From: Jesse Jou Subject: BUFFYFIC: Gone 3 The God of Nine Walls Part 4/? by JJ Date: 01 Sep 1997 01:31:44 -0400 Here's part 4. Next Beach Blanket Buffy to come soon. All comments and feedback greatly appreciated. Title: Gone 3: The God of Nine Walls Author: JJ email address: jjou@mail.med.cornell.edu Distribution: With permission of the author Spoiler Warning: No spoilers for any real episode Rating: PG-13 Warnings: There's some kissing and suggestion of violence, but nothing you wouldn't see on TV. Classification: UTB Summary: Inspired by Anya's original Gone... story, I wrote a sequel that followed Willow and Angel to Europe, where they met the infamous Brother Luca, who took Willow away to train with the Order of Our Lady of Demonic Assassinations, while Angel returned to Sunnydale. I had left enough loose threads in that story to warrant a third part and this is it. Both Gone... and Gone II can be found on the Slayer's Fanfic Archive. I would recommend reading the previous stories, but if you are not of a mind to do so, all you really need to know is that Willow was turned into a quasivampiric killer by the Anointed One and had to leave Sunnydale after her death was faked. Buffy and Xander grieved, finding out their friend was lost to them forever. Disclaimer: I don't own these characters except for the ones who haven't shown up on the show; Joss Whedon, the WB, and their associated production companies do. Our Lady of Demonic Assassinations is the invention of my evil twin sister, Lisa Rose. I'm also not making a red cent of any of this, so there's no point in suing me. Part 4 login: WXB1997 password: ********* domain: OLODA.net.htm /users WXB1997, Luca WXB1997: Hello, Lazlo. Luca: Just in time. How are you, little girl? Still determined to save the world? WXB1997: Trying. Luca: How is your boy? WXB1997: I think he's fine. It's strange to see him again. He kissed me. Luca o O (Did she get lucky?) WXB1997: ha ha. No, mom showed up. it was awkward. bad timing. Luca: I should think so. WXB1997: I don't think I can stand to be here much longer. too many memories. I miss Cortona. Luca: in cortona there is nothing but the threat of death. WXB1997: I grew up in Sunnydale. death is pretty much the status quo. I don't think I feel safe anywhere. Luca: Pity. BTW, Hecate came by. she's furious with you. WXB1997: Well, won't she have to get over it? ;-) Luca: I suppose. She may pop up over there, just so you know. WXB1997: I'll be on the lookout. I gotta get some sleep. Luca: Do an old man a favor and be careful, okay? WXB1997: If I don't succeed, it won't matter how careful I was. We'll all be in trouble. Luca: Sometimes a little shakeup isn't so bad. WXB1997: maybe. okay bye. love you. Luca: Love you too. WXB1997 exits. ---- Lazlo Hunyadi sighed and closed his powerbook. It was late morning in Cortona and the sun filtered through the gauzy curtains. A pair of open french doors led out into a small garden with a fountain and many flowering bushes. Lazlo waved to his attendant who came over and grabbed the handles of his wheelchair. "It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day," he observed. "Of course," the attendant said cheerfully. "Are there any others in Cortona?" Lazlo grunted. "Well, best enjoy it while we can." ---- The scent of cooking blueberries woke her up. For a second, she was disoriented. Where was she? She sat up and remembered she was in Xander's study, actually the second bedroom in his house, converted into an office. There was a futon he kept in there for guests and for times when he was too tired to stumble to his own bed. She got off the futon and threw on an oversized t-shirt and socks. The pendant she wore had gotten tangled and she untwisted it. She followed the aroma to the kitchen where Xander was standing in front of the stove, whistling contentedly. He looked deliciously rumpled, his hair standing up at an odd angle, his white t-shirt and baggy grey cotton shorts hanging off his body to advantage. "He cooks!" she laughed, attracting his attention, as she plopped down at one of the chairs at the breakfast table. "Sometimes he even takes out the garbage!" he responded. "Ooh, hands off, girls. He's mine," she said drolly. He laughed and brought over two plates, setting one in front of her. "Two orders of Alexander-Harris-patented blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. The secret is love," he joked. She stared at the plate uncertainly. "Um," she said slowly. "I do not eat...pancakes." His face went from quizzical misunderstanding to ashen realization. "Oh. Wow. Sorry. I feel like such a heel. Umm...I forgot about about your dietary...requirements." He looked at her helplessly. "It's okay. I'll eat later," she said, wondering if she had offended him. "They smell wonderful. I wish I could enjoy them." He sat down next to her and Willow got a good look at both of their reflections in the glass tabletop. It occurred to her that morning light made their ages more apparent, his warm face on the road to middle age, whereas she still looked like the sixteen year old girl whose life the Anointed One had destroyed. She saw him watching her in the glass and looked up and met his eyes. He set his fork down, resting an elbow on the table. "I didn't realize how old I look," he said, a mixture of surprise and disappointment in his voice. "I like the way you look," she said. "I feel like a dirty old man, kissing you last night," he fussed. "I look like your father." She giggled and got up, going over to him and sitting in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Should I call you Daddy Harris?" she cooed. "Don't joke about it," he responded. "What was I thinking? You're not even human..." She stopped his mouth with hers. After a moment's hesitation, he kissed her back intently, rubbing the back of her neck. "You know, I've waited 18 years for you to kiss me like that," she said. "I'm not going to let your flaking out keep me from enjoying it." "I guess, technically, you're the same age as me," he rationalized, not stopping the gentle motion of his hand. She nodded. "Besides, if people say anything, I'll just say you like 'em young. And perky." He grinned, then stopped as he caught sight of the pendant hanging from her neck. "What's this ?" he asked. "I don't know," she answered. "I found it. Do you recognize it?" He lifted it. It was a small trinket, an oblong oval of tarnished silver with fine lines carefully etched into it. He couldn't tell, but it looked like the lines were actually some sort of script. In the center was a small ruby, like an eye staring dully at him. "It looks old," he said. "The detailwork is exquisite. Could I borrow it? There's some people at the university who could probably date it, if you like?" She smiled and unworked the clasp behind her neck. The necklace slipped into Xander's hand. "Sure," she said, then, leaning towards him, as he set the necklace on the table, "Where were we?" He put a finger on her mouth. "Stopping before you keep me from going to work." "Call in sick," she suggested. He laughed, "I can't do that. It's finals and the students would form a lynch mob if I weren't there for office hours." She pouted exaggeratedly, then got off his lap.. "It's just a couple of hours," he promised, as he headed to his bedroom. "When I get back, we'll go do something. Take a drive or something." As he disappeared, Willow looked at the front page of the Sunnydale Gazette. The lead story was the gruesome murder of a St. Hebereke High School gymnast. She had been disembowelled and her face had been surgically removed. "Poor girl," Willow thought, recognizing the picture of the pretty and smiling African American girl. Many public leaders were insisting on reinstituting the curfew that had been repealed 8 years earlier, but Willow knew that no curfew would have saved Melissa Jackson of St. Hebereke High School. The girl had been the Slayer and whatever had killed her would not be stopped by mortal law. Furthermore, Willow was certain that there were going to be more dead very, very soon. ---- end Part 4 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: dalton.spence@hwcn.org Subject: BUFFYFIC: Secret World of Willow (03/?) by D.Spence Date: 01 Sep 1997 14:13:00 -0400 (EDT) I would like to dedicate this chapter of my story to the late Princess Diana. She was an inspiration to many people and will be missed. May she finally find the peace the press denied her. TITLE: The Secret World of Willow Rosenberg AUTHOR: Dalton S. Spence EMAIL ADDRESS: DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: This story cannot be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of this story may be made for private use only or posted in fanfic archives for general distribution, but must include all disclaimers and copyright notices. SPOILER WARNING: Occurs after "Prophecy Girl" RATING: PG13 CONTENT WARNING: This story depicts scenes of violence and/or their aftermath. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read something other than this story. CLASSIFICATION: C - Crossover with "The Secret World of Alex Mack" SUMMARY: The new girl at Sunnydale has a weird secret all her own - one that Willow will soon share. DISCLAIMER: Buffy, Giles, the Slayerettes and all other characters who have appeared in the series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Inc., Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, 20th Century Fox Television and the Warner Brothers Television Network. Alex Mack, her family, Danielle Atron and all other characters who have appeared in the series "The Secret World of Alex Mack" together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of Viacom International, MTV Networks, Nickelodeon Television Network, Nickelodeon Productions, Hallmark Entertainment, and Lynch Entertainment. No copyright infringement was intended in the writing of this fan fiction. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. I'm too broke to be sued, anyway. (But if anybody thinks my literary skill presents that much a risk, feel free to *HIRE* me!) * * * * * The Secret World of Willow Rosenberg (a BtVS/SWAM crossover) by Dalton S. Spence "I guess I'm not so ordinary anymore." - Alex Mack *Part 3* After the defeat of the Master, the surviving vampires of Sunnydale made their new headquarters well away from his former lair. And who could blame them; not only did none of them want to risk being caught in the Hellmouth's grip as the Master had been for seventy years, it was *much* too close to the Slayer's headquarters for anybody's comfort. There had even been a brief movement to relocate to the nearby town of Paradise Valley. This was quickly struck down by the Anointed One and his allies, who pointed out (after they had destroyed the vampires who started the movement, of course) that at least in Sunnydale they could keep a watch on the Slayer. "Keep your friends close," he said, waving at the piles of dust covering the floor, "and your enemies even closer. The Master taught me this, and I'm not about to dispute him. If any of you do, feel free to come forward so we can ... discuss it. Any takers?" There was a brief grumbling among the assembled vampires, but in the end reason (and fear) prevailed, and they filed quietly to proceed with the night's hunting. A few would be lost to the Slayer, but that was far better than the certain death that opposing Colin would trigger. Finally, there were only three left in the chamber; Colin and his two chief minions. "That went nicely, I think," said Colin with a satisfied sigh. "Nothing like a little terror to keep things orderly in the ranks, like the Master always said." At this comment the smaller one (a perky looking brunette in a neat blue business suit) grimaced. Colleen had been a very successful Hollywood talent agent specializing in juvenile performers before her fateful detour through Sunnydale, so she was used to handling young egomaniacs with tremendous power. She quickly established a solid rapport with the Master's heir apparent, becoming his chief advisor on policy and politics. "I think you should be careful about that. Quoting the Master, I mean," she said, shifting nervously under her leader's glare. "The Master may have been an outstanding leader in his day, but that day is past. This is *your* day now." "She's right, you know," the giant who stood on Colin's other side commented quietly. "Back in my days with the outfit, it was known if the don died the heir had to show that he had his own power as well as the blessing of his predecessor, or he would lose respect. You showed your power tonight, but it sounded like you were still following the Master's instructions. For now, it works; the others still don't really believe he was defeated. When they do, watch out! Using his name will make them wonder if you're going to lead them down the same path." Guido Salvatore may have looked like a common thug, but he had first class mind, and a lifetime of experience dealing with violent and bloodthirsty individuals. For most of his life he had been a classic "wise guy", a loyal soldier in the Torelli family, until he made a fatal error. A greedy lieutenant had answered Guido's badly timed accusation of `skimming' with three bullets in the chest, leaving him to die in a Sunnydale back alley. That he had lasted long enough to be found by Colin on a hunting expedition was a testament to his iron will and robust constitution. After cleaning up his `unfinished business', Guido became Colin's utterly loyal minion, even to the point of risking his existence by offering unpopular advice when he felt it warranted. Fortunately, both of his advisors had offered their counsel with the proper respect (mainly by waiting until they were alone), so Colin felt no need to make examples of them. As the Master had taught him (//Damn! They're right, I *DO* have to watch that.//), destroying your tools because you don't like what they produce is wasteful and foolish, unless you have spare ones of equal quality. (At least, he told himself that was the reason; he couldn't admit even to himself that sometimes he missed the familiar comfort of parental figures.) He was still groping for a response that would acknowledge their point while establishing his authority, when his keen senses noticed a slight commotion in the corridor outside. There was a pause, then a light tapping on chamber's doorway. "Enter," he called out, "and this had better be important." The timid vampire who entered was former minor bureaucrat known to the clan as the postmaster. It was his responsibility to watch the news for items of importance, and to relay communications from their agents on the surface. Keeping his eyes on the ground, he wordlessly gave Colin the envelope he had found a the dead drop point below a storm drain. //I hope this is good news,// he thought as he tried to make himself as small a target as possible. //We could all use some for a change.// He had only had the job a week, and did not wish for the fate of his predecessor; ever since the Slayer arrived, this job had an extremely high attrition rate. He was lucky this time. "Our agent above reports he is in place to watch the activities of the Slayer and her friends," Colin exclaimed with as smile. With a slight giggle he added, "He's even managed to make this a part of his official mortal job. How ironic! I predict that when the day of our domination over the mortal world comes, *THEY* will have done most of the work for us themselves." The Master had actually made this prediction to him in private, but there was no need for anyone else to know that. * * * * * Willow was badly in need of a computer fix. After she had accidently crashed the computer lab network for the third time, Ms. Calendar had `excused' Willow from the rest of the class until `this curse' (as she put it) was lifted. Usually Willow would have stayed later, using the library computer to surf the net for info to help Buffy with her Slaying, do her homework from Ms. Calendar's class, or try to Giles-proof the library card-catalogue (instituting the fuzzy logic and context search algorithms was a fascinating challenge), but it too fell prey to the `curse' when she tried to use it. She and Alex had stayed a bit late in the library where Alex had tried to teach Willow how to control the EM effects of her new powers, with little luck. When Alex had offered Willow the use of the specially shielded desktop that her sister had left behind when she'd gone for MIT, she had jumped at the chance. "Mom, Dad, I'm home!" Alex called out as she entered the house with Willow in tow. This was mainly for form, since she didn't really expect them to get home first. Her dad had been working overtime setting up the new lab, and her mother was probably on the way back from the community college where she was taking courses to get her degree. Neither usually got home before seven any more, so they had gotten into the habit of having dinner at eight. There should be plenty of time for them to practice. The Mack's had a six month lease on the house they were renting, but because they were planning to buy a place before the lease was up, most of the boxes littering the living room and the den remained unopened. After searching a bit for the phone, Willow called her dad to let him know where she was. (For once she could tell the truth; she had gone to a friend's house to study.) "Yes Dad, Alex *IS* a girl! ... I promise I'll call Xander before I leave so he can walk me home ... Don't worry, everything will be fine. How's mom doing?" There was a brief pause, then a relieved smile lit up her face. "That's GREAT! Listen, I've got to go now, Alex's computer isn't unpacked yet and I promised to help her set it up. Give my love to Mom. Bye" "I take it that was good news?" asked Alex. "The BEST! My Mom woke up this afternoon, and everything is going to be just fine. She's coming home from the hospital tomorrow. Since they can't find a reason for her severe anemia, and there are no other serious injuries, they have no reason to keep her." "Does she remember the attack?" "If she does, Dad didn't mention it. But how did you ...?" "I was sort of there in the alley, and heard you talking to Xander. I know it happened, but nothing else. And the anemia thing was a dead give-a-way. How did it happen? I thought vampires couldn't enter a house without invitation. Or is that a myth?" "No, it's true enough but didn't apply in this case. She was coming to school to pick me up after dark, when five vampires jumped her. If Buffy hadn't been right there.... And Xander, he was magnificent! He threw himself right at them, knocked Mom clear of them and stood over her holding them back with a cross while Buffy took care of the first two. The others ran off when the police showed up." "What did you tell them? It must have looked kind of weird." "Fortunately, they caught a glimpse of the attackers running away, and accepted our story of muggers. At least the younger one did. I think the older one knew what was going on; he took a look at her neck, then ordered the ambulance and told them to have a transfusion ready. And the E.M.T.s seemed a little too efficient about it, too." "If there have been as many attacks as you say, they would have to know, wouldn't they? Even if they couldn't make an official report about it? I mean, the physical evidence has to be there; what other conclusion could they draw?" Willow considered a moment, then nodded. "Could be. I hope so. I hate to the of all the unsuspecting cops out there relying on just their guns for protection. If we get that computer of yours unpacked I could check it out." "Right! This way," said Alex, leading the way up the stairs to her bedroom. One half of the room was filled with unopened boxes, all marked Annie's this and Annie's that. The other half looked more normal; Alex had unpacked most of her clothes and personal stuff, and had made an attempt to make the place more homey. While she had taken her parent's advice and not put up her posters or set up the stereo, Alex had put up her `gallery'; a cork board with her latest photographic efforts carefully mounted. Willow looked around for the box containing the computer, finally seeing it at the top of a tall stack of boxes. "Alex, where do you keep the step lad... Oh ya, right. Could you get it down please? I don't want drop it." Alex moved to the window. "First rule: ALWAYS check for witnesses." She'd done this so many times that she had closed the blinds and turned away before her brain registered the sight of a dark figure leaning against a lamppost watching her house. -- +-------------------------------------------------+ | Dalton S. Spence, B.Sc. | | Home Page: http://www.hwcn.org/~ag775/home.html | +-------------------------------------------------+ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Author's Notes (0/0) Date: 01 Sep 1997 12:39:28 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation -- Author's Notes At ComicCon in July, Joss said that he intended every season of Buffy to be somewhat self-contained. That if the show ended abruptly there would be a feeling of completion, of closure. In later interviews, he said that was one of the reasons why there was so much story in Prophesy Girl -- the need to tie everything up if BtVS turned out to be a twelve-episode miniseries. And there is closure in Prophesy Girl. Xander and Buffy have their relationship out in the open (so, too, do Xander and Willow). Faced with the loss of her life, Buffy has accepted her role as Slayer. Giles has confided his sacred mission to another person and proven that Buffy means more to him than the Slayer, and Angel, once and for all, has chosen sides in the fight between mortals and vampires. However. The ending of Prophesy Girl left enough loose threads to keep the three Fates busy for quite awhile. Joss will answer those questions for us in a week or two. This quartet of stories is my answer. There are one each for Buffy, Xander, Willow and Giles. (And for the people who wonder why there isn't one for Angel... just wait. ) The inspiration for these stories must belong to the wonderful group known as the Sunnydale Slayers, who in three months of existence have grown very dear to my heart. Casual conversation on possible plotlines for next season made me wonder what the Slayerettes were doing over the summer and... well, let's just say that the SunS learned to regret it when I either spammed the list with contributions (Xander told me his story in THREE DAYS!!!) or had days and weeks of dry spells. I love you all dearly, especially Chris and Perri (for dragging me into this &*%#$! fandom, yadda yadda yadda, you've heard this before) and my co-List Mom Dianne, who got sucked in with me. These stories are independent of each other and can be read in any order after the prologue (the only short thing about this story). For those of you used to my sporadic Forever Knight fictions... I think any one story in Summer Vacation is longer than my FK stories put together. Necessary evil: Buffy, Giles, Xander, Willow, Angel, Cordelia, Hank Summers, Wendell, Ms. Calendar, etc, etc, all belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox. Anyone else you don't recognize belongs to me (although Val and I seem to be time-sharing Deirdre). Any character I create is available for loan, but please contact me if you do so (I want to make sure to keep an eye out for your stuff). I'm making no money off of this endeavor; I do it for nothing more than love of the characters (even Xander, who deserves to die for what he did to me) and love of feedback. Praise, flames, comments, chocolate and tall, dark, undead angsty guys to lizbet@primenet.com And now... on with the show. -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Prologue (1/1) Date: 01 Sep 1997 12:42:21 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com Prologue Buffy tilted her face up to the sunlight, leaning back on her elbows. She'd spread a beach towel on the grass in her back yard, and was intent on soaking up some rays. "This is the life. No homework. No classes. Sleeping late. Partying later." "And no vampire slayage," Xander added, bouncing a tennis ball against the back wall of her house. "That's the best part for me," Willow said sleepily, curled up in the grass with a kitten in her lap. "Things have been quiet," Giles allowed from where he was sitting in the shade, a tall glass of iced tea at his elbow. Unlike the California teenagers, he was not enjoying the brilliant sunlight. But with the school closed for earthquake repair, and since he was rather disinclined to spend any time there, he was reduced to joining his little band in the great outdoors. Buffy's mother was spending the day at the gallery, so they did not have to explain what the librarian was doing hanging with the teenagers. The methodical thunk-thunk of the tennis ball lulled them all for several long moments. "Three months of nothing to do, no where to be... hey, wait, Will." Xander suddenly turned, and the ball bounced back to clunk him on the head. "Aren't you going to that computer camp thingie?" Willow sat up, wide-awake. The kitten yowled a bit plaintively at the sudden motion. "Yeah! I completely forgot." "Whoa, brakes. What's up?" Buffy pushed her sunglasses up onto her head to look at her friend. "There's this really exclusive computer camp, up in San Jose. Actually, it's run by a company in San Jose, but the camp itself is in a really cool old house in Napa Valley. You have to get on a waiting list to get into this camp. I've been on it for two years." "But.. you're leaving?" Buffy looked tragic. "How long?" "Um, well... six weeks. It's really intensive." "And yes, this is how she wants to spend her summer." Xander shook his head, baffled beyond measure. "It's not like you're going to be here yourself, Buffy," Willow argued. "What's this?" Giles pulled himself out of _Le Roman de la Rose_ and looked at his Slayer. "Are you leaving Sunnydale?" Buffy pushed the glasses back down onto her nose and shrugged, lying back. "I'm spending the summer in LA. The joint custody agreement was that I spent summers with my dad. But I thought I'd be back here some weekends," she added, pouting. "Great. Willow gone, Buffy gone. Guess it's just you and me, Giles, eh?" Xander resumed bouncing his ball. Willow curled up with her cat. Buffy got bronze. Thunk-thunk. "Actually, now that I think on it, it would probably be best if I returned to England," Giles finally said. The three teenagers all turned on him. "What?" "No!" "You mean... forever?" "No, certainly not permanently." Giles set aside his book and leaned forward in his chair. "But I left rather... abruptly. There are... things I need to attend to. I have possessions... books. If I am going to reside here, I will have to decide what to do with my life in England." "Oh," Buffy said, lying back again. There didn't seem to be much to say after that. "Will, when are you leaving?" "Um... next Wednesday, I think. Mom's driving me up the coast." "And I'm leaving on Monday." Buffy sighed. "Well, we'll have a nice, quiet summer. Right?" -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Buffy (1/3) Date: 01 Sep 1997 12:44:34 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Buffy by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com It all felt reassuringly normal. She and Willow shared one of the small, high tables at the Bronze, watching Xander do his impression of an epileptic fit on the dance floor. The music was loud and the place was packed. It was Sunday night. Next morning, Hank Summers would be picking Buffy up and taking her to LA, making this night at the Bronze something of a going-away party. "Did you talk to Cordelia before she left?" Willow asked, taking a sip of her soda. Buffy shrugged slightly. "No, not really. She was really hyped on going to study fashion in Paris for the summer. And... well, I don't think she wanted to talk to me. I'm willing to admit that she is not the lowest slime of the universe for the sole reason that she saved your life. But I don't know if I want to be buds with her, you know?" "I don't know. She was pretty cool that night. She bit one of the vampires, you know." Buffy blinked. "She what? Didn't you get that the wrong way round?" Willow grinned, although the memory of that night still made her look a bit haunted. "Nope. She bit one of them. It was cool." The two girls were silent for a moment. "He's watching me again, isn't he?" Buffy asked finally. Willow let out a long, slow breath. "I wondered if you had noticed. You haven't talked since that night?" Idly, Buffy stirred her drink. "No. He disappeared into the dawn... well, the pre-dawn. And since I still don't know where he lives...." "...and Xander won't tell..." both girls chorused. "...then I'm stuck waiting for him to approach me again," Buffy concluded. Suddenly determined, she slid off the high stool. Willow smiled. "So much for waiting?" "Hey, you know me, seize the moment. Live life, 'cause tomorrow you just might bite the big one. Ooo, bad pun. Didn't mean it. I'm babbling, aren't I? Why am I so nervous?" "'Cause you're in love. It happens." Willow kept smiling, but it turned a little misty. Buffy took two steps forward and gave Willow a big hug. "If I don't see you before my dad shows up, have a ton of fun with your... um, computers. I'll write. A lot." Then, squaring her shoulders with determination under the black leather jacket that was way too hot for a California June night, she headed for the shadowed corner where she had felt a pair of laser-intense dark eyes on her. She half-expected him to slide away before she reached him. If he didn't want her to see him, she wouldn't see him. But he remained where he was, leaning up against the back wall, light and shadow chasing across his face with the flickering lights. "Hey," she greeted him. "How are you feeling?" The question was low-voiced and uninflected. He didn't move, didn't reach out to her. Just watched her out of those eyes, a gaze that was almost like a physical touch. "Alive, thanks to you. And Xander." Angel shrugged slightly, the first indication that he was made of flesh rather than stone. "Xander saved your life. I couldn't do anything for you." "You found me," Buffy countered. "I'd say you and Xander pretty much split the honors where my life is concerned. You know," she said diffidently, not meeting his eyes, "I've heard somewhere that if you save a person's life, that person belongs to you." Angel suddenly pushed up from the wall, turning to walk away. "I'll give it back to you, then. Go live it." "Hey." Buffy caught his arm as he passed her. "What is *up* with you?" she asked furiously. "You just totally booked after that night. Why did you go?" Without turning to face her, Angel shook his head. "I thought we agreed that this was never meant to be." "But that was... before." Buffy swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. "Before what?" "Before... the Master died. Before the Hellmouth closed. Just... before." Slowly, Angel turned to face her. "And you think that changes things?" "Doesn't it?" she asked in a very small, fragile voice. Angel looked down for a moment. When his eyes met hers again, his were no longer deep and soulful. They were yellow and gleaming with a barely-restrained hunger. He crowded her back against the wall, his arms bars on either side of her head. "Look at me! This is what I am, remember?" Buffy turned her face away. "Quit it!" "No. Listen to me. *Nothing has changed.* The Master is dead. The one who made me is dead. But I am still a vampire. You're still the Slayer. We are enemies." "I trust you." Angel pulled away as though burned. After a long moment, he faced her again. He looked like a normal, mortal guy, maybe a little older than she was, but not enough for anyone to say anything. "Maybe I don't trust myself," he said, his voice raw. Buffy really, really wanted to touch him then, but she kept her hands to herself. Okay, he needed time. Good thing that's what she could give him. "I just wanted to tell you... I'm leaving town for a bit. I'm going to LA for three months, to spend the summer with my dad." The throbbing wail of a guitar was the only sound for a few moments. "I... think that's a good thing," Angel said finally. "Giles said you had a phone. I want the number. I want to talk to you." "That's not a good idea." Only someone watching him as closely as Buffy would have seen his eyelids flinch in reaction. "I don't care that it's not a good idea," Buffy said passionately. "You won't let me see you. Fine, your choice, although I don't get it. But I want to talk to you. Angel... I need you." Her voice broke slightly. "Please." Angel closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Buffy couldn't read him. She was sure he was going to turn her down, until he asked, "Got a pencil?" ******** Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Beeeeeeeeeep. "Hey, you there? Hello? I don't know why I'm surprised. I mean, you've got a phone, you obviously have an answering machine too. Okay, I suppose it was a little too much for me to expect that you'd actually answer the phone. Duh, huh? Anyway, having a wonderful time, wish you were here. I mean that. The 'wish you were here' part. I was going to ask you to come to LA with me that night in the Bronze, but you were so totally freaked on the idea of even giving me your number that I figured you wouldn't be that hyped to come with me. Yikes, answering machine message from hell. I hate these things, I can't stop talking when I get one. I, uh... I miss you. Call me. My dad's number is area code 310, 825-3401." Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Beeeeeeeeeep. "Had a lovely time today. Went shopping, and got this killer bikini. It's silvery and my dad is going to wig when he sees it. Saw The Lost World. Talk about people who need to grow some brains. I could have just slain that dino pronto and gotten it over with... I wish you'd pick up. I know you're there. Angel? Talk to me please." Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Beeeeeeeeeep. "Okay, obviously, pestering you into giving me your phone number was a bad idea. It's testosterone poisoning, right? Anything you get forced into doing is bad. But I'm not going to apologize. You're just going to have to deal with the fact that I'm calling you. A lot. My dad wants to know who I'm talking to. Of course, he doesn't realize I'm talking to a stupid machine, he just thinks I'm dominating the conversation. So speak up some, will you? Later. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Beeeeeeeeeep. "Angel? Call me, please. I'm in trouble, and I need your help." ******** Buffy had surprised herself by actually having fun in LA. There weren't any old friends to look up (the ones she hadn't staked avoided her like the plague now) but there were a lot of kids her age in her father's new neighborhood. It was the first chance she'd had in a really long time to just be a kid, to go to movies and go shopping and go to the beach and just hang out. She missed Willow and Giles and Xander and her mom, but she could handle it. Normalcy was nice. She could deal. Her dad was cool too. Hank Summers was throwing himself into being an awesome father. He took a day off of work and they went to Magic Mountain, just the two of them. But the best times were when they just spent time together, father/daughter stuff. Buffy tried cooking for him, and the resulting call to the fire department meant that they ate out most evenings. But after a year of it being just her and her mom, she was happy to be spending time with her dad. Then she felt someone watching her. At first she thought it was just her imagination. Stress, post-traumatic Slaying disorder, bad juju, something, anything other than phantom eyes following her wherever she went. She felt it all the time, daylight and dark, so it wasn't a vampire, but she had learned that there were nasties that walked in the sunlight, too. She'd called Giles' apartment in London and had the phone ring endlessly, she wasn't about to bother Willow with this, Xander would likely find a way to rush out to LA and get himself in trouble, and she sure as hell wasn't going to go begging to Angel for help if he wouldn't even pick up the phone and talk to her. And then her dad disappeared. Poof. She came back from Batman and Robin in time for them to go to the Barefoot Cafe for dinner, and found... nothing. No note, no struggle, an empty house that echoed with its lack of noise. Trusting instincts that she didn't even think to question, she didn't call the police or her mother. She called Angel. The phone was picked up two point three seconds after she told him she needed his help. "I'm here," he said simply. Buffy closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall in the living room of her dad's condo. "Angel? My dad's missing. And I think someone's been following me." There was a very, very long silence. Finally, Angel quietly said, "I'll be there." Buffy hung up the phone, and just stood for a long moment, mind blank with worry and fear. The afternoon sunlight slid golden into the room, making the white-painted walls and chrome furniture glow as though lit from within. Fashion magazines were scattered on the low coffee table, and tapes littered the top of the big-screen TV. She'd only been at her dad's condo a couple weeks, and it looked as though a major disaster had hit it. Wherever she went, chaos followed. Angel couldn't be there for a least a few more hours. He had to wait for the sun to go down before he could even think about leaving. And it was high summer, days were long and nights were short. Buffy spent a few moments of distraction wondering how Angel would get to LA. Did he have a car? Would he take a bus? Hitch? Turn into a bat and fly? "Whoa, Nellie," Buffy muttered to herself, catching her brain from the ever-more ridiculous loop it was whirling in. "Think." She had to figure out who--or what--had her dad. Then she had to figure out how to get him away. Then she had to figure out how to explain to him why he was kidnapped. She focused on the last thought exclusively, refusing to consider that she might fail with the first two knotty problems. She resisted the urge to pick up the phone and try London again. Giles hadn't been there the five other times she called. Besides, what was she going to do? Demand that he come winging back ten thousand miles to hold her hand? That's what she wanted to do. She'd never felt so alone in her life. The thought of her father in danger made her want to regress to about the mental age of two. When Darla had attacked her mother, she had exploded into rage. But this time, she didn't have an enemy to fight. Yet. The sun was nearly down before something set off Buffy's senses. Golden light had deepened to burnt orange, and her immediate feeling of panic had been replaced by a wearying dread. She almost didn't notice the whisper on the edge of her mind that someone... something was around. Her head came up suddenly, alert, the hunter and the hunted at once. Being Buffy, she found a stake, stepped out into the postage-stamp sized backyard and demanded, "Who's there?" "Someone who needs your help," a quiet voice said. Buffy immediately whirled to face the direction the words had come from, body poised to attack, even as her mind proceeded the fact that it was a male voice and carried a accent that she didn't have the concentration to place right now. "Please." A shadowy figure stepped into the dim remaining light of day. The man spread his hands in a gesture that indicated peace, showing that they were empty. "I need to speak with you." "Who are you?" Buffy demanded, not relaxing her stance a smidgen. "My name is Peter Waring. And I know what you are." "What I am?" Buffy asked without much hope. "The Slayer." Australian. That's what his accent was. The totally unconnected thought popped into Buffy's brain. "You know, I thought the point of having a secret identity was that it was secret. You know, classified. Unknown." He took another two steps closer to her, seemingly unafraid of her despite his claim that he knew what she was -- and what she was capable of. "I have," he said with distinct satisfaction, "been looking for you for eight years." Buffy blinked. "Huh?" "I need your help," he said again. "I've been searching for the Slayer. My home is in danger. I need you to save it." Buffy dropped her hands from her fighting stance, although she still held the stake. "Excuse me?" Eagerly, the man moved even closer to her. The wan light revealed a man in his mid to late fifties, with thick grey hair and dark eyes. "I live in a small town on the coast of New South Wales. About fifteen years ago, vampires descended on the town and began systematically destroying it. The people were their food supply, their slaves, their minions. When I realized what the monsters were, I studied what I could do to stop them. And discovered the existence of the Slayer." She really, really needed Giles right now, Buffy decided. "Wait a minute. So you spent eight years trying to track down the Slayer? How?" "News reports, mostly. Unexplained phenomenon, rashes of killings that ended with a young girl's appearance. I cannot tell you how many times I nearly found the Slayer in the past few years, only to have her be killed. But you... I knew that you would survive. I knew I would be able to find you." Buffy's dread was growing, a knot in the pit of her stomach. "And why should I help you?" she asked flatly. "Aside from the fact that it is your fate and your duty... the fact that I have your father." His voice was preternaturally calm, absolute -- and implacable. And moonlight revealed a gleam of madness in his eyes. Rage almost blinded her for a few moments. With extreme effort, she pushed it down, pushed it away, reaching for the coldness that enveloped her whenever she fought. "Did it occur to you to ask if I would help you?" "I couldn't take the chance. I had to be sure," he said fiercely. "Do you understand? My home, my family, my friends have died, are dying. You must come with me." "Oh, must I? Well, gee, I don't feel terribly much like helping someone who attacks *my* family, you know? So how about you let him go, leave town, and I'll pretend that we never had this conversation, okay?" Waring simply looked at her. "You'd ignore your duty?" he asked, aghast. "It's not my duty to go running around the world slaying vampires. And it sure as hell is not my *duty* to be blackmailed into helping save whole towns." Buffy was almost shaking with fury -- and with fear. She could deal with vampires whose agenda was pretty much suck 'em and drop 'em. But a madman who held her father's life in his hands... Waring's face smoothed from its perplexed look. "You're angry. I understand," he said soothingly. "But you will understand, if you think on it, why I felt I had to do as I did. I will speak with you tomorrow. Good night." Buffy moved fast, but he slipped through her fingers like a ghost, disappearing into the shadowy dusk, as elusive as the monsters he wanted her to kill. -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Buffy (2/3) Date: 01 Sep 1997 12:45:40 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Buffy by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com There was a definite fray in the threads of the carpet by the time the clock chimed midnight. Buffy couldn't sit still, couldn't stop herself from pacing back and forth. Nerves nibbled on her stomach, and her head ached from worry and thought. "Have to think clearly," she said aloud, needing the comfort of her own voice, the semblance of company. Instead, it just made her feel more alone. There was no one in the world but her. No one to turn to. "Damnit, when he comes back tomorrow, I have to somehow make him tell me where Dad is, I...." For the second time that night her attention was drawn by the sense of someone's approach. She retrieved the stake that had never been far from her hand. If it was Waring, then she didn't need it to hurt him. But she couldn't forget that it had been in LA that she had encountered vampires for the first time. It would be Waring's luck for the Slayer to get herself killed from carelessness just after he found her. And wouldn't *that* just make his kooky self thrilled? She made herself wait, made herself be silent and listen. Footsteps in the night, soft, furtive... hesitant? They stopped right outside of the front door. In one quick move, Buffy yanked the door open and brought the stake down in a threatening dive that could easily change into a fatal one. Angel raised his hands and took one step back. "Hey, you asked me to come down." "Oh." Blowing a wisp of hair away from her eyes, Buffy lowered her arm. "Sorry. I'm... on edge. A bit." She turned around, stepping back through the door, dropping the stake on a small table. "I've had a freaky night. I -- are you coming in or what?" she finally asked impatiently. Angel remained on the threshold. He propped one hand on the doorjamb, tilting his head to look at her, a stare that Buffy mentally compared to a CAT scan. "You have to invite me in, remember?" he said finally. "Oh. Right. Uh, what do I say?" "'Come in' would work." "Come in. Please." She shut the door behind him, throwing the deadbolt automatically. ~Okay, now what? I can't exactly offer him a drink. Well, I could, but that would really be a sucky idea...~ "What's the matter?" Angel had been prowling the apartment, but turned at her slight groan. "Sorry. Really bad mental pun. I -- um. Oh, hell." She sank down on the couch and put her head in her hands. She sensed him moving, coming nearer. "Buffy." Angel's tone on her name made her look up, made her not even care anymore that tears were streaking down her face. "You asked me here to help you. I want to help. Tell me what's going on." "Right." She scrubbed her face briefly. "It's... my dad." Her voice hitched slightly before she caught it. "After I called you tonight, I had a visitor. This guy... Peter Waring. He's from Australia. He said that vampires were destroying his town. He wants me to go down there and rescue the town. And he kidnapped my dad to make sure I would." After a moment, Angel said slowly, "Somehow, I thought it would be vampires who had done this." "So did I. It's easier that way. That someone -- an ordinary someone, a non-demon someone -- could do this... I don't know. It freaks me out." She took a deep breath. "I don't think this guy's completely there. He's definitely whacked. And he's got my dad." The thought had her squeezing her eyes shut again. "What do you want me to do?" The words were simple, honest, and to the point. For the first time, Buffy smiled. Watery and trembling, but a honest smile. "What you're good at. Get me info. This Waring guy is going to be back here tomorrow night. I'll stall him somehow. How are you at skulking?" His half-hitch of a smile matched hers. "It's one of my greatest talents." "Good." She nodded and said it again. "Good. Okay." She got to her feet, began pacing again, thinking out loud. "We need to find you a place to sleep. My dad's room has heavy drapes. If we put up something else to block the windows, you should be all right--" Angel put out his hand, caught her arm on one of her frantic passes. "Buffy..." Her face fell. "Oh, God. He's got my dad. That madman has my dad," she whispered. The pain was shattering. Bad enough that her mother had nearly died at Darla's hands, that she had nearly become nothing more than a plaything in a power struggle she should never have been touched by. Now her dad... her dad... Before she broke, though, she found comfort. Angel's arms were around her tightly, and she held on for dear life. ~Not alone. I'm not alone. So good to not be alone in this...~ ******** Dawn had broken before Buffy got to bed. She and Angel had worked together to make her father's bedroom sun-proof, then Angel had gone out on an unnamed errand that Buffy decided she really didn't want to know about. He came back just before the sun came up and went straight to bed. It was late afternoon, and Buffy was puttering around the apartment. Rosie was singing "Tomorrow" on the TV behind her, turned on more for its noise than anything else. Buffy considered changing the channel. After all, Rosie was a little too... normal for her. Oprah or--heaven help her--Ricki Lake were more her style. "Teenage Girls who Slay the Undead and the Vampires Who Love Them," she muttered. "My Boyfriend is a Vampire -- no, wait, I've actually seen that one." She poked at the sandwich she had made, not hungry but knowing she needed to eat. Her mom was beginning to bring home pamphlets on depression and eating disorders, and if Buffy lost any more weight she was going to get dragged to a shrink or something. The sound of a door opening made her look up. From the small kitchen she could look across the living room to see Angel standing in the doorway of the bedroom. "Morning," she said. "There aren't any curtains on the windows out here, but the sun'll be down in a couple hours." "That's fine." Propping one hand high on the doorjam, he leaned casually and looked at her. "So, what's the plan?" "Buffy shrugged and continued turning the rye bread of her sandwich into bird food. "Waring will come here, I'll act like I haven't made up my mind about going to Australia yet, he'll leave, you follow him and find out where he stashed my dad." "Simple enough. What if he has your dad in a place other than where he's staying?" "Then grab him and scare it out of him," Buffy snapped. Her eyes were furious, behind the glitter of tears. "Come on, you're the big bad vampire. You must have some fright tactics. Might as well use what we've got." Suddenly, Angel grinned, the grin that Buffy had loathed and despised, Cryptic Guy to the max. Except that he wasn't Cryptic Guy any more, she knew him, and the grin didn't hide anything from her. "Pretty ironic. The Slayer using a vampire as one of her weapons." "Yeah, well, we Slayers take what we can get." Dropping the flippant act, she abandoned her sandwich and came out from behind the kitchen counter. "I really didn't want to be alone," she confessed. "After Merrick died... that was the worst. There really wasn't anyone there for me, just the Slaying and the lying, and losing all my friends and getting kicked out of school. I needed someone right now. Anyone." The grin winked off as though a switch had been thrown. "Glad I could help." Ooops. Male ego alert. Damn, she hadn't meant it that way. Another thing she'd lost the knack of, finessing guys. "Look, you're the one who keeps saying that you don't want to be around me." "I never said that!" "Yes, you did! And what happened that night at the Bronze, huh? And what about all the phone messages I left for you? Obviously, you were there, and you were ignoring me." "I wasn't ignoring you, I --" "Yeah?" Buffy crossed the living room and put her hands on her hips. "You just, oh, accidentally erased all my messages then, right?" "I thought we agreed --" "We did. And it didn't work, remember?" "But--" "And another thing. What the heck were you and Giles doing, sneaking behind my back, trying to keep things from me? I'm the Slayer, I've got the right to know what's going to happen to me." "Buffy --" "I should--" "Can I finish a sentence?" Angel finally demanded. Buffy blinked. "Oh. Sorry. Go ahead." "First of all, I want to be with you, but there *are* some facts we have to face," he bit out. "Second of all, I wasn't ignoring you, I just wasn't answering your messages. I didn't know what to say, and you sounded like you were having a good time with your dad. And I only knew about the prophesy for about five minutes before you barged in, so I hardly had any time to tell you. Blame Giles for that one, if you want, but he was only trying to help you. Anything else?" He was looming over her, glaring. Buffy blew out a breath that fluffed her bangs. "Why are we fighting?" "Hell if I know." "I wanted you here," Buffy confessed suddenly. "You. I don't... I don't think I could have cried in front of Giles the way I did with you last night." Did vampires blush? If not, Angel was doing a damn good imitation. "Oh. I'm... glad." "Good." Okay, now what? "I, um... I was thinking I should call the police. You know, just so that when we get my dad back, it won't look so weird. He'll wanna know why I didn't if I didn't." Angel nodded. "Wait until after sundown, so I can clear out. And wait until Waring's already come and gone. If he shows up when you've got the police here, he..." "His phone call to sanity might get disconnected," Buffy supplied. She sighed. "Okay. If only the sun would set..." "Believe me, wishing it down won't make it go any faster." Angel's voice was heavy with memories. "And you'd know, huh?" Buffy asked softly. But Angel had already turned back to go into the bedroom. ******** Wishing or no, the sun did eventually set. Buffy had assumed that Waring would show up at dusk, the way he had the night before, when the sun was gone but its light still lingered. But sunset dwindled into twilight, then full dark, and no insane Aussies were to be seen. Buffy's dad was definitely going to need a new carpet for his apartment. "Where is he?" demanded the edgy Slayer. "I'd've thought that he'd want us halfway to the outback by now. Is he trying to make me as crazy as he is? I --" Her head snapped around. "What?" Angel asked. "Something," she said, drawing out the word, deep in thought -- and concentration. "I think it's him." Motioning for Angel to keep himself hidden, Buffy slipped out onto the tiny balcony, levering herself over the railing to drop into the backyard where they had met the night before. "Hey. You here? Waring? Come out, come out, wherever you are." "Betrayer." The word was low, hissed, indistinct. Faint sounds of traffic blended with it, making it nearly impossible to figure out where it was coming from. A layer of ice formed in Buffy's stomach. "Waring?" she asked again. Abandoning her earlier plan of trying to delay, put him off, she desperately tried to make him show himself. "I thought about what you said, and you're right. I'm the Slayer. I'm supposed to slay vampires. And --" Instinct had her moving before her conscious mind realized she needed to get out of the way. The slight spatting kicked up dust. Great, all she needed. The crazy, kidnapping, Slayer-knowledgeable Australian stalker had a gun. "What are you doing? You can't kill me. You need my help." She needed to get him talking, track him. A part of her knew that Angel was somewhere in the shadows, waiting to help her. She needed to get Waring to leave, to lead Angel back to her father. "You betrayed me. You betrayed what you are. You are not worthy to be the Slayer." "I don't know what you mean." Buffy fought to keep her voice calm. "I said I'd help you." Another bullet, this one splintering the branch of a tree where her head had been a moment before. "You consort with demons." The ice in her stomach became a deep freeze. "I don't know what you mean." Her own voice answered her, tinny and recorded. "Come on, you're the big bad vampire. You must have some fright tactics. Might as well use what we've got." Then Angel's. "Pretty ironic. The Slayer using a vampire as one of her weapons." "You bugged the apartment." "I needed to be sure you didn't call the police. You didn't. You called up a demon, instead." Buffy felt her brain blank. She couldn't come up with a plan. "I'm still the Slayer," she said desperately, trying to sway him. "I still kill vampires. You still need me." "You aren't worthy to be the Slayer," Waring said again. He stepped out from the shadows of the trees into a puddle of moonlight that gleamed silver on his hair and the gun in his hand. Pointed at Buffy. "'One Slayer dies, and the next one is called.' I must find that next one." ~Oh, great,~ was Buffy's completely inadequate thought. She had no cover, nowhere to hide. She could run for the condo, and Waring would disappear into the night, and she'd never see her father again -- at least not until Waring made good his attempt to call up the next Slayer. If he didn't shoot her in the back before she made it to cover. Between one heartbeat and the next, it was over. The gun clattered to the ground, thankfully not going off on impact. Angel had slammed Waring back against a tree, eyes glowing and demon face pressed up against the mortal's. Waring was gibbering incoherently, his hands flapping, helpless against Angel's greater strength. "Angel." Buffy's voice was quiet. No command, no demand, just his name. He snarled for another moment, then slowly, reluctantly, stepped back, keeping his hold on Waring. Waring's dark eyes kept flicking back and forth between Slayer and vampire. His short-circuited brain was obviously trying to figure out what just occurred there. He'd been caught by a vampire -- a vampire who looked like he would relish a banquet from down under. He should be dead. But he wasn't. "You... he... huh... what?" The syllables came out on separate puffs of air. Buffy stepped closer to him. "Angel's a special case. He won't hurt you." "But I'd want to," Angel muttered. "Hush." "I don't understand," Waring said, his voice the bewildered wail of a child. "I don't understand." Something in his tone, in his eyes, warned Buffy that Waring had slipped from loco to just plain crazy. He wasn't a danger anymore to anyone but himself. "Can you take us to my dad?" she asked quietly. He didn't respond. There really wasn't anything there to respond. After a moment of searching through Waring's pockets, Angel came up with a key to a motel. "Let's just hope Waring stashed him there," Buffy said. -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Buffy (3/3) Date: 01 Sep 1997 12:46:51 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Buffy by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com It was an icky, smelly, grungy, low-rent version of Motel 6. Buffy pulled her dad's Explorer into a empty space and shut off the engine. "Well," she sighed, "here goes nothing." Room 15 didn't respond to knocking. A warped cardboard "Do Not Disturb" sign prevented entry. "You are exceedingly disturbed," Buffy muttered to the man whom the police had picked up for vagrancy after... someone called in a complaint. Angel handed her the key, and she turned it in the lock, convinced that she was going to find an empty room. "Daddy!" She ran to her father's side and dropped to her knees. Hank Summers was drugged and tied to a chair in the scuzzy room. The piercing shriek of his offspring was enough to wake him from a stupor, and he blinked groggily at her. "Buffy?" he said, his voice slurred. Buffy worked at the ropes that bound him to the cheap chair. "Hang on, we'll have you out of here in a minute." "We?" Hank tried again, turning to look at the doorway. Angel was a dark shape blocking most of the light from the streetlamps. "He's a friend. He's helping me. Can you stand up?" Dazed, Hank didn't protest when Angel took his other arm and he and Buffy helped Hank out to the car. Depositing him in the back seat, Buffy drove home. They got him up the stairs to the condo without incident, and Buffy disappeared into the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine. "Now we've *really* got some 'splaining to do," Buffy muttered under her breath when she came out with a cup of black coffee. Beginning to wake up, Hank took it gratefully. One sip later, he blinked his watering eyes and tried manfully to smile at his daughter. "Honey... this is, um, a bit hot. Could you add some cold water?" "Sure." Anxious, Buffy hovered over him. "How much?" "Ah... about half the cup," he said weakly. Three cups of much-watered coffee later, Hank was ready for answers. Buffy had gotten better at fabrication over the past year. Hank bought her story of a weirdo who knocked on the door and handed her the key. He bought that she hadn't called the police since they couldn't do anything until he was missing for forty-eight hours. And he bought that she had called an old friend (*very* old, Buffy said silently) to keep her company, so she wouldn't be alone. All in all, Hank swallowed everything she told him. It was a couple of hours before dawn when Angel got to his feet. "Don't go. You must be exhausted. We can make a bed up on the couch, right, Buffy?" Buffy took a good look at the couch, right in the path of the huge windows in her dad's living room. "Um..." "I'm fine. I don't have that far to go." Hank offered him his hand. "Thanks for your help. And for watching out for Buffy. I really appreciate it." Buffy stood on her tip-toes to kiss her dad's cheek. "Go to sleep," she said sternly. He brushed his hand over her hair. "I will. I love you." "Love you too. Night." Buffy walked Angel to the door, and just outside of it. "Do you have a place to go?" she asked quietly. Angel nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be fine." "Okay." They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Buffy leaned up to kiss his cheek as she had with her dad. "Thank you. Really. You don't know..." Her voice trailed off in a shudder as she thought of what might have happened. "I'm glad I could help." "I, uh..." Angel smiled at her, slightly, neither the strange half-reluctant smile nor Cryptic Guy grin. He touched her cheek lightly, opened his mouth as though to say something. Then turned and walked away. ******** Buffy spent the next day fussing over her father, who finally shooed her off. "I'm fine, I'm fine!" He grinned at her. "I never thought of you as a worrier." "Well... you disappeared. I *was* worried." Hank lifted one hand to smooth the line that was getting to be permanently etched between her brows. "You heard what the police said. That vagrant they picked up... for whatever insane reason--" "And we do mean insane." "--he decided to take out his anger on me. I suppose having a serial killer in your hometown might make even a normal person crazy." "Yeah," Buffy echoed faintly. The story that Waring had told her was true, she could tell that much from the watered-down version that the police got from Australia. Fifteen years ago, vampires had descended on a small town. The part that Waring *didn't* seem to get was that they left almost immediately, after doing some significant damage. He'd been unable to admit that he couldn't help the ones who had died, so he believed that he could help those who were still alive -- never mind that they weren't in danger any longer. Buffy was curled on her dad's couch, ignoring the TV that was laughing at its own cleverness with canned giggles. Lost in thought, she was startled by someone knocking on the door. Hank was in his room, making an early night of it, so Buffy answered the door. Angel stood outside it. For the first time Buffy could remember, he wasn't wearing black and white. A dark slate-blue silk shirt covered his chest, and charcoal grey pants covered the rest of him. Buffy just goggled for a few moments. Gravely, he offered her a white rose. "I know this is kind of last minute but... would you like to go out with me? Buffy finally regained the power of speech. "Out? Like on a date? Dinner, movie, dancing, that kind of thing?" His mouth quirked in its accustomed half smile. "We'd have to skip the dinner, but yeah." "Why?" she asked. The flower was cool in her fingers, the scent sweet. And the thorns sharp. Angel didn't speak for a moment. "I want to be with you. I keep telling myself it can't happen, it won't work. And then I see you and... it stops mattering. I don't know what will happen when we go back to Sunnydale. Sometimes I think that, now that the Master's dead, I should leave--" Buffy's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, as if she needed to chain him to the spot. "No!" He turned his hand to take hers, holding it tightly. "I couldn't go. I know that." Buffy took a deep breath, even though her head was spinning giddily. "But you still think that we can't be together," she said steadily. "No. I don't know," he said, frustrated. "All I know is here, tonight... it's different. We're different. And I want one night." He raised an eyebrow at her, and grinned again. "So...?" "So? So! Oh!" She glanced down at herself in shorts and a baggy t-shirt. "Ugh. Um, give me ten minutes. Okay, fifteen. Stay there. *Don't* come in. Got it?" "I got it," Angel said to the door slammed in his face. Seventeen minutes later, Buffy reopened it, wearing the silver satin sheath she had just found at Nordstrom. "So... where are we going?" Angel smiled at her, gallantly taking her arm. "There's a place I want to take you. It hasn't changed much since the last time I was in LA; I checked before I came over here." "Last time?" Buffy asked curiously. She was distracted when they hit street level when she saw the limo. "Wow. Like the prom. But better." A few minutes later, the limousine pulled up in front of a beautiful old hotel. (Old in Los Angeles being relative, of course.) Chateau Marmont had a beautiful plush lobby and small corners where people could just sit and talk. "This is gorgeous!" Buffy said exuberantly, tilting her head back to look at the crystal chandeliers over her head. "You used to hang out here?" "Now and then." Finding an unoccupied bench, Angel sat down, pulling her down beside him. "I didn't spend all my time in Sunnydale, you know. I needed to move around some. There was this time...." For nearly an hour they just talked. No disasters, no painful discussions of their respective positions in life, just a girl and a guy chatting. ~This is way too normal for me,~ Buffy thought a couple of times. Eventually, Buffy heard music coming from a room off the lobby. Guessing that the hotel had set up a small nightclub area for their patrons, she stood up and held out both hands to Angel. "Come dance with me," she invited. It was a somewhat older crowd in the room than Buffy usually saw at the Bronze, twenty- and thirty-somethings. The music reflected that, being a mix of current adult contemporary and Eighties hits. Luckily, whoever was spinning the disks had enough taste to pick the best. Buffy expected it to be awkward dancing with Angel. Touching him, being that close to him. And then there was the whole height factor. But she stepped into his arms as though she belonged there, and closed her mind to the rest of it. Three songs went by before they even thought about talking. "Angel..." Buffy said hesitantly. "What?" "This... this isn't going to go away, is it? What we feel for each other. It just... isn't." Angel sighed and rested his cheek on her hair. "No, it isn't. And I don't know what we are going to do about it." Buffy looked up, and put her hand on his mouth. "Never mind. Tonight, we're just not going to worry about it." The next song cued up, saving Angel from having to reply. He just pulled her closer as a string section set up a dramatic beat. "Don't ask me What you know is true. Don't have to tell you I love your precious heart. I -- I was standing, You were there, Two worlds collided, And they could never tear us apart." Buffy sighed and tightened her arms around his neck. She didn't want to talk, to shatter this moment. She didn't want the moment to end, to have to face reality again. In the shelter of the music and his arms, she could forget the rest of the world -- for awhile at least. "We could live For a thousand years, But if I hurt you I'd make wine from your tears. I told you That we could fly 'Cause we all have wings But some of us don't know why. I -- I was standing, You were there, Two worlds collided And they could never, ever tear us apart." He brought her home a few minutes before midnight. "I'm going back to Sunnydale. I'll have to leave soon to get there before morning." Buffy nodded. "I understand. And when I get back there... what? We're going to ignore each other? Be buds? Date?" "Buffy, I don't know." The edge of frustration in Angel's tone made Buffy smile a little. He cared. The fact that it should be blindingly obvious from all the things he'd done for her aside, it touched her that he had to struggle against what he thought was wrong so hard. She'd lost a lot when Destiny had pulled the arm on her slot machine and come up with Buffy Summers. She wasn't about to let anything else go. Stepping closer to him, she stood up on her toes. Almost automatically, his arms closed around her, supporting her in her precarious position. They'd kissed before, once as a tentative question, and once as a goodbye. This time, she put everything she couldn't find the words to say into it. When they slowly parted, Buffy was relieved that he looked as dazed as she felt. Every argument they had put forth to separate them, both together and separately, couldn't deny this. No matter how hard it was, no matter how much it hurt... they just couldn't keep away from each other. They would, however -- at least for the rest of the summer. Buffy unlocked the door and stepped through. "Night," she said. And shut it behind her. ******** Ring. Ring. Ring. "Buffy?" "Angel. So you *do* know how to pick up the phone." "Yeah, once in a while. How are you?" "Fine. Listen, have you seen George of the Jungle yet? Trust me, go see it, it's hysterical..." THE END High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Willow (1/3) Date: 02 Sep 1997 07:28:34 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Willow by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com "...and so the user said, 'I broke the coffee cup holder.' I'm all, 'What coffee cup holder?' 'You know, you press a button on the tower and the coffee cup holder slides out. I broke it, I need a new one.' The idiot had been putting her mug in the CD-ROM caddy!" Willow joined in with the laughter. "Oh, I've got a good one." She drained her can of Coke and grinned. "There's this real snob at my school." Willow stopped and thought for a second. "Well, she's not really that bad of a snob anymore. Anyway, she was languishing in computer class and wanted to know how to save her program. I told her to hit 'deliver.'" There were puzzled looks for all of three seconds until one of the guys hooted, "Delete!" and everyone lost it. Willow settled deeper into the comfortably beat-up couch in the rec room and relaxed, really relaxed, for the first time in months. Outside, the rain rattled the windows and pattered on the roof. Inside, the fire in the fireplace made everything warm and cozy. In the week she'd been here, she'd felt more accepted, more a part of the action then in her whole life in Sunnydale. She never would have imagined speaking up in front of a crowd of people at home. But the people here didn't make fun of her clothes or her hair or her interests. She had found the nerds, and they were her. She pushed away the twinge of guilt that hit when she thought of Buffy and Xander. Yeah, they accepted her. But Xander had known her her whole life, and Buffy... Buffy wouldn't have told her the truth about vampires if Willow hadn't already seen the evidence for herself. Probably she and Buffy would have never really become friends otherwise. Willow would have helped Buffy with her homework and sometimes wondered at the weird things that Buffy would say. But she would have never really known her. Cutting into Willow's musing, the big grandfather clock in the room started booming. "Oops. Shift change. Okay, who's got the lab for the next two hours?" Rick asked. The lab was open twenty-four hours a day, and the kids who were attending the computer camp signed up for two hour blocks of time on the mega computers that the company sponsoring the camp provided. Willow got up and stretched. "I've got the 6 AM to 8 AM block," she said, yawning, "so I'm going to sleep now." The vastly night-owl-skewed population of computer geeks shuddered. "6 AM?" Lily asked. "Nobody's awake then! The sun isn't even up yet!" "But it rises pretty soon," Willow pointed out. "I like the sun. Watching it rise, I mean. 'Night." Willow set her clock for 5:30 AM so she'd have time for a shower, and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillows. But at 4:30 she found herself wide-awake and bright-eyed. "Okay, I'll just get an early start. The labs pro-AW-" she yawned, "-bably deserted now, so I can get some extra time on the computer." She stumbled in and out of the shower on automatic pilot, but perked up the closer she got to the lab room. It was still dark, and so intent was she on the thought of putting in some time on the lovely, lovely computers in there that she almost ran into a girl standing in front of a cabinet. "Whoa. Sorry." The girl didn't seem to notice that she had nearly been collided with. "Where is it?" she muttered. "Confound it, I know it's around here somewhere. Where is it?" Willow tilted her head a little to the side and looked at the other girl. She was a few years older than Willow, maybe a college student come to intern at the house. She was dressed in a long, floral, old-fashioned-looking dress, and her dark hair was in a long braid down her back. Willow hadn't seen her around before, but everyone had been putting in a lot of time in the labs, so it was possible that she'd been here for the past week and Willow just hadn't seen her. "What are you looking for?" she asked finally. The other girl turned and jumped as though she had been stuck with a pin. "Oh!" Wide dark eyes met Willow's. "It's... my journal," she said finally. "I can't find the dratted thing. I know I put it in here somewhere...." The words trailed off as the girl seemed to forget Willow's existence, turning back to the open cabinet. Except that Willow was quite sure that cabinet was always kept locked. Well, maybe if the other girl worked here, she had a key. "Can I help?" Willow offered. "Um... could you check the pie safe? Why a pie safe is in the parlor I don't know...." "Pie safe? What's a pie safe?" "Over there, under the window." The girl, still distracted, pointed impatiently. "The cook locks his pies in it to keep them from being devoured before dinner. He will be put out to find someone has moved it in here." Willow located the small, squat chest and opened it. Entertainment Weekly, People, Time and, of course, every shade and variation of computer magazine, but nothing that looked like a journal. Willow got to her feet and turned back to look at the other girl. "I don't see...." Her voice died. The sun was coming up, shining through the window behind the other girl. And *through* the other girl. A moment later, the ghost vanished. ******** She could handle this. She could. Willow repeated her not-terribly-convincing mantra to herself as she made her way to the computer lab. It wasn't a vampire or a witch or a demon in a full metal jacket, or a three-headed *thing*. It was just a ghost. Just. Just a ghost. What had her life become that she actually framed a thought with the words "just a ghost" in them? She could handle it, though. No sweat. She reached the lab and booted up the computer, logging in. First things first. Go for the easy answers. She jumped on Yahoo and did a search on ghosts, poltergeists, wandering spirits, and the like. She'd done enough 'Net research for Giles to know at a glance which of the sites were just lurid imaginings and which contained useful information. And which needed to be dug into a little more deeply... By the time people started entering the computer room, the sun was fully up and shining with all its might and Willow had been online for three hours. She collected her printouts and unobtrusively slid them into her backpack, then started the project that was supposed to be her focus for the six week session, pretending that she had been working on it since daybreak. "Hey, Will," Rick leaned over the back of her chair. "What was that?" "Nothing," Willow said casually. "Just some script that I think I need to go over later. I don't want to waste my time on the computer doing it now." ~Hate lying, hate lying, hate it, hate it...~ "Okay. Um, some of us were going into town to grab some dinner tonight. Maybe go to a movie. Did you want to come with me?" "Hmm?" Willow said absently. "Oh, I thought I'd get something out of the kitchen here. I, um, am falling behind on my project." "Oh," Rick said. "Another time?" "Sure. Another time what?" Willow's fingers were flying over the keyboard, and she didn't notice Rick's ignomous retreat. By the time she was kicked off the computer, she had managed to get a good amount of work done on her project. She retreated to her room with her printouts and started highlighting things that seemed appropriate. Within a few hours, she had assembled enough information to begin to figure out what was going on. Ghosts fell into a few categories. There was your loud and annoying chain-rattling type. There was the quiet and unobtrusive specter type. And then there was the destructive, whirlwind poltergeist type. This ghost didn't seem to be destructive. And no one else mentioned hearing chains rattling or doors opening or phantom shrieks in the night. But the ghost did seem to be more than your average wandering spirit. She had a definite purpose and desire. Ghosts became ghosts, so the theory went, because they had left some earthly thing undone. This particular ghost had been looking for a journal. Willow put down her papers and got up to head down to lunch, thinking hard. If the journal was found, would the ghost be free? It wasn't until Willow almost turned away from a crowded table to sit by herself to think that she realized what she was doing. Why did she automatically think that *she* had to fix things? Just because there was a ghost and the ghost *may* want her freedom, didn't mean that Willow was obligated to drop everything to help her, right? That was her life in Sunnydale. And that life had nearly gotten her killed. Flipping her long hair over one shoulder, Willow stopped by a empty seat. "Um, is this one taken?" The chorus of welcomes almost drowned out the mournful wail in her head. -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Willow (2/3) Date: 02 Sep 1997 07:30:28 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Willow by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com 2:32 AM Willow sighed, turned over, and punched her pillow. "Sleeping would be good about now," she said out loud. Nobody answered her. 2:33 AM It wasn't her job. Right? She wasn't the Chosen One. She just happened to have developed an odd talent for being in the wrong place at the right time. Or right place at wrong time. Or... 2:34 AM Besides, even Buffy wasn't a Ghostbuster. She was a Vampire Slayer. The fact that they had been up against some other really weird stuff had nothing to do with Buffy's duties, and everything to do with the fact they lived on a Hellmouth. This really was Giles' area of expertise. 2:35 AM "Great, now I have guilt." Willow dumped her pillow on the floor and flopped facedown into the mattress. 2:36 AM "Okay, okay, I'll do it." Sighing, Willow sat up and pushed her long hair away from her face. Maybe the ghost didn't want to be released from her captivity. Maybe she was happy to be haunting a house full of computer geeks. Maybe Willow couldn't do anything about it. But she couldn't sleep until she tried. There were still faint sounds coming from the computer lab, nocturnal creatures discovering the joys of C++. In her robe and slippers, Willow tiptoed into the small parlor where she had seen the ghost before. "Hello? Anyone here? Hello? Um... are there any ghosts around? Anything undead at all? Okay, I tried. Can I sleep now?" Before she could turn to go back to bed, a crackle of static energy lifted the fine hairs on her nape. Slowly turning her head, Willow saw the ghost standing in front of the window. Wan moonlight spilled through her incorporeal body. Willow swallowed. Twice. "Um... hi," she managed weakly. How *did* you address a ghost? Like their earlier meeting, only when Willow directly addressed the not-quite invisible girl did she seem to recognize Willow's presence. Wide dark eyes fixed on the mortal girl's slight figure. "Oh! Did you find it?" she asked eagerly. Willow shook her head. "No. Um... what is it that you are looking for? Exactly?" The ghost turned and knelt in front of the fireplace, poking slightly up the chimney. "My journal. Papa threatened to burn it. He didn't, did he?" the ghost asked anxiously, glancing back over her shoulder. Willow shook her head vigorously. "No. Um, I don't think so." Pulling away from the hearth -- without a trace of soot from either modern or prehistoric fires -- the girl sat back on her heels. "Where *is* it, then?" she fretted. Willow took a step toward her. "What's your name?" "Oh, how rude of me! I'm Eleanor Gordon. My friends call me Nell. Or at least, they did...," Nell's voice trailed off uncertainly, "...long ago." "I'm Willow." ~Do you know you're dead?~ Willow thought, but didn't ask. The girl smiled brightly. "I'm quite pleased to meet you." Her eyes turned vague again. "Where is the blasted thing? It had all my work in it." She rose and turned toward the door. "Wait! Tell me what looks like at least. Maybe I can help you find it?" "It's a *journal*," Nell said with the impatience of both youth and ghosthood. "Leather cover." "What's in it? Is it your diary?" "No, no! It's my work, do you understand? The new university, the one Stanford is founding, won't take women. But I've got formulas and equations that will *prove* to them that I'm not a foolish girl, that I'm the equal of any of the men who will attend. But if I can't find it, I can't prove to them that I can do the work. And if Papa burned it...." Nell's transparent face crumpled in grief, and Willow couldn't resist putting out a comforting hand. The electric shock she received when she touched Nell's form jolted her back a step. When she looked up again, Nell was gone. "Willow?" Meri, one of the other kids at camp poked her head into the room. "Who were you talking to?" "Uh... nothing. No one." Willow was still staring at the spot that Nell had occupied a moment before. She had disappeared right before her eyes. Just poof. There, and gone. "Yes, you were," Meri insisted. "I heard you!" "Just... myself. Myself." Meri gave her a weird look, and unpoked her head from the room. Willow stood still for several moments, her heart pounding. The look on Meri's face... as if Willow were some kind of weirdo. ~Isn't that what I am? I talk to ghosts. How much weirder can you get?~ "I thought I could take anything," she muttered. Then she turned and ran from the room. ******** Willow avoided the parlor for the next few days. She worked hard on her project, and slept with her pillow over her ears to block out any ghostly pleas. She didn't *want* this. She'd finally found a place where she fit in, really fit in, and she didn't want anyone looking at her the way Meri had that night. Looking at her as though she was strange, bizarre. Abby Normal. She wanted to fit in. She didn't fit in at Sunnydale High. She never would. But here... she had a chance to find out what normal was. She didn't want to screw it up. It was early evening, not even quite dark yet. Willow was brooding in the rec room. Before she had met Buffy, she'd been plain Willow Rosenberg. Resident hacker, tutor-for-begging, doormat and lonely. Since Buffy had arrived in Sunnydale, Willow had nearly died more times than she really wanted to remember. But she'd also been truly, completely accepted for the first time in her life. Xander, always a bud, had become one of her closest friends. And Buffy, while not exactly a role model, taught her fashion and make-up and self-esteem. Here, she was another computer geek, just another face in the crowd, but a *part* of that crowd. With Xander and Buffy and Giles, she was a part of something else entirely, something that frightened her. She loved them, loved them all, but she didn't know if she could handle what came with being around Buffy. "Will!" Rick beamed at her. "There you are. Wanna go into town with us?" She looked up, meeting Rick's eyes, Lily's eyes, Juan's, Ben's. Sudden, she felt a little dizzy. They were all her age, and yet she felt so much older than all of them. They hadn't had to see the bodies of their friends strewn all over. They hadn't had to fight the forces of evil. She wasn't good with people anyway. It had always been easier to just withdraw, to avoid conflict, to not fight. "Will? Please? I don't want to be the only girl out with all these he-men." Lily's voice was teasing, but her eyes were honestly pleading. Buffy had taught her to fight. And she knew she could. Maybe she had seen and done things that most kids her age would never have to deal with. But it had made her stronger. More than that. It was a part of her. She was Willow Rosenberg, Slayerette, as much as she was Willow Rosenberg, hacker extrodinaire. Two sides of one person. She'd proved that she could handle the powers of darkness. She could definitely handle that arguably more scary task of social interaction. "Sure." Moving forward, she blended with the group. "As long as we hit a McDonald's. I'm starved." "And a movie? They're rereleasing Scream up here," Rick said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. Willow stole a look at him, and sighed. Yeah, he was cute. But she was a little leery of guys after "Malcolm." And, despite everything, she still loved Xander, as clueless as he was. Which didn't, however, mean that she couldn't appreciate a little male attention... -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Willow (3/3) Date: 02 Sep 1997 07:35:09 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Willow by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com Willow stood at the bottom of the attic stairs and took a deep breath. "I can do this. I can. I can." Questioning the house administrator had lead her to this spot, up in the quietest part of the house. Mrs. Marshall had assumed Willow was a history buff, interested in the history of the house and its former owners. She had told Willow that all the family possessions had been stored in the attic following the house's sale. If the diary was anywhere, it was up there. Armed with a flashlight and a firm grasp on her courage, Willow climbed the steps and tried not to remember certain key scenes from the movie she had just watched -- watched being a loose term, considering how much time she had spent with her hands clapped over her eyes. The attic was hot and dusty, still holding the heat of the summer day. It was also very dark. Moonlight slanted through random cracks in the boards, making crazy patterns on the floor. Dust motes shimmered in the close, still air. Willow started poking in corners, lifting lids of trunks, peering into wardrobes. The beam of the flashlight found treasures, alone in the dark. Hats missing half their feathers, faded and torn dresses from time gone by, fans and trinkets and *things* that didn't seem to have any use, and were exotic for their very uselessness. It was an oddly peaceful way to spend time. Willow felt surrounded by ghosts -- but they didn't bother her this time. There were lives represented by the accumulation of stuff that had been hidden away in the attic. People, plain old ordinary people. Willow almost forgot her mission until she turned to the last piece of furniture -- a big mahogany desk. Squeezing around a dressmaker's dummy and a big framed mirror, Willow knelt down in front of the desk. It had more drawers than she would have expected a desk to have, and the top one was locked. She tried all the other drawers, but they were empty of everything except for random papers that looked boring. So she found a long hooked thing that prompted a vague memory of "Little House on the Prairie," and started working to pry the locked drawer open. She hated to damage the beautiful wood, but she'd promised Nell that she would try to find the journal. And if it was up here, it was probably in this desk that Willow was willing to bet belonged to.... A stray rumbling sound had Willow poised to dive into the kneehole of the desk. She was California-born and bred, and earthquake reflexes were bone-deep with her. But the rumbling stopped and she started chipping away at the drawer again, suddenly scared and eager to get out. She held the flashlight awkwardly with her chin and used both hands, trying to pop the lock out of its groove. A crash made her scream and drop the flashlight, which rolled over and over, its light careening around the confines of the attic. She crawled out from under the desk and looked around. A glass figurine lay shattered on the floor. While Willow tried to convince herself that it had fallen after the brief tremor, a music box sitting on a three-legged table nearby flew through the air and smashed against a tall wardrobe. The pieces showered to the floor in a rain of disjointed music. At that point, Willow realized she was seeing altogether too well for her light source being a dim moon and a fallen flashlight. She really, really didn't want to turn around, but it was a toss-up which was worse: not knowing what was behind you, or *knowing.* "Not knowing," she whispered, her throat suddenly very dry, and turned. He was an old man, fifties or sixties, with a thick head of hair and a handlebar mustache. Willow's mouth worked for a few moments, taking in the old-fashioned clothes and the faint luminosity that surrounded his figure. "Are you Mr. Gordon?" she asked. The ghost didn't seem to hear her, although he could certainly *see* her. His eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made Willow want to be somewhere, *anywhere* but where he was. His expression was one of fixed coldness, lacking even the most basic thread of humanity. While she was trying to decide the quickest way out of the attic, the drawers started flying out of the desk, crashing into the wall. All but the locked one. "Please," Willow said. "I just want to find your daughter's journal --" ~Bad move. Very, very bad move.~ The poltergeist didn't seem to like that idea. Willow screamed again as every breakable in the room seemed to fling itself at her head. Terrified, she took shelter behind a bureau and covered her head with her arms. Only to be trapped when the wardrobe slide towards her, inextoribly coming closer. She was pinned in a corner between the bureau and the wall, and would be crushed... "Father, no!" Nell's cry seemed to stop the wardrobe's advance, although it was still blocking Willow's escape. As though a switch had been thrown, the ghost seemed to suddenly come to life. He was still transparent, but there was consciousness, understanding, *soul* in his eyes. "Nell, lass, go to your room." "I want it back," she begged, tears pouring down her face. "Please!" "No daughter of mine is going to ruin herself trying to prove herself a man," Nell's father thundered. "What man would marry a woman who played with numbers all day long and couldn't cook to save her life? I'm doing this for your own good, lass." "Please, Father! You don't understand. My *work* is in there, everything I've learned, years and years of studying. You can't take it away from me." Willow was watching the drama through the narrow crack between the bureau and the wardrobe, and swore that she saw Mr. Gordon's expression soften. "Lass..." he said quietly, "I don't want to see you break your heart on what can never be. Even if they would allow you into that school, even if I let you go... what would you do? Who would hire you to use the knowledge you would gain? You're better off marrying and having a son who you can teach what you know." "I don't want to marry and raise a son to have what I cannot. *I* want it! I want to try. Father..." Crying desolately, Nell's ghost flickered and disappeared. Mr. Gordon remained behind his desk, staring at the space where his daughter had been a moment before. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know, girl. I didn't know you cared so... I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." Slowly, the wardrobe inched its way back from its looming position over Willow's head. No fragile breakables flew through the air as she crossed to the desk. Mr. Gordon was gone. So, too, Willow suspected, was Nell. But on the scarred and scratched surface lay a small leather book. Inscribed on the flyleaf with faded ink was the name, "Eleanor Gordon." ******** "It's not fair. It's not. Somehow, I thought that when I gained the courage to show Father my work, when I proved to him that it was real and true and not just a foolish young girl's imagining... I thought he would understand, and would believe in me. I so needed him to believe in me. To prove to him that I was not just his silly, flighty daughter, that I could make him proud. "But I failed. He laughed in my face, and said I was a fool for thinking that I could ever gain admittance to the university. Such was not for me. My duty, my fate, was to marry and keep a house and be a mother. "But... but I had to try. I had to believe I could win. If I had not... then my soul would have been a desolate thing. I *know* that the work I have done in my little book is good, that my mind is equal and more to any of those who will wander the halls of this new university. And that knowledge is my one comfort and solace." Willow closed the book before any of her tears smeared the ink, clasping it to her chest and thinking. Poor Nell. That was the last entry. She must have died young, of what, Willow didn't know, but young. Leaving behind this book. Willow glanced at her bedside clock, blinking in surprise when she saw the hour. At this rate, she was rapidly becoming accustomed to the night-owl hours that so many of her hacker ilk kept. They were often the same hours that Buffy kept, as well, in her duty to pursue and kill the demons who hunted the night. And she belonged to both. She could take pride in the fact that what she had done for Buffy had helped her. The horrors that she had seen were nothing compared to the love and acceptance she had now. Tiptoeing downstairs, Willow peered into the parlor. "Nell?" she whispered. "Nell?" No answer. Smiling slightly, Willow left the journal lying amid a stack of computer magazines. Someone would find it tomorrow. Someone would read it, and recognize what it contained. "I hope you're at peace now, Nell," Willow said softly. She turned to the door, to head back up to go to bed, and stopped, struck by a sudden realization. "Because I am." THE END ************************ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Giles (1/5) Date: 03 Sep 1997 07:26:35 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Giles by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com Part One "I've had better ideas in my life," Giles said out loud to the vastly empty clearing. "Regrettably, I've had few more foolish ones." The birds were the only ones who heard him. He was out in the middle of nowhere, on a errand of madness. Returning to England to close his office at the British Museum, he had found the work moving slowly. His flat in Chelsea had been easy to close by comparison. He had boxed up the volumes that lived there and shipped them across the pond. But his office... that had been more his home than the flat. It was covered in dust and still not large enough to bring a cat in, let alone swing one, but no one had invaded it in his absence. There were no windows; there were no pictures on the wall. Every spare space was covered in books. The difficulty was sorting out what belonged to him personally and what belonged to the Museum. Somehow, before, that had never been a problem. He'd always known it was his duty, his fate, to be a Watcher. But until he had been called to Sunnydale, it never really had infringed upon his life very much. Now, all of a sudden, there was here and there, this and that, Watcher and librarian. His life was bifocused. He suddenly understood why Buffy had tried to deny her fate as Slayer. Two lives, two identities, and only one person to live it. It was exhausting, to say the least. Buffy, at least, knew which life she would rather have been living. She would have turned her back on her destiny, lived a normal, staid life if she could. But Giles... offered the choice, which would he choose? The dismantling of his life in England had been a wearisome project, one that he tackled with a complete lack of enthusiasm. And one that made distractions of any sort welcome. When the director of the library had approached him to ask that he deliver a particular volume to a monastery in Ireland, Giles had accepted without thinking. Now, he was regretting his rash action. It was well before sundown, half-three, just as the abbot had requested. Giles had followed the detailed directions out to the small henge out on the coast of County Clare, text in hand. Why a Christian priest would wish such a transaction in the middle of a pagan stone circle, Giles could not understand. The text itself was not extraordinary, a fourteenth century retelling of the legend of Saint Patrick's life. Giles could be grateful that the renowned saint had driven the snakes from Ireland. It made picking through the nearly waist-high grass surrounding the henge a little less hazardous. He'd spent his plane trip to Dublin studying the Pergamon Codex, instead. It puzzled him endlessly. It was a font of knowledge, not complete, but most definitely not wrong. The prophecies in the Codex and the prophecy that Aurelious recorded dovetailed perfectly. And yet... there was no other way to translate, "Interfectrix non cogitabit eum" other than, "The Slayer shall not know him." The Codex rested in a satchel slung over Giles' shoulder, along with three or four other volumes that needed his study, and a change of clothes. The *Life of Saint Patrick* that he was to return was clutched in one hand. A half an hour passed, and there still was no sign of the gentleman he was to meet. The soft summer sun and gentle breeze swayed the grass and stirred the green scents of the earth. Curious, Giles wandered over to the well-worn stones that stood silent sentinel against the ages. There were faint markings on their surface, engravings once deeply cut and now shadows against the granite. Leaning closer, he braced one hand against the opposite stone and examined the marks carefully. With a flash of coruscating light, he felt himself violently thrust into... nothingness. ******** It was dark when he woke up. Pitch-black without the faintest trace of light. Terror gripped for a moment before he remembered to open his eyes. The sun was down, but it was not quite dark. Purple twilight lingered overhead, specked with only the most brilliant of stars and planets. Giles levered himself upright, his head spinning as dizzily has it had in his carefree youth when he and his fellows had sought to determine who could consume the most ale in one sitting. For the first time, he understood why henges were often referred to as dances. The blocks seemed incapable of remaining inanimate around him. His hand fell on the satchel beside him and he gained his feet. Obviously, the abbot was not going to appear. He would make his way back to the rented car that he had left parked about a mile back on the road, drive into Shannon, and fly back to London in the morning. He took two steps and landed back down in the short grass. Wisely, he decided to remain there for a few moments. A meteor glanced through the heavens above him, and it seemed that there was not another soul in the world. Which meant that the approach of another person took him completely by surprise. "Are you well, sir? Sorry," she apologized when Giles turned sharply, eyes wide and startled. "I saw you sitting so still, and out here in the middle of nowhere, and feared you were ill." Behind him in the dim light stood a young girl, not much older than Buffy. Long dark hair was tied at the nape of her neck into a loose ponytail, and she wore a plain blouse and a long loose skirt. "I fear... I am disoriented. I was waiting here for the abbot to come, but I have not seen him." The girl cocked her head curiously. A feeling of familiarity overwhelmed Giles. Something whispered that he should know this girl. "Father Ambros would not leave a sheep to linger alone at night. Not here. You must have been misdirected. And he had services to conduct today. It was St. John's Day." "Midsummer's Eve," Giles murmured, checking his head for a lump. Surely a blow to the skull would explain his dizziness and confusion, as well as the persistent notion that he knew this girl. There was no swelling, however. An energy discharge? If a bolt of lightening had struck nearby, it might have stunned him. But it had been a clear, sunny day. No clouds in sight. The girl came forward to kneel beside him, helping to steady him. "Aye, 'tis the sun feast." She grinned suddenly, pale eyes gleaming in the low light. "Father Ambros has no quarrel with the Old Ones, but for the sake of his position, he can hardly acknowledge such things." With easy strength she helped him rise, and supported him when he wobbled. "I'll take you to him, won't I, and he can have Brother Rugh look you over. Rugh is a fine healer." "My car is on the road. I walked here." "I saw no cart on the road, sir, and I came that way. What's your name?" she asked, chatting away as they walked. "You're obviously British. Father Ambros has letters from England often, I assume you are one he contacts there? Or...," her voice trailed away. "Or did they send you to replace Henry?" she continued after making an obvious effort to steady her tone. "I am Rupert Giles. As for Henry --" Giles stopped dead. Being upright and mobile had done wonders for his aching head, and the clear night air had swept away the rest of the cobwebs. The girl did not seem familiar because he had met her before. To the best of his knowledge, they had never come face to face. But she was, undeniably, a Slayer, something that he sensed on a level that he could not even begin to explain. He was incapable of speech for several long moments. Buffy was the Chosen One for her generation. There was only ever one Slayer at a time. The only way that this girl could be one was if Buffy had been killed. In the silence, the girl let go of his arm. "You are a Watcher, aren't you?" she asked in a low, husky voice. "I knew when Henry was killed that they would have to send another. But I--are you well?" she asked urgently as Giles sank again to the ground. "No, I do not think so," he said, dazed. "Tell me, was your Watcher named Henry Wadsworth?" "Yes. Did you know him?" The girl settled on her knees on the ground in front of him. "No, I didn't. For the very good reason that he died two hundred years before my birth. Dear God, I've traveled back in time." -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Giles (2/5) Date: 03 Sep 1997 07:27:20 -0700 Why, yes, I've read Diana Gabaldon. Why do you ask? -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Giles by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com Part Two "It was the stones," Deirdre said finally. She and Giles had spent nearly an hour unraveling the threads that tangled them in confusion. The revelation that it was the year 1778 had first stunned and then intrigued Giles. Certainly in a year when he had finally taken up his duties as a Watcher, had encountered vampires, witches, giant bugs and alarming technopagans, and had cast spells for the first time, a trip through time was not quite as alarming. "I quite agree. There are legends of fairy hills, where people fall asleep and wake a few hundred years later. I'm not sure I've ever heard of anyone moving *backwards* in time before." "Well, I would say that it did happen tonight." Deirdre stopped within sight of the monastery. "The question then, is, how do we get you back?" "I don't know," Giles said heavily. "Return to the stones? But I would think people wander through them every day, and not all of them go missing." "But it was a holy night tonight. Perhaps the door opens briefly... but if you step through again, will you go back farther? Or return to your own time?" She sighed in frustration. "I wish I knew what to do! Henry was the one who guided me. I've missed him dreadfully." "How did he... die?" "As you'd expect," she said shortly. "One of the demons found him and murdered him." In the hard words was a wealth of pain. "I hate them!" she said fiercely. "They maim everything they touch, polluting and desecrating what they cannot simply tear limb from limb. I wish...." "You wish that you were not the Slayer, that you did not have to know that such things existed, that it was not your duty to fight every creature that threatens what you know and love," Giles said quietly. "Aye." Tears stood in her eyes. "I want to marry and have children and grow old... Liam can't understand why I refused him, and I dare not explain. But how can I put him in danger?" Giles was at an awkward loss for words. Before his helpless silence dragged and became obvious, Deirdre took a deep breath and favored him with a strained smile. "Well, it cannot be helped, then. I am the Slayer. It is my duty and my fate, and no tears will change it. I will do what I must. Come, we must get you inside, even if few vampires are out tonight. They loathe Midsummer's violently. The shortest night of the year offends their sensibilities. Father Ambros will make you welcome, and Brother Rugh will make sure that you took no lasting harm." They walked along a few more steps before Deirdre spoke again. "Aine will dearly love to speak with you. He is fiercely hungry for knowledge of the outside world." Deirdre sighed again, with regret. "'Tis irony that he should best find freedom within cloistered walls. He should be in Dublin or Oxford. But even if the entire village gave up their savings, we would have not a tenth of what he would need to study in such places." She smiled fondly. "Aine is Liam's brother, and a dearer, kinder boy I've never known. If you feel he is plaguing you unduly, tell him to go away. Curiosity will be the death of him someday." By that point they had reached the small gate that connected the monastery with the outside world. Deirdre rang the bell that hung beside the wooden door, and within a few moments, it opened to reveal a tall, gaunt looking man. "Brother Rugh!" Deirdre exclaimed in relief. "Just the one we needed! I found this traveler in the dance. Perhaps thieves set on him. Regardless, he is dazed and in need of shelter." "My good man." The tall monk had a surprisingly mellow voice. He came around Giles' other side and supported him. "Come with me." Within short order, Giles found himself examined and pronounced in fit health. A bowl of hearty broth and a hunk of brown bread took the edge off his hunger. Deirdre bid him a good night and returned to her family's home, promising to return the next day. Giles was given a bunk in an empty cell. Weary with the day's events, he immediately fell into a deep sleep. The sleep was broken a few hours later by a mild commotion. Giles stumbled out of his cell, putting his glasses on and looking blearily about. "What's the matter?" "There is a band of travelers outside seeking shelter from the night," Brother Rugh told him. "Five men and one woman. From their speech, I would say they are aristocrats and French." "But why the commotion?" Giles' question was answered by Father Ambros' quiet declaration. "She is a female and she may very well be as ungodly as the rest of the French. But she is still a traveler in seek of shelter. Brother Fegin, let them in." One by one, the sumptuously caped and shod men filed in through the narrow door. Without exception, they were young and Adonis-like. Following them was a woman whose velvet hood shielded her face. She stepped into the circle of torchlight and moved unerringly to the abbot. "Thank you most kindly for your hospitality. We are grateful that you allowed us to rest our weary bones in your house. And if there is any way that we can repay you, I would seek most strenuously to discover it." Even before the woman lowered her hood to reveal sleekly styled blond hair and a delicate face, Giles recognized the voice. "Dear Lord. Darla!" -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Giles (3/5) Date: 03 Sep 1997 07:29:16 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Giles by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com Part Three "Vampires have been drawn here since before my birth," Deirdre explained. She had returned the monastery as soon as the sun rose, dragging Giles away before he had even had a chance to reach the communal dining room for a morning meal. To compensate, she had brought fresh-baked bread and sweet butter. The morning had dawned with a glory to hurt the eyes, cloudless and shining. Giles and Deirdre occupied the monastery garden, sitting on wooden benches and letting the sunlight pour over them. "The stones," Giles hazarded a guess. Deirdre nodded. "Aye. They seek to harness the power there for themselves. And, as we discovered last night, they might very well be a portal between different times. Imagine if a vampire had that kind of power." "If it is all the same to you, I'd rather not." Giles shuddered. "We must prevent them from controlling it." "I've been trying," Deirdre said impatiently. "But you are only one, even though you are the Slayer," Giles put his hand on her shoulder in comfort. "No, we must find a way to keep the power from their hands -- permanently. Speaking of which, we have some visitors in the monastery today. One of whom I recognized. Her name is Darla, and I doubt we shall see her out in the sunlight." "Are you sure she was a vampire?" Deirdre asked urgently. Giles' words shattered Deirdre's peace, as his sleep had been shattered by Darla's appearance the night before. "Believe me, I know her quite well. She nearly tore my throat out once," Giles shuddered in memory, rubbing the area in question. With a frustrated sound, Deirdre pushed to her feet and began pacing amidst the rows of cabbages and potatoes. "What incredible gall! To take rooms in a house of God! They will die for it," Deirdre muttered darkly. "Darla is very old and very powerful," Giles warned her. "And I would assume that her traveling companions are her progeny, willing to defend her to their deaths, if need be." "And I'm willing to defend me and mine --" Deirdre focused her gaze over Giles shoulder and cut herself off quickly. "Aine! So you do know the way out of the scriptorium!" "Once in awhile, Brother Colm pushes me out for my own good," a humorous voice returned. "I was told that you were in the garden with the visitor from England, and so I thought I'd come beg an introduction." Despite the brilliant sunlight, Giles felt very, very cold. The voice was warm and husky with laughter and love. And most unmistakable. Deirdre led the young man in a monk's robe to where Giles sat. Dark hair, long enough to nearly be considered shaggy, covered the untonsured head, declaring him to be a novice, rather than a monk. And the face... "Giles, please meet my childhood playmate Aine. He has yet to forgive his mother for naming him Aingeal, so woe befall anyone who calls him by his full name." "Or you could simply call me by the name I shall be known by when I take my vows. Brother Angelus, at your service, sir." The man who would be the vampire Giles knew as Angel bowed, with a courtly grace that would have been amusing in his monk's robes if Giles was capable of amusement. "I'm... ah, pleased, of course... do forgive me." Giles rose, swaying on his feet. "If you will excuse me..." "Are you ill?" Deirdre asked. "You've gone white. Shall I call Brother Rugh?" She took one arm to support him, while Angel... Aine... Angelus took the other. "No, I... merely need to rest for a moment. I think I shall... yes..." Without thinking, Giles found his way to the chapel. He was not a religious man by habit or inclination. His knowledge of the world's darkest creatures tended to make him look at Christianity's God of Love and Hope with a rather jaundiced eye. But the chapel had silence and peace, things he desperately needed. One monk knelt on the stone floor, telling his beads. Giles ignored him, sinking down onto the front pew, staring without seeing at the flicking light of the Presence. What should he do? What *could* he do? He could tell Deirdre what he knew, all of it. That her Aine was destined to become a vampire. And she would, without a doubt, destroy Darla or die trying. They would be striking a blow to the dark ones to do it, to rescue one soul from the demons. And Buffy would die in 1997 at the hands of the Vessel, without Angel's cross to save her. She would die when the Three set upon her, without Angel to defend her. She might have walked blindly into the Master's trap, without the Codex to lend its dubious guidance, from Angel's hand. Or would she? It was all very confusing. Giles knew what *would* happen, should events go forward as planned. But if he changed them, if he revealed his foreknowledge, could he alter history? "Mr. Giles. Deirdre told me I could find you here." It was the abbot, Father Ambros. Giles turned to face him. "I... can I be of service?" "Perhaps I can." With a nod, the abbot indicated that the watching monk should leave. When they were alone, Father Ambros moved forward. He genuflected and sat beside Giles on the pew. "You should know that Deirdre has long since confided in me about her calling," he began calmly. "I... see." "She has told me of many fantastic things. Not the least being about a man who came through the stones to aid her." "Deirdre is... talkative." "Deirdre is very lonely, and very alone," the abbot said quietly. "When Henry was killed, she had no one but me to guide her. And, simple man that I am, could only offer support and love." Father Ambros spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Henry was my friend. Although he came here to guide Deirdre, he became a part of our community, despite being English. He is sorely missed." For long moments, the hissing of the flames in the candles was the only sound. "Father Ambros... if I felt that I could stop a tragedy from occurring, if I thought I could change fate...." The father leaned forward, watching the face of the crucifix before them. "God gave men -- and women -- free will, to exercise as they see fit." Such simple faith. And so easily betrayed. Giles turned once to look back at the face of the suffering Christ on the Cross behind him. "It's Angel... Angelus. Darla will take him. Soon, if I'm any judge." The hiss of indrawn breath was loud in the chapel's silence. "Don't tell Deirdre," Father Ambros said finally, wearily. "She's like to act before thinking. If she dies... then we are all in terrible danger." "But... if she *could* kill Darla, if we stop her from turning Angel --" "Then she's like to die at the hands of the others," Father Ambros said. "I know the girl. Before Henry died, she accepted it as her duty to kill the creatures who came here, who threatened her home, her family, her friends. But since Henry's death... it is a bitterness that has grown stronger in her. Hatred blinds her, blunts her. I love her dearly," the abbot said emphatically. "I baptized her as an infant, watched her grown into a strong and beautiful woman, hoped that I would preside at her marriage to her beloved. But if she is to fulfill her destiny, she must not let rash emotion destroy her." "But the consequences could, literally, be deadly," Giles argued. "Worse. There's another girl, another Slayer, whose fate it was -- is -- to prevent Hell on Earth. If I act now to prevent one demon from rising, I might destroy any chance she would have of succeeding." Father Ambros rose, putting one hand on Giles' shoulder. "I cannot advise you. All I can tell you is follow your conscience -- and forgive yourself for whichever decision you make. Come. We must find a way to prevent anyone from using the power of the stones for evil." Giles got to his feet before the words registered. "We?" "Of course." The abbot smiled. "Surely between a Watcher, a Slayer and a man of God, we shall prevail?" "I'm afraid I do not share your optimism," Giles said heavily. He paused, torn. "I led one Slayer into her destiny blindly. I cannot do the same to another." "As you will," the abbot said quietly. "But might I suggest you wait until we have bound the stones? We shall need her full attention for that." It was still early. The sun was barely above the horizon. They had until nightfall to deal with the vampires who had made their unholy lair in a holy place. Giles nodded. "I will." -~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~ High Priestess Lizbet of the Cult of Joss -~*~- {{>AGA<}} lizbet@primenet.com ~*~ Lizbetann@aol.com ~*~ Keeper of Joss's Evil Brain SunS List Co-Mummy: "If the Apocalypse comes, beep me." ~*~ "God made relativity and God made marijuana and the two are not entirely unrelated." -- Boo ~*~ http://www.primenet.com/~lizbet/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: lizbet@primenet.com (Elizabeth Ann Lewis) Subject: BUFFYFIC: Summer Vacation -- Giles (4/5) Date: 03 Sep 1997 07:31:38 -0700 What I Did On My Summer Vacation... Giles by Elizabeth Ann Lewis Disclaimers: See Author's Notes lizbet@primenet.com Part Four Before the sun had completed its rise to the zenith, Deirdre, Giles and the abbot were on their way to the standing stones. "A binding ritual should be fairly simple," Giles explained. "The difficulty is, I need to be able to return through the stones -- if such a thing is possible." "It should be." Father Ambros assured him. "You were brought through the stones for a reason. Presumably, once that reason is fulfilled, then you shall return." "Let us hope," Deirdre murmured. In the sunlight, the stones looked like what they were, worn lumps of granite, blasted by sea winds into random shapes. Giles crossed to one of them, the one he had been standing by when he had taken his sudden, unscheduled trip. Tentatively, he placed his hand on it. Nothing. Deirdre turned to Father Ambros. "What should we do?" The abbot opened his Book and began to recite prayers, calling blessings down upon the place, asking for intercession from Saint Patrick and Saint Bridget. While he spoke, Gile