I am posting the disclaimer again, since I got alot of "yipes." No more taunt. . . all update. Enjoy!
Title: Darkness Falls
Author: KrisBo5 (Kris, obviously)
Email address: KrisBo5@aol.com
Feedback: Sure, I’d love it.
Distribution: This story is the narrative form of four spec scripts I have written for BVS, each of which is registered with the WGAw, so please don’t publish it or reproduce it in any way, shape, or form. If for some reason you’d like to, just ask first. It’s the polite thing to do.
Spoilers: Season 6, “Entropy” and “Seeing Red” episodes.
Rating: The story in its entirety: PG-13 to NC–17. This includes sex, violence, language.
Pairing: Willow and Tara, first, foremost, forever! However, Buffy and the others are here as well, Buffy and Dawn most especially.
Disclaimer: Hey, I didn’t create these characters, those kudos belong to Joss and crew. I’m just borrowing them for the story I did write. The poem is “Dirge Without Music”(1928) by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Summary: The mythology surrounding the creation of the first Slayer(it sounds like a Buffy story, but have no fear, this is all about Willow and Tara).
Note: Things from here on out will get disturbing and may upset some Kittens; angst and loss and pain. Read at your own discretion.
Darkness Falls, Part One: Descent(B)
“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall be changed.” I Corinthians, 15:15
Mr. Bellum walked leisurely, but determinedly, down the length of a wood-paneled hall. His black shoes click-clacked over the marble floors, echoing throughout the emptiness of the second-story of their new residence. He ran a quick finger along the edge of the intricate paneling, inspecting the tip for the slightest sign of neglect on the staff’s part to its cleaning and maintenance. Finding none, a grin slid across his features, knowing his mistress would be pleased. And that pleased him.
He halted at the end of the great hall, standing in front of the master bedroom’s door. He raised a hand and rapped his knuckles against it several times, a sharp staccato booming in the silence. “Madam?” he called out when there was no response from the other side.
“What?” the female voice finally answered, her tone one of annoyance and exhaustion.
Without being invited in, Mr. Bellum turned the knob and pushed open the door, sliding gracefully into the room. Unlike the ornate beauty of the hall, the bedroom he now stood in was decorated very simply. Bed. Lamp. Dresser. Chair. Triptych floor-length mirror.
The woman lying in the bed threw back the huge downy comforter that covered her and sat up, somewhat begrudgingly. Like her surroundings, she was dressed simply. Tee-shirt. Shorts. “I said what?” She stretched her arms high above her head.
Mr. Bellum stopped at the foot of her bed, clasping his hands behind his back. “Are you rested?”
The woman pushed herself up from the bed, passing her hands through her bed-worn hair, trying to tame the wild locks. “No.” She moved to the window, drawing the curtain back with her hand to gaze out at the new day. Instead, she found her eyes falling on darkness. Surprised, she turned. “How long was I asleep?”
Mr. Bellum smiled. “Twenty-nine hours, Madam.”
She dropped her hand from the material, absolutely taken aback by his answer. “Twenty-nine?” Mr. Bellum nodded. She let her tongue run over her teeth and the insides of her cheeks and made a face. “Explains that. . . taste.”
Mr. Bellum took a step forward. “Shall I send something up?”
The woman paused. Then, “No.” A smile hit the corners of her lips. “I want to go out.” She walked to Mr. Bellum and stopped before him, her jet-black eyes staring deeply into his own. “I want to see this Sunnydale. . . my new home.”
Mr. Bellum smiled again. “Yes, Madam.”
*****
From their respective sleeping spaces, Buffy and Xander grabbed the phone as it shrilled loudly.
“Wh-what?” Xander said groggily.
“Hello?” Buffy said at the same time, not so much with the grog.
“Buffy?” Willow’s voice sounded scared and panicky on the other end. “Buffy, I need you to come home.”
“Willow?” the Slayer asked, sitting up and looking at the clock. 3:18.
Dawn opened her eyes as Buffy stood up from the bed. “Buffy?”
“Will? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Buffy reached for her coat and shoes.
“Will?” Xander echoed.
“Come home now! Hurry!”
And with that the Slayer heard the receiver click; then she listened as a buzzing filled her ears. “Xander?”
“I got the car,” he said, slamming his extension down.
Buffy replaced her own in its cradle. Leaning against the night table, she pulled on her boots one-after-the-other, sans socks. She raised her eyes to Dawn’s as she yanked her jacket over her pajama top. “Get up.”
“What’s going on?” Dawn asked, rubbing her eyes.
Buffy bent down and retrieved her sister’s shoes and sweater. “Put these on.” She tossed them at Dawn, who caught them clumsily.
“Buffy? Is Willow o—”
“Come on! Move!”
The Slayer’s tone filled Dawn’s heart with dread. Usually calm in a crisis, her sister’s sharp manner and commanding voice was quite unnerving. She yanked on her own shoes and tugged her sweater over her head as she tumbled quickly from her resting place. “Buffy?”
Buffy stopped briefly. She looked into her sister’s eyes, and nodded brusquely. “We have to go, Dawn.”
Dawn swallowed hard, and without further protestation, she followed the Slayer from the bedroom straight down the hall and out the front door. True to his word, Xander had gotten the car and sat in the driver’s seat, revving the engine in an attempt to warm it more rapidly.
“Let’s go!” Buffy said, pushing Dawn into the front seat between her and Xander. Xander stomped the accelerator and the tires squealed in protest as the Chevy lurched away from the curb into the night.
They drove the few miles to the Summers’ house in utter silence, each Scooby teeming with harrowing thoughts of what they might find upon their arrival. As they turned onto Revello, Buffy sat forward in the seat, grasping the door handle tightly. Her Slayer eyes scanned the street left-to-right, looking for any badness; but, all was quiet. Untouched. The Summers’ house came into view, looking calm and silent and unhamed. Unfortunately, on The Hellmouth, that could mean badness as well.
“Pull over,” Buffy ordered, lifting the handle as the Chevy approached her house. She pushed open the door before Xander had stopped the vehicle and started out.
“Buffy!” Xander yelled, pushing harder on the brakes.
“Buffy!” Dawn said, at the same time, trying to grab her sister’s sleeve.
The Slayer jumped from the moving vehicle and hit the street in a dead-run.
“Shit!” Xander shouted, cranking the wheel to the right to stop beside the curb. Once done, he and Dawn sprang from the vehicle, chasing Buffy up the block.
Two houses up from them, Buffy roared over her front lawn, glancing at the Jeep as she passed; it’s back end was in the driveway, but the front end was on the grass, one tire in the flowerbed. The Slayer vaulted the porch steps and burst through the front door, skidding to an ungraceful stop as her feet hit black material, causing her to slide several feet on the floor. “Willow!” she hollered, righting herself quickly. She glanced into the living room, and her expression fell as she saw its disarray. “Willow!” she yelled again, starting up the stairs two-by-two. As she reached the top landing, Willow rounded the corner in front of her. Again, only her Slayer speed prevented her from colliding into her best friend. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed onto Willow’s upper arms, her eyes passing over the redhead from head-to-toe. “Willow. Wher— God, what happened?”
Willow, clad in her bathrobe and socks, jumped back slightly as Buffy grabbed her. “Buf— yeah, God, Buffy, I’m sorry I scared yo— I’m okay. I’m okay.”
Buffy seemed to take her best friend at her word, releasing her arms and taking a deep breath. Her eyes darted down the hallway, then back to Willow’s. “Did something— where’s Tara?”
“Tara?”
Willow and Buffy turned and found Dawn standing at the bottom of the stairs, panting hard, a frightened expression on her face.
“Dawn,” Buffy said, dropping down several steps. “Stay there.”
“What’s wrong with Tara,” the teen asked, not to be ordered around when the blonde wiccan was at issue.
“Dawnie,” Willow started, moving down the steps to stand beside Buffy.
Xander bolted inside the front door, a stake in each hand. His eyes pinged from Willow to Buffy to Dawn and back again, doing a mental count of friends and limbs and heads. “What? What?”
Willow raised her hand. “I was just saying, we’re okay. Tara and I— we’re okay.”
Xander lowered his stakes, moving to stand beside Dawn. “Jesus, Will.”
“I’m sorry,” the redhead said, turning to face her best friend. “I didn’t know what— I didn’t mean to scare you . . . .”
Buffy squeezed Willow’s hand quickly. “What happened?”
“You need to see Tara. You need to talk to her,” Willow replied, returning the Slayer’s pressure. Dawn and Xander started up the stairs, but Willow stopped them. “Just Buffy.” The Scoobies halted their progress, looking up at her with crest-fallen expressions. “Right now, just Buffy. Okay?”
Xander nodded, dropping a hand on Dawn’s shoulder. “C’mon, Dawnster.” He 180-ed and tramped down the stairs, heading towards the kitchen.
Dawn stared at Willow and Buffy. “Tara’s my friend.”
Buffy started to move, but Willow’s hand on her arm made her pause. Willow took the next few steps down till she was one above the teen. “She’s okay, Dawn. She really is. I promise.”
Goddess, please let her be okay. After a moment’s hesitation, Dawn nodded; Willow smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She rubbed the teen’s shoulder kindly, then turned away, heading up towards Buffy.
Dawn watched them climb the last stairs and round the corner towards Willow’s room, then she went to find Xander.
Willow opened the bedroom door, motioning to Buffy with a raised finger to wait. She entered the bedroom and crossed the room to where Tara sat, still huddled in the corner, though the redhead had managed to wrap her lover inside a quilt.
“Baby,” Willow said, kneeling in front of the blonde. Tara looked at her, the absolute terror gone from her eyes, but the beautiful blue Willow felt she could drown inside had yet to return. The redhead stroked Tara’s hair, tucking several strands behind her ear. “Buffy’s here.” Willow could sense her lover’s heart pick up it’s beat at the mention of her best friend’s name, and she dropped her other hand on her lover’s covered knee. “Do you want me to bring her in?”
No! No! No! No! No! Tara swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. She nodded.
“Okay,” Willow said, “I’ll get her.” The redhead leaned forward and kissed Tara’s brow, letting her lips press against the cool skin for several seconds, then looked into her lover’s eyes. “I’m right here.” Tara nodded again.
Right here forever, Baby. Willow stood and walked to the door; she opened it and smiled what she hoped was a semi-reassuring smile at the Slayer. “Come in,” she said, stepping back.
Buffy walked in, squeezing past her best friend and looking directly at the bed. Not seeing Tara, she turned questioning eyes to Willow. Again Willow tried to smile, letting her eyes drift to where Tara sat. The Slayer’s gaze followed, and as her eyes finally found her fair-haired friend, her stomach blanched with sudden fear. “Tara?”
Willow saw Tara pull back into herself as Buffy spoke, so she touched the Slayer’s arm quickly and moved to her lover’s side. She knelt down beside the blonde again, and almost found herself surprised when Tara’s hand snaked out from beneath the quilt to grab hers; her lover’s hand, despite having been bundled inside the downy coverings, was cool and clammy.
Oh, Baby. “Shh, I’m here,” the redhead cooed, closing her other hand over Tara’s and rubbing it gently.
Buffy took hesitant steps towards the two women, afraid that any sudden movement on her part might cause Tara more distress. She stopped several feet away and carefully placed her hands inside her jacket pockets. “Tara?” The blonde turned her cobalt eyes to the Slayer, and Buffy saw in them something she never hoped to see in any of her loved ones again: fear. Buffy angled her head slightly. “What happened?”
Tara shifted her eyes to Willow’s. The redhead raised her lover’s hand to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to its back, then placed it, once again, in her lap. “It’s okay, Baby. You can tell us now.”
Silence filled the room for several seconds before Tara turned back to Buffy. “I—”
Oh, Goddess, I’m so. . . . “I h-had a dream.”
Buffy’s brow creased as the words registered. “O-kay.” She shifted her weight slightly.
Willow continued to rub soothing circles over Tara’s skin, urging the blonde to carry on through her loving caresses. “A-a nightmare.”
Buffy paused before she spoke. She knew a little something about nightmares. “Nightmare?”
Tara’s eyes drifted away from Buffy’s, to some far-off spot in the room as she pulled the images from her mind. “Don’t open your eyes.” Willow and Buffy waited. “Willow said that, but I— I couldn’t see her anywhere. It was so dark. And then we were walking on Main Street. Willow was there with me then.” She paused. “I— I thought it was me. The street was empty, but we stopped for the light at the corner and people started to appear, out of nowhere. I turned to Willow. . . .” Tara looked at her lover, and she felt tears sting her eyes.
Willow, like Buffy, was hearing about Tara’s nightmare for the first time, and seeing the blonde’s eyes fill with tears, it made her feel suddenly afraid. For Tara. For herself. She dipped her head slightly, a silent encouragement to the blonde.
You can say it, Love. Just say it. I’m right here.
Tara closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “Willow’s face. . . began to bleed. Her nose. . . then her cheek and above her eye.” Tara raised her other hand to her own throat, touching it softly. “And she was bruised. . . on her throat.” Tara’s hand slid back beneath the blanket. “Her chest. . . .” Tara stopped, closing her eyes tightly against the flashes returning to her mind’s eye.
Willow raised a hand to touch Tara’s golden hair. “It’s okay, Baby.”
Tara opened her eyes and looked directly into Willow’s. Shaking her head slowly, she pushed on. “Your body. . . your beautiful body, it was battered and cut and covered in bruises and. . . .”
The hand stroking Tara’s hand stilled momentarily. Willow felt a new wave of fear and nausea wash over her as she held the blonde’s gaze. Every word Tara spoke, every detail of Willow’s abused appearance in her dream, struck at her heart, and the redhead found her mind racing to regain control over her emotions.
One, not attractive. Bruises and cuts and, just no. And B, not really big with the whole pain issue thing.
“What else,” Buffy said, her voice sounding strong in the room. She had moved quietly to stand before the two women, her body tense.
Both women turned to her, but it was Tara who spoke. “The town was on fire. Main Street. People, cars, buildings. The Magic Shop.” She took a breath. “Dawn and Anya were there, inside.” Buffy pulled her hands from her pockets, letting them fall to her sides cautiously. “They were fighting—I don’t know what, but they weren’t human. And Xander and his crew— they were being beaten by men in suits.” Tara shook her head again, trying to put the images in her mind into some semblance of order. “There was a black limousine, with black windows. There was a Japanese man and a woman with blonde hair and green eyes in the back. At first, they were normal and then they changed.”
“Changed how?” Buffy asked.
“They were monsters. I-I’ve never seen anything like— they were monsters. And then they were human again. It was just a glimpse. Then Willow was gone and there was a window. . . .” Tara lifted her eyes to Buffy’s and held them with their intensity. “It was your reflection.”
Willow glanced from Tara to Buffy to Tara again.
What? If the reflection was Buffy, then it was Buffy walking with me. But if it was Tara’s dream, then it was—Tara had Buffy’s dream? What?!
But the Slayer wasn’t as concerned with the semantics of Tara’s dream, as the implications. “You think— you’re saying
I hurt Willow?”
What? “What?” Willow asked, her eyes darting to Buffy. “No. She didn’t say that.” Willow turned to her lover. “You didn’t say that, did you?” She paused. Momentarily. “Did you say that?”
It was Tara’s turn to give Willow’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I said,” the blonde repeated, keeping her eyes on the Slayer, “it was Buffy’s reflection in the window.”
Buffy wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear any more, but she knew there was more to be told. “That wasn’t the end, though.”
“No. Your eyes were black. Empty-black.”
That can’t be good. “Empty-black? Like a— a vamp or one of those monsters?” Willow shifted closer to Tara, who just shook her head.
“Then your reflection changed.”
“To what?” Willow asked, her heart doing its best hummingbird imitation. Tara hesitated.
“To what?” Buffy repeated the redhead’s question, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You changed into a black woman. She was young, your age I think, and she was beautiful, but she had those eyes. Empty-black. And she smiled. . . . Then she broke the glass and she reached out. And I woke up.”
Understatement. Willow smiled at Tara. “You okay?”
Tara nodded. She looked at Buffy. “Buffy?”
“You didn’t recognize the woman?” Tara shook her head. “You’ve never seen her? Before your dream tonight?”
“No.”
“Buffy, what?” Willow asked.
Buffy passed a hand over her weary eyes before answering. “I know we promised you the weekend, but we need a Scooby meeting tomorrow.”
“What happened?” Tara asked, sensing the Slayer’s tension.
“Tomorrow at ten. At The Magic Shop.” Buffy lowered her arms. “Anya needs to be a part of this. It concerns her, too.” Buffy glanced at Tara. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” the blonde replied, though not with much conviction.
Buffy smiled. “I know. You’re talkin’ to ‘Dream Girl’ here, so. . . I know a bit about the ‘I’m okay’ thing.” The Slayer was rewarded with a genuine Tara-smile, and she found hers growing wider. “Okay then,” she said, taking a step back.
Willow started to rise. “You’re leaving?” Buffy paused. Willow released Tara’s hand and walked to the Slayer.
Buffy put a comforting hand on her best friend’s shoulder. “There’s a few hours left for you guys to. . . take care of each other.”
“Buffy!”
“I meant talk. Eat. Sleep. Take care of each other. What were you thinking?” The redhead blushed, and Buffy smiled at how easy it was, after all this time, to make it happen with the slightest hint to her friend’s sex-life. “Gutter-mind,” Buffy said under her breath and Willow smiled. The Slayer leaned past her best friend to look at Tara. “That protection spell? It’s still good-to-go?”
“Yes,” the blonde said, remembering the spell she had performed at Buffy’s request after Spike attacked the Slayer in her own bathroom.
“Good,” Buffy nodded. “I wanna do a quick sweep of Downtown before light.” She turned and walked to the door.
“Buffy?” Tara’s voice caused the Slayer’s hand to pause over the doorknob. She looked at the blonde, still huddled on the floor. “Be careful.”
Buffy smiled. Tara was freaked out of her mind, and still the wiccan thought about her well-being. About all of their well-being. “I will.” And with that, she opened the door and exited, closing it softly behind her.
Quiet filled the room once again, though the fear that permeated the air earlier had departed. Willow stood perfectly still, eyes keened on the door.
“Will?”
Willow glanced over her shoulder at Tara. “Hmm? Oh, I was just waiting for her to poke back in here.”
A smile broke out as the blonde remembered the Slayer’s unexpected entrance— then her hand’s re-entrance— the night before last. Willow had been right after all: it was kinda funny. “I love you,” Tara said.
Willow felt like she had been sucker-punched, the air rushing from her lungs in a quick burst. “Me, too, Baby.”
Oh, Goddess, Tara, me, too.
Buffy reached the bottom of the stairs, finding Dawn picking up the last few couch cushions from the floor. Clothes were folded neatly on the now-uprighted coffe table. Seeing her sister, the teen dropped the cushions. “Hey,” Buffy said, glancing around, “where’s Xander?”
“Moving the Jeep. How’s Tara?”
“She’s okay.” Seeing Dawn’s ‘I don’t buy it’ expression, Buffy continued. “Really. Dawn, she’s fine. They both are.”
The teen hitched her thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the living room. “So nothing happened?”
Buffy hesitated. “Uh, not what we were expecting, no.”
“But why was everyone all—”
“Freaked out here,” Xander announced as he re-entered the house.
Buffy and Dawn turned to look at him. “What? What freaked out?” Buffy asked.
Xander marched over to them and held out his closed fist. “Here.” Dawn recoiled, not sure she wanted whatever he was offering.
Buffy held her hand up and Xander opened his. Two silk items landed in a heap in the palm of the Slayer’s hand. She creased her brow and used her other hand to separate the articles. Suddenly, she was staring at a lacy bra and a pair of panties. “Ahh!” she squeaked, quickly crumbling them together in her palms and shoving her hands behind her back; she flicked her hands up-and-down, trying to get Dawn’s attention.
“I don’t know whose they are, I don’t wanna know whose they are. I’ve got a pretty good idea, and the whole girl-on-girl thing? Thought that’d be pretty— but I don’t wanna know. Too close to home. Someone else moves the car next time.”
Dawn took the items from Buffy and backtracked to the coffee table; she hastily shoved them inside the pile of clothes and stood up again. “Nope, not what we were expecting.”
Xander took a deep, exaggerated breath and glanced upstairs. “Everything okay?”
“Tell ya on the way,” Buffy said, waving a hand towards the front door.
“On the way?” he asked, following the Slayer nonetheless. “Way where?”
“We’re not staying?” Dawn asked, bringing up the rear.
Buffy opened the door and ushered her entourage out the door. Closing it behind her, then double-checking that it was secured, she turned and headed down the steps. As all three headed across the lawn to Xander’s Chevy down the street, she filled them in. “Scooby meeting tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”
“You were up there for twenty minutes,” Dawn said, knowing there was more to the story.
When they reached the car, Buffy stopped. She looked between the two of them and made a decision. “Okay. I’ll tell you.” She grabbed the passenger door and opened it. “But let’s go.”
Satisfied with the Slayer’s comment, they piled into the front seat and started back into the night.
Towards Downtown.
Towards Main Street.
Upstairs, Willow stood beside the window, watching the her friends drive off into the remaining darkness. Once she could no longer see the Chevy’s red taillights, she turned her attention back to Tara. The blonde hadn’t moved from the corner since her nightmare had forced her from their bed, but Willow believed that she could get her lover back there, simply by asking her.
Instead, the redhead crossed the few feet to the bed and grabbed their pillows and a book from the nightstand. She padded over the carpet towards her lover, who looked up with questioning eyes. Willow squeezed into the corner beside the blonde, dropping her fluffy load to the floor. Then she sat down, her back resting against the pillows; she shifted a bit, getting into a comfortable position, then answered her lover’s silent question. “We can stay here.”
Tara’s heart skipped a beat in her chest.
How can she know? How can she know— what I need, what I want? How is it that she’s mine? That she loves me?
Willow put a hand on her upper thigh. “Come here, Baby. Lie down for awhile.”
Like a child, Tara moved to Willow, resting her head in the redhead’s lap. She wrapped an arm around her lover’s knees, holding the woman tightly in her embrace. Willow drew the quilt over Tara’s body, then let her fingers fall lightly into the halo of golden hair cascading over her robe.
My Willow.
Willow opened the aged book in her hand, the gift she had received from Buffy and Dawn, and began to read aloud.
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,--but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone.
They are gone to feed the roses.
Elegant and curled
Is the blossom.
Fragrant is the blossom.
I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve.
And I am not resigned.
After several minutes, Willow felt Tara’s breathing change, and she knew the blonde had fallen asleep. A smile crossed the redhead’s lips as she let her eyes gaze upon the woman sleeping in her lap.
Tara, I’m here. And I love you. I love you so much.
“Love. . . you. . .” Tara mumbled, pressing more firmly into Willow.
Tears sprang to Willow’s eyes, but she only smiled more. She raised the book again, and continued to read. She would read until morning came, and when Tara woke, she’d still be there. Holding her lover safely in her arms.
*****
Main Street was virtually empty. Except for the usual stray dog or occasional early-morning commuter, 4:30 am was dead-time Downtown.
That suited Buffy fine. Despite the façade she had worn during her replay of the events upstairs, she had been maxi-wigged by Tara’s nightmare. Sunnydale on fire. Anya and Dawn fighting for their lives. Xander being beaten. Some creepoids making with the Cronenberg mojo. A beautiful but scary black woman with black eyes. Her own eyes black. Inwardly, Buffy cringed. No, definitely a skip-over if at all possible. Then, the Slayer smiled. This being Sunnydale and all, she’d never get so lucky.
“So, how long are we stayin’?” Xander asked, covering his mouth as he yawned.
The Chevy sat beside the curb outside The Magic Box, all three Scoobies huddled inside.
“Ten more minutes,” Buffy said, her eyes never ceasing their recon.
They settled into another silence, each pair of eyes watching a segment of the street. Minutes ticked by, but nothing happened.
“Has it been ten minutes?” Dawn asked, turning away from the back window.
Buffy swiveled to face her sister. “No.” Dawn’s face fell. “But we can go.” Dawn smiled and plopped into her seat.
Xander shifted in his own and grabbed the keys. “Great.” He started to turn the ignition, but Buffy threw her hand over his, stopping him. He looked at her, but she was staring out the back window; he twisted, craning his neck to follow her gaze.
Dawn turned as well, rising to her knees on the seat. “What?”
“Shh!” Buffy ordered. At the end of the block, a car approached. Slowly. It barely moved, and with its headlights turned off, Buffy was sure that if she hadn’t been facing backwards, she wouldn’t have heard it or seen it until it was right on top of them. It continued towards them at an interminable pace.
Stalking. Casing. Hunting. Planning.
The words popped into Buffy’s mind one after the other as she watched. “Get down!” she ordered in a harsh whisper, and they all dropped like rocks in water. The Chevy vibrated as the car passed by; stealthily, Buffy raised her head to peek over the dash. Her eyes fell on a black limousine.
Just like in Tara’s nightmare.
Buffy watched as the car moved down the street, neither speeding up, nor slowing down. Xander and Dawn cautiously inched up in their seats, peering over the front dash like the Slayer. As all three stared, the car’s brake lights flashed in the darkness; Xander and Dawn ducked back down, cringing low, but Buffy continued as lookout.
“What’s it doing?” Xander asked in hushed tones.
Buffy watched the car turn down an alley at the end of the block. “It’s turning,” she said.
“Where?” Dawn asked from the floor of the back seat.
The Slayer’s face went slack, and she sat straight up in her seat. “The alley. . . the other end behind The Bronze.”
Xander and Dawn shot up from their respective hiding spots. “What?!” they both asked simultaneously.
Buffy raised a finger and pointed in the car’s direction. “Look.”
They all did.
“That’s not a coincidence,” Xander said, as the car disappeared into the alley completely.
“No,” Buffy agreed.
“What do we do?” Dawn asked, leaning over the front seat.
Buffy bent over and retrieved Mr. Pointy from the floor. “I check it out.”
Xander grabbed her arm. “Whoa, greyhound, not so fast.”
“What?” Her eyes darted to his.
“Buff, afraid to sound like a broken record here, but—“
“I’m not,” Dawn declared. “We’re going with you. We’re not staying here.”
“Look,” the Slayer started, but Xander interrupted.
“Uh, no. Again, hate to bug, but me and Dawn here? In Tara’s dream? We were the ones getting our asses kicked. You were all Reflection-Girl, no offense. And seeing that?” Xander pointed towards the alley. “Where you go, we go.”
Buffy took the words in and carefully played them back in her mind. She looked at Dawn.
“What he said,” the teen replied.
Images of Tara’s nightmare flashed through her mind again. “Okay. You stay behind me, and if anything— I mean
anything happens, you run.”
“Xander stay behind. Xander see anything, Xander run. Xander understand good.”
Buffy smirked at his ill-timed attempt at humor. “Leave the keys and don’t slam the doors,” the Slayer ordered. Xander stared at her. “Tactical,” she offered, softly lifting her door handle. “Let’s go.”
The three covertly made their way up the street towards the alley, their shoulders pressed close to store-fronts and brick walls. As they reached the entrance of the alley, Buffy raised a hand to stop them. She tilted her head and tried to listen for something— anything— but their were no noises coming from around the corner. The Slayer held a finger to her lips, signaling their continued silence, then waved for them to follow her.
Buffy peeked around the edge of the wall, her eyes scanning the alley near, far, up, down.
No one.
Nothing.
Except the limousine.
The Slayer stepped into the alley, her back pressed against the wall. “Come on,” she whispered. Dawn and Xander moved beside her, their stakes raised in shaky hands. All three skulked towards the limo, which sat alone near the opposite wall. The doors were open, and as Buffy glanced into the front seat, she noticed that the keys dangled in the ignition and the dome light had been switched to ‘off.’ “Shit,” she whispered, under her breath.
Tactical.
Buffy stood up quickly, and spun towards them. “Run!” she said, no longer whispering.
Xander and Dawn froze. “What?” Xander asked, freaked and confused.
SCREEEEEECH.
All three froze.
SCREEEEEECH.
All three turned towards the sound coming from the far end of the alley, near The Bronze.
SCREEEEEECH.
The metal-on-metal scraping noise echoed in their direction, growing louder. Buffy squinted into the darkness at the end of the alley, but she couldn’t make out any forms or figures. She reached back behind her, and feeling Xander’s arm, she grabbed on and pushed at him. “I said, go! Go now!” the Slayer yelled.
Xander clutched Dawn by the hand and they spun a 180 to head back to the Chevy.
They froze.
Buffy glanced over her shoulder to see why they had stopped. At the alley entrance stood four figures, hidden in shadow. Dawn and Xander inched back to Buffy, never taking their eyes off the dark shapes. Buffy took Xander by the arm again and tugged him; she moved them further into the alley, in front of the limo.
SCREEEEEECH.
Their eyes riveted to the other end of the alley, only to find a half dozen more figures emerging from the darkness. As the figures walked under a flickering lightbulb, Buffy finally got a clear glimpse: four men, two women. Each dressed overly formal: Armani, Versace, Ver Wang.
SCREEEEEECH.
The Slayer’s eyes lowered to find the source of the scraping: a meat hook, held by one of the Armani-men, running along a metal dumpster. The others had weapons as well: bone saws, meat cleavers, knives. Buffy flashed back to what they had found earlier that day, on the billboard, then looked again upon their weapons.
Not weapons.
Human cutlery.
“Buffy?” Dawn whispered, her voice trmblinging with fear.
Xander pushed the teen between the Slayer and himself and raised his stake. Buffy felt sweat break out across her brow as her eyes swept the lay of the land. No real weapons. No real escape. Her face hardened into an expressionless mask.
If they wanted to live. . .
. . .they’d have to fight.
She grabbed Dawn’s shirt and pulled her close. “Get in!” the Slayer commanded, indicating the dumpster behind them. The teen, unlike every other time in her life, didn’t ask any questions or complain; she stepped into her sister’s now-cupped hands and jumped inside. Xander reached up and slammed the lid down over her with a resounding BANG!
The closing of the lid seemed to act as a starter’s pistol, for as soon as the metal-against-metal rang out, the group of ten charged.
Meat-hook Amani-man reached Buffy first, swinging down at her head in a sweeping arc; she easily side-stepped him and, using his momentum, thrust him head-first into the brick wall. She picked up the meat hook and turned, just in time to raise it in front of her face as a cleaver came down, clanging to a stop just inches from her nose. She grabbed her attacker’s wrist and front-kicked him in the chest with all her might; she smiled as his wrist gave way beneath her fingers, both bones snapping in half. With a scream of pain, he released the cleaver, which the Slayer grabbed before it had a chance to fall to the ground; spinning it deftly in her hand, she brought it down, dead-center in his forehead, causing the skull to splinter apart just as his wrist had moments before. To her surprise, though, it didn’t kill him; he only screamed louder and stumbled away from her, clutching his injured hand to his chest while trying to extract the cleaver from his skull with the other.
Xander met his first assailant as she rounded the hood of the limo. In her hands, she held two equally sharp and shiny machetes. He barely had a second to glance at the puny stake in his hand before the woman started hacking at him; he heard himself scream, but it was more from being caught off-guard than from fright. He back-peddled as the woman closed in on him, forcing him against the wall. She swung, baseball-style, and Xander ducked, hearing the metal cut across the cinder just above his head; sparks showered down over them like tiny fireflies. He drove the stake up as hard as he could, finding its mark in her heart. She froze, her eyes wide with hate and fear and anger, then she burst into a haze of dust; her weapons clanked to the ground at his feet, and Xander grabbed them, standing to face the other three bearing down on him.
Buffy executed a flying spin-kick, connecting with the Vera-Wang; the woman flew into her compatriot, and they both crashed into the far wall, landing in a heap.
Xander dodged and ducked and darted, avoiding blow-after-blow of fists and sharp metal. Too slow on a final spin, he felt his shoulder explode into flame; looking down, the carpenter found a small black-handled Ginsu protruding from his jacket, a red stain spreading over the material at a rapid pace. He screamed again, this time all in pain.
Buffy turned, but was unable to reach him; the last two of her six were driving down on her from opposite sides. Mr. Pointy in one hand, and the meat hook in the other, she faced them head-on.
Xander dropped one machete and yanked the knife from his shoulder, setting off another wave of flames coursing through him. He gritted his teeth against the pain and rushed forward, body-tackling the Versace-man like a football lineman. They crashed to the cement, and Xander quickly straddled the man; unable to use his right arm, however, allowed the Versace to get the upper-hand. He circled Xander’s throat with his hands and began to squeeze.
A foot to the jaw sent Buffy crashing back into the dumpster; Mr. Pointy fell from her hand as her wrist struck the corner of the bin. As Armani-2 charged, she dropped her free hand to the pavement; using it as leverage, she threw her legs out, spinning her body at the same time. Her feet connected behind Armani-2’s knees, sending him over backwards onto the pavement. The Slayer didn’t hesitate; she brought the meat hook down hard, piercing it through the man’s sternum; he screamed and grabbed the metal, trying to free himself.
Small lights began to dance before Xander’s eyes as Versace continued to choke the life out of him. In a last-ditch effort, he thrust his thumbs into the man’s eyes, pushing for all he was worth. Versace released him, but before Xander could take a breath, he was tackled by another, sending them across the pavement near Buffy.
Armani-3 charged, both hands raised, meat hook held tight. Buffy pulled, bringing Armani-2 up and over her body, just as Armani-3 swung down. Too late to stop, Armani-3’s weapon impaled itself in Armani-2’s head. Buffy’s eyes widened in horror as the point of the hook burst through Armani-2’s forehead. She quickly pushed the human pincushion off of her, ready to face the rest.
But none came.
She sprang to her feet, her eyes finding Xander rising to his as well. He stumbled towards her, a hand pressed over his wound. Around them, the remaining night-crawlers stood frozen, weapons lowered, all eyes on them.
“Wh-what’s happening?” Xander asked.
“I don’t know,” the Slayer responded, her eyes never stopping their movement.
Suddenly, their attackers turned their attention towards the entrance of the alley, eyes staring just past the rear of the limo.
Buffy and Xander found themselves doing the same.
Two figures entered the alley, a young Japanese man and a blonde-haired, green-eyed woman. Both were dressed as beautifully as the others, although the woman wore an enormous, elaborately ornate pendant around her neck.
“Tara’s dream,” Buffy said, so quiet Xander couldn’t hear.
The new players stopped across the alley from Buffy and Xander and stared.
“Who’re they?”
“Tara’s dream,” Buffy repeated, this time loud enough for the carpenter to hear.
The man and woman then turned their eyes to the entrance.
Again, Buffy and Xander followed.
A lone figure walked towards them.
A black woman.
Buffy stared in disbelief as she approached. She was exactly as Tara had described. She was dressed in black jeans, a dark blue shirt, boots. Gold hoops dangled from her ears, sparkling in the remaining moonlight. Her hands were thrust into the pockets of her black leather jacket. She stopped beside the woman and the Japanese man and glanced at him.
“Mr. Bellum?” He held up a hand. She turned her gaze to Buffy, and the Slayer felt her hair stand up on the back of her neck. She compensated for the unusual feeling by raising her fists into a fighting posture. The woman smiled, facing Buffy more fully. “The Vampire Slayer?”
“Yes, Madam,” Mr. Bellum answered obediently.
“If you only knew,” the woman began, removing her hands from her pockets, “how long I’ve searched for you, Slayer.” She paused. “
The Slayer.”
A faint smile crossed Buffy’s lips then, and she felt all the fear and anxiety wash away from her in waves. Since she’d been called as The Chosen One, she’d heard this speech, in one form or another, at least a hundred times. It always ended the same: dusty.
The woman tilted her head as Buffy smiled at her, but a movement drew her eyes away from the Slayer. Beside Buffy, Armani-2 had finally pushed himself to his knees and was trying to stand. “You couldn’t have finished it?” the woman asked, and Buffy realized she was talking to her. The woman raised a thin, finely-manicured hand and snapped her fingers.
Versace stepped forward, causing Buffy and Xander to rear back; but he moved past them, and in one swing with a machete, he cleaved off Armani-2’s head. He burst into dust, leaving the meat hooks behind. Versace moved back to stand beside Armani-3.
“Weakness,” the woman said, seeing Buffy’s expression of disgust that she would kill one of her own. The woman’s eyes shifted to Xander. “Weakness is a liability best dealt with immediately.”
Buffy took a step forward, putting herself between Xander and the woman.
She looked back to Buffy.
“Who are you?” Buffy finally asked, tired of the games. Tired of fighting. Just tired. “What do you want?”
“Who am I?” the woman asked, shaking her head slightly. “Watchers. Another weakness. Yours in particular, I see.” Buffy bristled at the words. “They teach nothing. Or they tell lies. Half-truths. Whatever they need to, to make their Slayers play along.” She paused, looking deep into Buffy’s eyes. “You really don’t have any idea, do you? Who I am?” Buffy just stared back at her. “My name is Madrine.”
Buffy shook her head, considering. “Sorry, no, can’t say that sounds familiar.”
Madrine took a step towards Buffy. “As for what I want? Can’t you feel it?”
As Madrine walked closer to her, Buffy suddenly did feel. . . something. The closer she came, the more the Slayer felt a tremendous weight bearing down on her, almost crushing her. At the same time, however, the weight pushed at her, repelling her. Her breathing became more labored, and her arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds; she lowered them to her sides.
“Buffy?” Xander asked, freaked by what he was watching.
Madrine ignored him and continued her advance. She stopped two feet from Buffy, her own arms at her sides. “I’ve come for my soul,” she declared, another smile spreading across her lips.
Buffy raised her eyes to Madrine’s and she found herself staring into two jet-black pits. She blinked several times, mentally snapping herself out of whatever was happening to her, and raised her hands again. “Well, let’s send you off to Hell to get it.”
And with that, Buffy lunged., and the two women began their own brand of Mortal Combat.
Xander watched, as everyone else did, in horror and awe, as they battled one another in full-Matrix mode, exact mirror images of one another. Every punch thrown by one, was blocked by the other. Every kick delivered by one, was evaded by the other. Blow after blow after blow. Nothing and everything connected.
Several minutes passed, neither woman backing down.
Xander couldn’t stand it any longer. He picked up a machete and waited to make his move.
Buffy front-kicked, but Madrine hand-blocked it, sending Buffy’s foot through a wooden crate. Madrine punched at Buffy, but the Slayer bent over backwards, happy to see the woman’s fist crush through the brick wall instead of her face. Buffy pushed Madrine away and righted herself; Madrine’s foot rolled over a dropped meat hook, causing her to lose her balance.
“Buffy!” Xander yelled. He tossed the machete towards her.
Buffy caught it as she moved forward towards the pin-wheeling Madrine, letting her arm fly. Before the Slayer even knew what was happening, the blonde woman stepped in her way, placing herself between Buffy and Madrine. The machete arced down, slicing through the woman’s collar bone and neck, planting itself deep in her spine; blood spurted out of her neck across Buffy’s face and chest, continuing to pump out in time to the woman’s heartbeat.
Buffy froze.
Madrine froze.
Time froze.
The woman opened her mouth to say something, but she made no sound. Buffy grabbed her as she started to collapse, gently setting her down on the ground. Buffy shook in horror as she stared into the woman’s green eyes. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The Slayer, in vain, pressed her hands around the blade, but blood seeped through, around, over her fingers. “I didn’t mean to—” she started, but the blonde woman touched her fingers.
“Th— than. . . k. . .” the woman gurgled, blood draining from her mouth; then, Buffy watched as she exhaled her final breath.
Madrine approached the two quietly and knelt down opposite Buffy. She reached out and pulled the lifeless body from the Slayer’s arms, holding her across her lap. “Cassandra,” she whispered to the dead woman, reaching up to close the woman’s eyes. Then, Madrine raised hers, and looked into Buffy’s. They were black and endless and. . . evil.
Buffy shook her head again. “I didn’t— she jumped in fro—”
Lightning-quick, Madrine struck, palm-punching Buffy in the chest. The Slayer flew across the width of the alley and hit the wall above the dumpster, falling like a rag doll onto its lid. Buffy barely lifted her head before Madrine was there, flinging Xander away from her with one hand while grabbing the Slayer with the other. Xander’s head met limo door and he collapsed, unconscious.
Taking hold of Buffy’s coat, Madrine lifted the Slayer in the air and brought her down onto the hood of the limo, crushing the metal. She punched, but Buffy moved just enough to avoid the blow; Madrine’s fist went through the hood, as if it were butter, clear through the engine block, knocking the radiator to the ground. Buffy rolled off the hood and stumbled back as Madrine withdrew her hand. As Buffy tried to get her bearings, Madrine half-ran, half-floated to the Slayer, picking her up by the throat with one hand, holding her airborne. Buffy gasped and gagged, fighting for breath, feeling her life speed away from her.
“Madam,” Mr. Bellum said, as he approached Madrine. Her eyes glanced at him, but her grip never loosened. “Do what you will, but we
must go.”
Buffy looked Heavenward, and saw the sky lightening to pale red and gold as morning came.
“You. Do. Not. Tell. Me,” Madrine said, turning her attention back to Buffy. Mr. Bellum bowed slightly and stepped back to his former place. Madrine gave Buffy’s neck a final squeeze then threw the Slayer away from her.
Buffy hit the other wall and dropped to the ground in a coughing, completely defenseless heap beside Mr. Bellum. She held a hand to her throat as she coughed, raising her head to meet her final fate. Instead of finding Death, however, she watched as Madrine lifted Cassandra in her arms and held the bloody, lifeless corpse close, cradling her gently.
Madrine looked at Buffy. “You. You have taken away the only thing in my life that has any meaning.” She looked down at Cassandra and pulled her body closer.
Buffy sat up and leaned heavily against the wall. “It was an ac— accident,” she rasped.
Madrine leveled her eyes at the Slayer, an ageless depth reflected in them. “I came here. . . to find you, to show you who you are, who we are. It would’ve. . . .” Madrine walked to Buffy and looked down on her. “There is nothing now, Slayer. Nothing. You— you will lose everything. Everything that you love, have ever loved. You will watch them go before you.” Madrine slowly stepped back and turned from Buffy. The others followed, disappearing into the breaking day as quietly as they had appeared that night. Only Mr. Bellum remained, ever-present behind Madrine.
Buffy tried to stand, but she couldn’t get her feet under her. She slumped back against the cinder barrier and watched.
As they reached the end of the alley, Madrine faced the Slayer one more time. “I will tear your soul apart,” she vowed, making sure Buffy heard. And with that, they vanished, moving out of the alley, away from Buffy.
Buffy continued to stare after them, unaware of Xander’s approach. “Buffy?” he asked as he stopped in front of her. Blood flowed freely from a cut on his forehead, but he still held a hand over his shoulder.
Dawn appeared beside him, dirty and disheveled, but unhurt. She knelt down beside her sister and reached out to touch her shoulder. “Buffy?”
Buffy swiveled her eyes to the teen’s, but they were glossy and unfocused. “Dawn?” the Slayer said, sounding not-too-sure who she was looking at.
“Buffy, are you okay?” Dawn picked up one of the Slayer’s arms, staring at the blood-covered hand.
Buffy gazed at her hand and began to shake. “Oh, God. . . I— I killed her. I killed her. I didn’t mean to. . . .” The Slayer trembled, shock taking over.
“We gotta get outta here,” Xander said, squatting down beside his best friend. “Get her arm.” He and Dawn each took an arm and pulled Buffy to her feet, as if she weighed nothing. She stumbled a bit, and they wrapped their arms around her, supporting her.
“Where do we go?”
Xander started them out of the alley. “To the apartment. Then The Magic Box.”
They maneuvered themselves carefully, heading back to the Chevy, Buffy propped up between them.
As they walked, the Slayer repeated again and again. “I didn’t mean to. . . I didn’t mean to. . . I didn’t mean to.”
TBC
Thanks for reading!
Kris
"Frell that!"
by Tiggrscorpio » Fri Jul 05, 2002 4:24 pm 
oh no! 
this is sooo not fair!!! how are we supposed to do the harassing with a clear conscience knowing in advance that you don't have time??? where's the fun in that? 
oh well, i guess we'll do it anyway, don't worry!
at: 7/6/02 7:40:14 pm
This story just pulled me in and I love how deep you go into the character's thoughts and inner feelings. It's just all so compelling. 
... ahem, i mean content 
and no, you know, steamy W/Tgoodness to compensate. and now i need more, i need to know what happens. pleeeaaaaase. (see, you turned me into a whining brat and i'm 24).