Chapter 1
Rating: PG13 for violence
Spoilers: Up to but not including Entrophy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but that which I create. All else belongs to people who can sue/excommunicate/execute me if I don’t write this.
Disclaimer #2: I am going to mess about with the ideas of religion in this fic, this is not intended to offend anyone, or contradict anyone’s beliefs, but it’s necessary for the story. I apologise in advance for any offence taken.
Summary: Giles lied to Joyce in Bad Eggs. Glory gets avenged, Buffy is beaten up.
Feedback: Send all constructive comments to rmmik@hotmail.com (please put something like “Re: your fic” in the subject, otherwise I’ll bin it). Send all abuse to someone else.
Authors note: I don’t like Season Six’s ending (obviously), so here’s my way of making things better. Eventually. After much angst. But hopefully you’ll like the W/T bits. The happy ones I mean. Hold on tight!
It was a slow night. Again. The emptiness of the dark graveyard was matched only by the yawning chasm in Buffy’s soul. In fact, it was slower than when Adam was sending demons to the Initiative, back when she could still feel anything but grief and self-pity. Suddenly, a vamp came running at her, but before he even got close to the Slayer, a stake flew out from behind him and caught him square in the back. A young woman stepped out of the shadows. Through the dust Buffy could barely make out her features. She was sure they’d never met, but the girl looked familiar. She stepped through the settling dust and smirked.
“Buffy.”
It wasn’t a question. She spoke with a clipped British accent, but her stance was oddly reminiscent of Faith; cocky, self-assured and dangerous.
“Yes?” Buffy asked. Her spidey-sense was blaring in her ear to get away from this girl, but she ignored it. The girl spoke again.
“You hurt Glory.”
The surge of fear that rose in Buffy’s breast was quelled only by her puzzlement. This girl felt wrong . As the Slayer she had a very faint empathic ability. It had started as just being able to sense vamps, but had progressed to the point where she relied on it to tell friend from foe. This girl definitely fell into the latter category. She spoke again.
“You have to pay.”
“Yeah, well the cheque’s in the mail.”
She smirked again.
“Call this the second instalment.”
And with that, her face morphed into vampiric form, and she attacked.
Anya sighed. Her last customer had left over half an hour ago, but she still hadn’t closed up. She had counted the money so many times it was getting boring, even for her. There were only so many times you could count $350.65. She had done the Dance of Capitalist Superiority three times, but her heart wasn’t in it. To tell the truth, she missed Xander. Big jerk, she thought. She wanted to hate him, which would be easier if he were dead, but even with her powers back, she couldn’t harm him. So, she was procrastinating to the point of tears, just so she didn’t have to go home, alone, again. Just like last time, she thought. The bell over the door jangled half-heartedly, jerking her out of her reverie. She put on her customer face, and turned to greet whatever pathetic mortal had dragged itself here for quick-fix’s to their problems. If only that worked…..
“Holy Pete!”
The figure hunched against the door frame was filthy, bleeding and broken. Anya didn’t recognise it at first, until a hoarse voice grated out from under the blood-matted hair.
“Anya? Call the gang. New baddie in town.”
“Buffy? What the hell happened to you?” Tact be damned, she needed to know. The beating Buffy had taken followed a familiar pattern, one she could do without seeing for a few more millennia, thank you very much.
“Vamp.” Buffy rasped, fear still evident through the remnants of a voice hoarse from crying out in pain.. “Said something about Glory, then kicked my ass.”
Anya reached for the phone.
Willow was worried, to say the least. She had cleaned Buffy up, and the cuts were mostly shallow, the blood had come from wounds on her head, which always seemed worse than they were, so they were healing nicely, but Buffy had broken three fingers on one hand and two on the other, and Willow was pretty sure there were at least three fractured ribs. She kept shooting worried glances the Slayer’s way, as she looked rather pale. Buffy was currently slumped in a chair, a blanket over her to stop the shaking that had set in. The entire Scooby gang was assembled in the Magic shop, including Tara and Xander, which Anya wasn’t too happy about. Spike was on his way, with some weapons, just in case. Willow cleared her throat.
“Buffy, what happened?” She asked gently. She didn’t want to push her friend, who seemed close to collapse. As far as she could tell from Buffy’s muttering it wasn’t from the injuries, but from the length of the fight, which had lasted over an hour before the vamp had retreated, still smiling.
Buffy took a deep breath, gathered her strength and spoke.
“ I was patrolling. But there was nothing there, till this one guy comes running out of the bushes like his un-life depends on it. Before I could even move, someone threw a stake at him. Then she appeared.”
“What did she look like?” Anya asked.
“Tall, blond, about our age, well-built but not in a butch lesbian body-builder way. Sorry,” she said, shooting an apologetic glance at Willow and Tara, who just smiled. They had instinctively moved closer together when the talk started, which wasn’t lost on Buffy. They still protect each other, she thought. It was quite sweet, even though it made her heart ache for that kind of love. She continued speaking.
“She said something about me hurting Glory, and how I had to pay, then attacked me. She was stronger than anyone I’ve ever fought, even Glory. And she reminded me of Faith.”
All the Scoobies except Tara and Anya shuddered at that thought.
“Well, I suppose we do have certain likenesses,” came an English voice from the door. The gang turned to face a tall, blond-
“That’s her!” Buffy yelled. Instinctively, they all reached for weapons. The girl smirked.
“Now, is that any way to treat a guest?”
“A guest is invited,” Buffy challenged. ”Who invited you?”
“I did.” Came another British voice, this one much more familiar.
“Giles?” Buffy whispered.
“Ah,” said the watcher, looking Buffy over, ”I see you two are acquainted. For the rest of you, I would like to introduce-”
“We’ve met.” Anya muttered, glaring at the blond.
Giles didn’t hear, and continued speaking.
“Kel. My daughter.”
The Scoobies gaped.
Ruth
One last call to answer, feeling full of despair.
Don't think I can get through it. Just one last prayer: Season seven.
Michelle Branch
at: 10/13/02 12:35:35 am
