingers. She felt pretty and figured maybe heading over to the shop
and hanging out until Spike showed up would fill her relatively empty day. When
she and Willow had arrived, Anya had announced that Spike and Anne were
training. So here she stood in the shadows, watching through a crack in the
door.
"What are you doing, Buffy?" Dawn tiptoed up beside her sister. She had just
gotten out from school and had headed straight for the Magic Box, clued in to
the latest trend of the actual house being empty this early in the day.
Buffy turned and pressed a finger to her lips, "Shhh."
"Oh! Your hair looks so cute! I was thinking about putting highlights in mine. I
wish we could've gone together." Dawn reached over and grabbed Buffy's hands and
examined the French Manicure, secretly delighted that Buffy was getting over her
apathy and taking an interest in her looks. Dawn hoped that the effort her big
sis had put into herself wouldn't go unnoticed by a certain peroxide pest. If
the idiot could drag himself away from his apathy long enough to open his stupid
eyes.
Buffy grinned and for once the smile lit up her eyes. Unaware at the slightly
jealous look being directed at her by Willow, Buffy patted her hair. "Thanks,
now shush!"
With that, both the sisters began to eavesdrop on Spike and Anne.
Behind them, Willow settled down to catch up on her homework and Anya flitted
around dusting.
Dawn listened to Spike and Anne bantering as they trained but kept her eyes
closely on Buffy's face, firstly to gauge her reactions and secondly because she
was still in shock that her sister was back.
Unbeknownst to Spike or Anne that they now had two eavesdroppers they continued
to train. Slowly Anne was developing her own style, incorporating in more of
Spike's flamboyant moves.
Anne collapsed onto the training mat with a sigh. "Can we break for a moment?"
She reached into her rucksack and pulled out a bottle of water and drank deeply.
Spike squatted down next to her, his forearms resting on his knees. "You okay?"
Concern filled his pale blue eyes as he watched the younger girl fiddle with her
bottle. Since the handholding incident he had tried to keep a little distance,
but then slowly he had been drawn back to her. She was a cute kid. And an
outsider - much like he was, or at least had been.
Now the real Slayer was back he was slightly unsure of where he stood with the
Scoobies. He had expected them to close ranks and shove him out into the cold,
but they hadn't, and Spike was puzzled as to why. He had offered to move out; in
fact he had packed his duffle bag and was heading out when Dawn caught him and
started shrieking. She had begged him not to leave her and then Buffy had
appeared in the hall and taken the duffle from his unresisting hands and stowed
it back in the basement without a word. He had taken one look in her eyes and
something had melted inside him.
So he stayed, surrounded by women and secretly loving every moment of it. Mostly
he remained for Dawn. She needed him and nothing short of a stake to the heart
would remove him from her side. Spike loved her like the baby sis he had never
had when he had been poncy William.
The other reason he stayed was Tara. Since the raising, Spike had sensed
something was 'up' with the lover-wiccans. Glinda barely managed to talk to Red
without stuttering. Red was the other reason he could justify staying -
something was off. His demon could sense it, and Spike wanted to stay close at
hand to protect the Nibblet.
Anne gazed shyly up at him through her lashes, blissfully unaware of the grunt
of anger that emanated from Buffy as she spotted within seconds the look of
adoration directed at Spike. The vampire, however, remained oblivious, too
caught up in his worries about Willow.
"Sorta." Anne shrugged. Part of her wished Spike would kiss her, but the more
realistic part of her was telling her to get over it. Spike had made his
feelings clear on the subject-- no touchy and only friends. Anne couldn't stop
herself from still wanting him, but she respected Spike so highly that she would
bide by his wishes.
Spike sat down crossing his legs and cocked his head. "Tell Uncle Spike, pet."
He knew that the girl still fancied him, but he wasn't interested. Luckily, she
was starting to pick up on that and had stopped with the awkward touching and
batting of her lashes. It also helped that the migraines had disappeared. He
felt like a new vamp, now.
"It's just…I don't think Buffy wants me around." Anne couldn't help but recall
the screams of fright and horror that had greeted her first meeting with Buffy.
Since then, the older version of herself had barely spoken to her. Instead Buffy
would watch her with solemn eyes and shoot her wary looks.
Anne also felt that now that Buffy was around, she was even more of a third
wheel. None of the others had said anything but Anne wondered what her role in
this world was now that the true slayer had returned. She knew that Willow had
said she was here to stay, but now Anne wondered what for? They had a Slayer and
their friend back, why would they need a spare?
Spike itched for a cigarette but he suspected that Buffy would kick his arse if
he smoked in the training room. He knew that Anne's concerns were very real to
her, but he also realised she was an insecure teen whose entire reason for being
here had been overturned with Red’s latest spell.
Added to that, there was the matter of his rather brutal rejection of her
advances and her teen hormones putting her in a pickle. He had no idea how to
assuage her concerns. If it'd been Dawn, he’d’ve had no problem. But Anne was
another thing altogether. He knew how to handle Dawn, but Anne was a different
matter.
Going for a blanket conciliatory angle, he reached over and patted her
cautiously on the shoulder. "None of that, Pet. Buffy's an odd bird, and wot
with all she's gone through recently she's bound to be a bit off kilter. Give
her some time, alright."
Buffy growled at the sight of Spike touching the interloper, and rage filled
her. It was only the presence of the others that forestalled any beating up of
Anne. That and the faint voice inside her telling her it was wrong and not fair
of her. But the voice felt to be getting fainter the more times it had to defend
Anne.
Anya could almost sense the jealousy and anger pouring off Buffy. Whatever she
was listening to in the other room was filling her friend with so much envy that
if Anya had still been a vengeance demon, she would be twirling her pendant and
asking if there was anything Buffy wished would happen to Spike. She wisely kept
quiet and carried on with her cleaning.
Dawn flinched at the sound of Buffy's grrr and also at what Anne had said. She
and Anne were friends, if not sisters. She knew Anne was feeling kinda weirded
out, but it was Buffy, and Dawn had no intentions of taking sides. Anne was cool
and sharing a room with her hadn't been as bad as Dawn had thought it'd be. They
talked a lot and hung out. Anne spent a load of time in their shared room. Dawn
had wondered why and now she knew, and her heart ached for Anne. 'Poor thing,
it must be awful, being pulled from one hellish dimension to here, having
everything and then it's all pulled apart cos of Willow playing the big
Wicca...'
Dawn veered away from thinking about Willow. She had heard her and Tara fighting
a few times over magic usage and it made her tummy feel funny. She wanted
everyone to be happy and from the way Tara behaved recently, Dawn was worried
that she might leave Willow.
"Why?" Anne's voice drew both the Summers’ girls attention away from their inner
musings and back to the troubled teen talking to Spike.
"Why wot?" Spike asked.
"Why give her time? She's home." Anne uttered the final word with such
bitterness and envy that Spike glanced up warily at her. "I don't have a home
anymore; everything we had before she came back has gone. Now she's here, it's
all different." Anne picked at her sneaker's laces as she finally gave voice to
her resentments.
"Yeah, but pet, it'll be okay." Spike really had no idea what to say. He wished
Glinda was here to soothe the girl with her kind words and gentle presence.
Anne reached over and grabbed Spike's shoulder. "We could leave, just pack up
and go!"
Spike flinched away from her urgent touch; he didn’t want her to touch him. It
felt like someone else should- but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember
who.
He stood and paced the length of the room and then walked back to her, his eyes
cold and uncompromising. "No!" he exclaimed. His angry voice made all three
women jump.
Buffy’s fingernails cut into her palms as her hands fisted in anger over Anne’s
suggestion. The teenage interloper had stolen her calling, life, clothes, sister
and now she wanted her vampire? ‘Not gonna happen without a confrontation!’
she thought angrily.
Dawn’s stomach lurched at the words falling from her ‘friends’ lips. ‘So much
for being friends…’ Dawn was wounded. She had thought that they were close,
sharing space in her cramped bedroom and giggling over boy bands.
Bonding.
Dawn wondered if all of it was just so Anne could get close to Spike and then
steal him away.
Anne stood; excitement lit her hazel eyes and the words poured out of her. "We
could, just go back and pack...get in your car and drive...away...anywhere has
to be better than here. It's not like we have anything holding us back...we're
both alone in this world!"
Spike clenched his jaw, his sharp cheekbones standing out in relief. A rage
filled him over her careless words. "I...DO...have someone here," he ground out.
Buffy's heart leapt. 'Me!Oh finally he's gonna say something!'
"What? It can't be Buffy," Anne said dismissively.
"No, Dawn." Spike turned away and began to pull on his duster. He wanted to be
away from this conversation, because chip be dammed, he was going to thump her
for being so callous.
Buffy's fluttering heart sank to the bottom of her stomach, 'Dawn? Dawn? Why
not me...so much for chaining me up and threatening to stake his stupid Sire for
me.'
Both eavesdroppers scrambled away from the door and pretended to study the books
on the shelves as Spike stormed out and disappeared into the basement with a
sulphurous growl.
Before anyone could say anything, the phone rang.
"Giles! Oh, you got our message?" Anya squeaked excitedly. "She's back...yes,
Willow did it...uh, Buffy's right here. You want to talk to her?" Anya turned to
face Buffy and her bright smile faltered and slipped off her face. "Oh...you'll
call her in a few hours at home? Okay. So, when are you coming back?" Anya
frowned and nodded. Quietly she muttered goodbye and hung up.
Buffy's face had lit up like a fireworks display when she realised it was her
watcher calling, but the smile had faltered and vanished when she realised that
Giles hadn't wanted to talk to her. Dawn took her hand and gave it a squeeze in
support, sympathy etched across her visage.
Willow stood and wrapped an arm around Buffy's shoulders. "Don't worry, honey.
He's probably in shock and wants to wait till you're home so you can have a long
talk."
Anya nodded. "Of course he'll call. He did say that he would come over as soon
as he could, as well."
Buffy shrugged off their reassurances and went to sit at the table, grabbing a
book and opening it so she could wallow in her hurt. What was one more
disappointment added to her day?
**********
"I really hate this town." The Master growled as he slouched in his throne.
Their lair in the new factory that Willow had found the same day that they had
been pulled into this new dimension had changed over the past few weeks and was
now a fitting domain for a Master vampire of the Aurelian line.
There was his throne of course, which dominated the room from the plinth it sat
upon. The dust and filth had been cleaned away under his darling Willow's
supervision. He really did adore that minx; she was devilishly wicked and ready
to do anything.
He watched the three latest additions to his family with a bored eye. Technology
confused him, not that he would ever admit that weakness to anyone, but he
appreciated its usefulness. The three fledges were useful, and he applauded
Willow for turning them and bringing them to him.
In the old days it had been simple, now it was a brave new world and it held no
interest for him. In his Sunnydale he had ruled supreme, barely challenged. He
had explored new ways for farming blood and had allowed the modern world to
influence his thinking.
And it had failed.
His last memory of home had been a fight with the scarred Slayer and him gaining
the upper hand. He had been about to go for the kill when there had been a flash
and he had been reunited with his two favourites, both of whom he had witnessed
fall into ash. This had been the only redeeming features the interdimensional
travelling had offered. The return of his two Childer-- and now one of them had
been torn from him again. He sighed. When they had discovered from his new
minions who had been spying on the defenders of the Hellmouth that his precious
Xander had been killed by his alter-ego it had been a humiliating shock for them
all.
From what he could gather from Jonathon, the Slayer had dusted his own
counterpart here in Sunnydale years ago. Despite himself, The Master shivered at
the thought of falling to dust. He was sickened at the idea of a dimension where
he didn't exist- that was just wrong.
What was also wrong, was how his own kind had turned from him and the Aurelian
clan, siding with the Slayer and fighting fellow creatures of the night with
her.
First the Puppy and now Spike, it just wasn’t right. It made him sick to his
stomach to think that one of the most vicious of his line had been brought to
heel by a putrid Slayer.
Never in his entire unlife would he have considered that a possibility. The
blond vampire had revelled in his evilness, cutting a swathe of blood across
Europe. Now Willow told him that Spike was the Slayer's new puppy—now that the
old one had escaped to the city of Angels. His rising ire told him that it just
wouldn’t do at all. What was it about this heinous bitch of a Slayer that
turned his mightiest soldiers into fools for love?'
The Master stared blankly at the series of screens Warren, Jonathon and the
other one were setting up. It was a stroke of genius, this idea. He snapped his
fingers and another minion appeared. The tall female vampire dragged a screaming
child along behind her and with a bow of her head she handed the crying boy to
the Elder of her clan.
The Bat faced vampire caught hold of the child and ran a talon over his exposed
throat. "Scream again," he taunted. "It makes the blood taste oh, so good."
With that the ten-year-old boy screamed until his voice vanished. With the dying
note of fear the Master sank his fangs into the thin neck and drank greedily.
Pushing aside for now the frisson of anger that he had to rely on his food being
delivered to him, the Elder vampire tore at the fragile neck that he was
drinking from. Brushing aside the small hands that desperately clawed at him for
freedom, he drank deeply.
Tossing the drained corpse onto the floor, he licked his lips and smiled
broadly. "Excellent vintage; young, untouched and tempered with absolute fear.
Perfect!"
Rising, the leather clad demon leapt with ease to the ground and paced over to
the three techogeek vampires and watched them avidly. They were giving him
Sunnydale in glorious Technicolor. He had refused to leave the lair; it wasn't
safe with two Slayers on the loose.
Instead, he had immured himself in a luxurious prison heavily warded by his
darling girl's magicks. So far they had evaded the eye of the scarred Slayer and
her troupe of followers. But now they had to be on alert; there was another
Slayer here, a replica of the scarred one but her face was untouched. And the
Master feared her; she was the one who had killed him before in this dimension.
He silently railed against the prison of his own making. Over the decades, he
had been hidden underground in London and again in Sunnydale until he had
ascended and taken the town for himself. Now in this dimension he was reduced to
hiding behind the skirts of his Childe- the prison was a creation of his own
paranoia. Soon, he would have to step out and take command of this Hellmouth,
but for now, he was content to watch.
"We have ignition!" Warren glanced up from the board he was soldering and
pressed a button. His ferret like face was lit up with glee as, one by one, each
of the screens flickered and a picture appeared.
"Did it work?" Andrew squeaked in a nasally whine, while sliding out from under
the consul that ran the length of one wall. The thirty odd screens they had
stolen were hung above the units and had begun to show different parts of
Sunnydale.
The Bronze, Main Street, the Interior of The Magic Box, Exteriors of the
Slayer's house and Xander's apartment. They hadn't managed to overcome the
invitation barriers of various homes that the Master wanted cameras in, so they
had to make do with them focused on their front and back doors.
It would suffice for now. Once they managed to wrangle an invite, or Willow
perfected a spell to float the cameras in, they would have access to everything.
Warren looked over his shoulder furtively at The Master. "What do you think,
Master?"
The head of the Aurelian clan watched the scenes of everyday life being played
out on the monitors. "Not bad. You have done well. Go and get yourselves a treat
from the larder. I think Willow brought back a few of your old schoolmates."
Warren and the other's faces lit up with a malevolent glee. Revenge for all
their years of being bullied was sweet now they were vamps. They had already
diminshed the number of their old classmates, and now there were some more to
torture and eat. And to think their mom's told them not to play with their food-
that was the fun part.
Jonathon hit a few buttons and the VCRs whirred to life. He hesitantly looked up
at the scary looking vampire. "Uh...sir?"
Nest looked down at the short vamp. "What?"
"I've set the feeds to tape. We can edit them up so all the boring stuff is
gone." Before The Master could reply, Jonathon scurried off after Warren and
Andrew.
Nest watched the feedback for a while; he frowned at the sight of Spike storming
through the Magic Box and also wondered at the look of sorrow that covered the
older Slayer's face. He needed to find out what put that pout on her face and
use it to his advantage. The vampire stood and watched for a while and then
decided he needed to reward Willow for bringing the three boys into the fold.
With a flourish of leather, he leapt onto the second floor and disappeared
through a door that led to his quarters.
Willow yawned and woke at the sound of her Sire entering. She stretched as best
she could against the chains that bound her hands and feet to the massive bed
that dominated the room. Her naked form was marred with scratches and whip marks
and her distended nipples were imprisoned with a set of vicious looking
alligator clamps. "Come to play some more, Master?" She pouted prettily up at
her leering Sire. She loved it when he left her tied up and waiting for his
attention, and she especially adored it when he left the clamps on - they hurt
so good.
"Yes, sweet, evil girl." The Master stripped off and, revealing his hairless
body, threw himself across her welcoming form with a snarl. He dragged his fangs
across her soft belly and lapped up the trails of blood that welled up; the
taste of his Childe's blood was just too irresistible.
He turned his head and sank his fangs into the soft skin of Willow's inner
thigh. Her legs were wide apart and anchored with strong chains and, as he
drank, he eased two taloned fingers between her soaked inner lips and plunged
them deep, curling them and tearing at her delicate inner walls. He loved to
make his bedmates bleed, and to his delight, Willow loved to shed her blood for
him.
Willow vamped out and shrieked in bliss as she came, over and over.
The Master lapped at the wounds and then reached down and freed her legs from
their bonds. Roughly he turned Willow onto her stomach.
Willow groaned happily as the new position wrenched her arms painfully. They
were now crossed over and the strain of her new position made her entire body
quiver with delight and anticipation. She spread her legs apart and levered
herself up awkwardly onto her knees.
Nest knelt behind her and watched with lust filled eyes at the way his beautiful
redheaded Childe opened herself up to him. Blood streamed down her thighs,
mixing with the alluring juices of her arousal that poured from her newly
mutilated quim. The wounds on her soft skin from his fangs tore even more and
the blood mingled with that which had oozed from her opening. He worked his
engorged member and then with a snarl launched himself into her receptive body.
The only sounds that could be heard in the cavernous room were the slapping of
their skin as they coupled with a vampiric ferocity, and the snarls and growls
of pleasure and pain that echoed around them.
Willow purred happily as their violent coupling forced the clamps on her nipples
into the mattress and she moaned as they tore at her and bled. Bracing herself,
she thrust back, welcoming his cock into her depths as she climbed closer and
closer to her fulfilment.
He may not be her sweet Xander, but her Master knew how to play her body like a
fine instrument, tempering pleasure and pain perfectly. Her mouth split into a
broad smile, unnoticed by her rutting lover as her face was pressed into the
soft pillow and her toes curled as she came long and hard.
The Master reached under her and grabbed her bleeding breasts in his clawed
hands, his talons breaking the skin as he gripped hard and filled her clenching
channel with his seed. He bent his head and sank his gnarled fangs into the nape
her neck and drank deeply as his hips jerked against her. They collapsed with a
happy sigh.
The Elder vampire crushed his darling Childe under his heavy body and withdrew
his fangs with a contented snarl. Lapping at the fresh holes in her pale
freckled skin, he whispered his contentment.
"Willow, my dear, I have a request to make of you."
She turned her head, her eyes glazed with a strange combination of lust and
submission-- she had been trained well by her Sire. "Anything, my Master."
"I want the spells removed from Spike. It's time he returned to the bosom of his
loving family." The Master rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling,
wondering what type of thrall spell they had used on Spike to chain him to the
Slayer’s side and fight her battles. There was no way in Hades that the brat
prince would’ve chosen to fight for good. Once his wicked girl had worked her
magic, they would have William back in the fold.
"It will be done, Master," Willow promised as sleep overtook her.
Chapter 11:
The room had taken on the
quiet, yet lonely tone that had quickly become the habit over the past few
days. Tara seemed less and less inclined to spend alone time with
She couldn’t see what the big
deal was. She’d brought Buffy back from the dead…that needed major control.
Uber control. What was the point in silly pen twirling exercises?
She was so far beyond all of that. So far developed in her craft that
No. As much as she loved
Tara, the girl was no longer comfortable as
There was no doubt that
As if drawn,
Ewwww!
But in Amy, she could have a
friend. Someone who was able to turn herself into a rat at just seventeen must
have had power. Real power. Power that she might share with
A thoughtful look crossed her
features and a sharpened edge of determination shaped her lips. She stood and
made her way to the cage, opening the latch and taking the rat out, petting her
fur.
“What’s the matter, Amy? You
lonely?”
She pinned the rat to her
bedcoverings with an intent look. There was no doubt in
“I swear, if I could figure
out how to turn you back…”
“Revele,” occurred to
her and the words she needed materialised etched, on a piece of
parchment. Not even contemplating the risks, the side effects, or even the
words, she began to utter the spell.
“Cio che fu none piu. Cio
che fu fatto disfa. Passato e it pericolo, finita e la prova.
Metti le cosa a posto.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Spinning,
whirling, her skirts a twirling.
With a thump she
fell into a grungy pile of cloth, face first. Her limbs shook, and as nasty as
her pillow permeated the night, she was unable to move. Unable
even to let her lips tip to the side, eager to capture clear, purifying air.
The lack of
oxygen flowing to her lungs burned; deflated, she still didn’t move. Her eyes
opened, staring into the bundle of filth, surrendering her life-force to a pile
of garbage in a Sunnydale alley.
Then the scream.
Head jerking
like a startled drunk, her eyes glassy and blank,
The eyes. Dark
and beady, they made her teeth feel like chalk—brittle and soft.
Everything sunk, and suddenly images of strawberries spun faster and faster
behind her eyes as the clumsy fruit dashed and dived until together they
crushed, mashed against one another until
Rack.
Scream.
And at last she
remembered Amy. Beloved rat-friend, magic loving Amy who had guided, pushed and
pimped her to an ugly scarred man, offering her the power, quenching her need.
Making her sick on the inside as well as out, but quenching her need.
Quenching her need—powerful and urgent need.
But now she
could feel it grow; as the discomfort settled she felt the passion for power
rise again, rip though her with sharpened talons of promise, of gaining the fix
and blighting out all else. Eradicating all coherent memory of her last hours.
But with the
hunger and desire for more, came the biting awareness of reality. Where she
was.
With a far less
delicate shudder than one might have expected from the girl, Willow
Rosenberg—accomplished witch extraordinaire—launched herself to her feet and
searched out Amy.
The screams had
ended, drained by the determined teeth stuck in her throat.
“Get from me!”
“Incendre,”
shouted
Gasping for
breath, blinking hard to regain time and place, it took graduating moments for
Willow to become aware of her redheaded image as vamp Willow slinked through the
dark.
“Aww, saved me a
snack. You really shouldn’t have!”
The female vamp,
strong and sure of her clan and covered head to toe in shining leather, bent
forward enough to allow her cleavage to bulge, smiling seductively at her
shattered counterpart. She studied Amy, the gaping wound on the newly de-ratted
witch’s neck and the steady river of red. In a sudden dash, both
unexpected and bold, she licked the wound and sealed the skin against the
rushing blood. Her lips smacked together in a seductive tasting, and
The jittery itch
of a junkie seized
The witch felt a
power surge whip through her body, uncontrollable but whole. Her muscles
contracted, her neck and form arched as she was drained, power squeezed and she
felt something explode, missed because the pressure would not allow her eyes to
remain opened.
Once again she
was left like a rag on the alley floor. Slumped and unconscious.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Anne and Spike
had left without her.
Buffy fumed and
spluttered as she roamed the cemeteries, both eager to avoid as well as confront
the pair.
The pain that
swept through her at Spike’s callous neglect at times rendered her speechless.
Her memories pre-death hadn’t prepared her for this reaction, for this avoidance
and lack of emotion. They were so full of him, so full of the
sweet look on his face when she offered him his crumb. True, it had been easier
to give it knowing that one or both of them might not survive long enough to
sort out the meaning behind the offering in the first place.
Not in her most
slayerish dreams had Buffy imagined her best friend would whip her out of the
ground. Death? Pfft…not a problem for goodly witch
Buffy felt her
lips thin in increasing anger and confused yearning before she concerted her
efforts to relax. As her lips plumped again in a pout of misery, she felt the
cloud that had settled since her resurrection fall a little lower.
She felt so smothered, so restrained.
Isolation
sucked.
What she needed
to help make her feel like she was really back, really out of the ground, were a
couple of really intense snipe sessions with her not-so-arch enemy. What she
needed—a craving as dire as for air and water—was Spike contact. What she got
was watching <b>Anne</b> receive Spike contact.
And it made her
insides scream.
It made her feel
vile. It made her hate. Hate herself. Because that other girl
was Buffy, renamed for sincerity’s sake.
She was what
Buffy might have been without her friends. A blinded yet determined white
warrior. A duty bound demon killer. A slayer who had fallen
almost immediately for a soulless monster when it had taken Buffy years to do
the same thing.
Whoa…hold up
there a minute. Is that what this was? Sure, she’d allowed Spike
into her life by degrees at the end. He’d shown his capability with helping in
the fight against Glory and in his devotion to Dawn; he’d proven that Buffy
could trust him when he’d worn the secret of Dawn in bruises and broken bones.
In lacerations.
The kiss she had
given him—the first touch freely shared between them rather than the result of a
spell—was the beginning for her. She didn’t often kiss murderers she hated with
all her instinct. She’d allowed his swollen, fleshy lips to rest
upon hers and her heart had thudded hard in disbelief. It had taken the
strength of her previous rejections—her faith in unalterable evil—for her to
leave him alone and in pain on the bed of his sarcophagus.
But her heart
had fought angrily with the decision.
Her desperate
wanderings had brought her to them. Brought her close to where they patrolled
and became closer friends. She saw him with Anne—trained precision
eliminating every threat before it could pass through their defense and on to
Buffy. They didn’t need a second line of defense. The first line
was steady as a rock and just as lethal. Poetic.
“Fuck.”
Buffy had used
that word only once, and after tasting the complete disgustingness that was
soap, she had repressed it from her pun-loaded vocabulary. But her
resentment and petty anger was bringing back the meaning. Buffy wanted to hit
something really badly. And would do for a start. But then the
guilt struck and added to her pain, to her confusion and she just wanted to
blank the other girl completely out of her life. Be able to live
without being in the wrong Buffy’s shadow.
She fumed.
Not only was
Anne stepping in on her vampire—for God’s sake, trying to even lure him away
from her, Dawn and the Hellmouth—now she was taking over Buffy’s job. Her
destiny. Killing her demons. Taking over her dance.
Hell, breathing her air!
Her other self
seemed to have stepped in and taken over everything that was once elemental to
Buffy’s identity. She lived in Buffy’s home, shared Dawn’s room, had helped
herself to Buffy’s clothing—and she was really pissed off about the acquisition
of a pair of red leather pants—ate her food, did her job and every second kept
Spike from her.
Why the hell did
they bother to bring her back?
The hopelessness
was manifest in tears as Buffy choked on a self-indulgent sob. Her nose itched
before the emotion passed to her throat, then stung her eyes. Her
friends may have missed her, but nobody needed her. Other than
The fighting up
ahead slowed to a stop, clashing weapons and enthusiastic battle-cries ended as
talking started up again. Buffy hated to be honest with herself,
had spent the latter years of her life diving headlong into denial specifically
so she could be dishonest with herself, but in her envious eyes, the two seemed
to fit. They fought together like choreographed beauty and they talked calmly
and quietly in a way Buffy had never permitted between herself and the blond
vamp.
It was watching
the flirting and innuendo from Anne—almost expressed unawares—that completely
brought Buffy undone. Everything about her now was green, shuddering—terrifying
arrows of jealousy making her want to scream, run at the other Buffy and beat
out all her fear and frustration.
Why now? What
was it about Buffy that made him keep his distance? She hadn’t
returned with her mouth shooting venom, her eyes hadn’t been warning him to keep
his distance. Her homecoming had seemed wrong with him not being involved, his
causal entry and dismissal causing such a confusion of hurt that Buffy was left
reeling.
He was the
overprotective big brother for Dawn, the dedicated trainer and slaying buddy for
Anne, but for Buffy—he gave nothing of himself.
The cruelty of
loss and rejection had shaped her actions for too long. Buffy had acknowledged
that she was falling for Spike, and she couldn’t let it go. Not
when he could possibly surrender everything to another version of her.
Anne came to
existence through a spell. The twin slayer might be real, as real as Dawn even,
but Buffy couldn’t let her walk away with the one hope her life had.
So, a decision.
It had to be made yet she could feel the painful shaking as her mind tried to
struggle with the options. What could she do? She had to encourage
closeness somehow, get Spike to be near her in some way. It had all been so
easy back in the days where he skulked outside her bedroom window, eager for the
chance to cross the threshold. Now he was permanently inside and
more distant than she’d ever thought it possible. He had always sought her out,
hoped for that crumb she dangled cruelly in front of him like a carrot, but now
he took the ease of contact away. Left on her own, she was lost
for direction.
She’d confide.
Spike was all Intuition Guy. He would have to love a good
revelation, wouldn’t he?
Buffy could tell
him what her friends had really done by bringing her back. Tell him where she
had been, what death had been like for her. And Spike could give
her comfort like he had the night she had sat on her porch steps, brokenly
crying for the uncertainty that was the health of her mother.
Feeling secure
and hopeful, she let her gaze encompass him, felt her skin warm in a gush of
happiness she’d not felt since leaving her coffin on her own two legs.
Breathing.
She took in his
hair, glinting white in the moonlight. The metallic clink of his lighter as he
lit a cigarette. Buffy smiled at the action, finding relief and
security in observing his continued habit and the curl of his lips around the
filter.
She watched as
he looked in distraction around him, searching out the danger before it could
hit them unawares. Buffy could see the lack of light in his eyes and it hurt.
But it reassured all the same, knowing that at least he didn’t shine for
her counterpart instead. His steady puffs belied his usual nervous energy and
Buffy marvelled at the confidence that seemed to mingle with his
uncharacteristic detachment.
One sharp sudden
action pitched her in horrified darkness.
With a flick of
the wrist, burning stub discarded, Anne stepped forward and claimed Spike’s
lips, bold and defiant. He was still under Buffy’s frantic stare, but as her
desperate eyes searched for another reality, his lips parted under the pressure
and he cupped his hands on either side of Anne’s jaw.
And it cut.
Sliced her deep.
Buffy sensed
something hidden and elemental bleed inside and she smacked her hand across her
mouth to muffle her distraught scream.
The couple
entwined heard nothing.
And Buffy ran.