Origin and Season One (Ch. 6)
Character: Buffy Summers
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1907
Setting: pre-Pilot
- Slipping -
Apparently, she was damned.
Sighing, Buffy slipped quietly from class, tossing her quiz in the trash as she went. Tisha was out sick with a head cold, and for once she didn't feel like tracking down any of the other cheerleaders. Right now, she just wanted to go home and do her worksheets and her reading, pretend like she had some semblance of a life, and try to flag her slipping grades. It was still early in the year, but she was behind in everything, and frankly she felt like she hadn't even heard of half the things on Monday's quiz.
Other kids streamed around her as she stepped out into the quad. She could hear snatches of gossip, somebody talking about their impending AP chemistry exam. A few weeks ago, she would've been in a knot of her own, but she could feel herself slipping away, being drawn into the darkness and the death that was now her nightly duty. Maybe that was why she'd rejected all the dark clothes in her wardrobe, switched to wearing almost wholly pastels and flowers. If she couldn't bring the sunshine into her life then she was just going to have to force it in.
She took a seat on a bench, exhaling deeply and slowly. It was bright and loud and full of life, exactly what she'd been missing lately, and it almost seemed to her she'd never fully appreciated it before this moment.
But it didn't last long.
“Hey!”
Her eyes popped open. She hadn't full registered she'd had them closed.
“Would you get off?”
Her attention flicked over, to a circle around the Official Cliché Palm Tree. Kyle Sanders, the football jock, had backed Conner Hutchinson, the nerd captain, to the base of the tree. It was a mass of football jerseys and skirts, and a few bystanders were watching, like herself.
“Think I wouldn't see that shit you put in your little newspaper, Dorkinson?” Kyle said. He had Conner by the scruff. “Fucked up my name on purpose?”
“Leave him alone!” someone yelled. Sounded like Maddy Richards, and it looked like her from the flash of yellow Buffy saw before she was surrounded by a few of the girls, who apparently were losing interest in just watching.
This was common sport here at Hemery-she'd even participated-but for some reason Buffy felt the hairs stand up on her neck. Suddenly, she was standing, and then she was walking over, her book bag swinging lightly from her shoulder.
“Like I'd even care enough to sabotage your precious name,” Conner spat. Even from his position, he stayed strong, but then again he'd probably spent most of his life in a similar one. His glasses were so thick rumor had it he could see the surface of Mars on a clear night.
Kyle slammed him back against the tree, and the palm shook. It wasn't that big of a palm. “Respect, Dorkinson, we've been over this.”
Conner glared at him. He couldn't hit him. He knew it and everyone else did, but for a second it almost looked like he was going to. Instead, “Fuck you.”
Kyle pinned him harder against the tree. In the background, Maddy was being chased off. “That's it,” he hissed, then grabbed his glasses by the lenses.
Something inside Buffy snapped, and before she even knew what she was doing, her hand was on Kyle's arm. “Alright,” she said. “Give them to me.”
Everything froze, and time seemed to slow. Kyle stared at her. “What the fuck, Summers?” he snarled. He tried to rip out of her hand, but she held him steady. This guy had nothing on the vamp from plot 12D the other night.
“I said, give them to me,” she repeated. She was suddenly very conscious of the fact that everyone was staring at her. In that moment, she was a freak, but it was too late to go back now.
When Kyle didn't respond, she plucked the glasses from his grip, then held them out to Conner, never looking, her eyes still locked with the jock's. Conner took them after a beat, but said nothing. Everyone was just standing there, waiting.
For what? For one of them to fight? Is this what the Slayer was? The righter of wrongs? Was it even her responsibility? Did she have an obligation to defend the weak or was this a bigger fish to fry situation?
Kyle jerked, but she still held him, not entirely sure what to do now that she was doing it. Something seemed to pass through his face, and then he had her shirt by his other hand.
She didn't think, didn't pause. In a moment she'd flipped him, thrown him to the ground, and when he landed she knelt beside him. If she'd had a stake she would've pressed it to his chest. “Don't touch me,” she growled, adjusting her shirt.
“What's going on?” someone was yelling with alarm. “Buffy Summers!”
Her insides coiled. A millisecond ago she'd been smooth and fluid, but now she was sweating.
“Buffy, get off him!” A hand was on her arm.
She rose, staring at Kyle. There was blood on his lip. Had she punched him? She couldn't remember.
The hand tugged her around. It was attached to Ms. Hagopian, who was looking her over, presumably for signs of injury. “Explain,” she said tersely.
“I...” she started, stopped. Her tongue felt like cotton. “I got sick of watching him beat up Conner,” she said finally. That was all she had, honestly.
Ms. Hagopian glanced from her down to Kyle, who was still on the grass, then back up to her. “So you decided beating up him was the solution?”
“It seemed right at the time...” her voice trailed off lamely. She sucked at levity.
Kyle slowly pushed himself off the ground.
Ms. Hagopian looked at Buffy with disappointed eyes. “Come on.” Her gaze flicked to Kyle. “Both of you.”
Buffy realized as she followed that the quad was emptier now. Bystanders had scattered with the arrival of a teacher, but even among the few left she recognized faces. Chloe, Melissa, Sally, Danny, and...Tyler.
She wanted to desperately to stop, to say something, but he wasn't even looking in her direction. He was in a circle of jerseys.
He disappeared from sight as they entered the corridor of wing C. There were classrooms here, but around the corner was the administrative area, where presumably all the teachers curled up and slept for the night. She'd never had much reason to be down here, and certainly had never been brought down to the end of the hall, where Mrs. Holloway sat.
First time for everything, she thought bitterly as Ms. Hagopian opened the door, gestured at the seats, then disappeared around back.
Kyle and Buffy took opposite sides of the room without eye contact. Before this, they may have sat together, maybe talked, possibly even dated, but now the void stretched between them. There was still blood on his lip, and a smarting bruise on his cheek.
So she had hit him, she realized dully.
“Kyle Sanders,” the secretary, Mrs. Crawford, said after a few minutes of silence, peeking her head around the corner that led to Mrs. Holloway's office.
Kyle got up, shooting a smirk at Buffy before he left her.
She kept her focus on the floor, at a little patch of lint caught under a chair leg. She remembered suddenly one of the first conversations she'd had with Merrick, when he'd suggested she leave school, leave her family, and leave Los Angeles to go some place that more urgently needed her-Cleveland, apparently. She hadn't known then why he would say such a thing, what would possess him to even think she could consider it, but now all at once she was understanding.
She was the Slayer. She didn't belong in the principal's office defending herself from a scuffle after hours on the school quad. She shouldn't have to sneak out of her parents' house every night, shouldn't have to live in fear that someone would find out her secret. This was a waste of her time, and, frankly, Kyle had the IQ of cucumber.
She leaned back, running her fingers through her hair.
If she thought about it honestly though, it didn't matter. She couldn't up and abandon her life, if only because she couldn't let this own her. She had changed, and she was the Slayer, but she was still just Buffy, and that was who she wanted to stay.
But, she thought with depressing clarity, this wouldn't be the last time she would see the inside of this office.
Several eons passed with her sitting there, mulling over her life for what seemed the thousandth time, before Kyle stepped out of the office, looking far paler than he'd been going into it.
“Miss Summers?” Mrs. Crawford said, head-nodding toward the office.
Sighing, Buffy rose and followed her in.
Mrs. Holloway's office looked to some degree like a hurricane had gone through it. Her shelves were stuffed with binders and books with blue and yellow bindings, and most available flat surfaces were covered with stacks of paper. Her desk was a sea of paper, but she'd cleared enough space for a stapler, a mug of pens, and her blotter. The principal herself was sitting primly behind it, watching her.
Buffy avoided her eyes, instead looking at the long venetian blinds at her back. Out the window was a spectacular view of the parking lot.
“Buffy Summers,” Mrs. Holloway said. Buffy finally looked at her. “Want to tell me what happened?”
She shifted, “Got a little carried away.”
“You split Mr. Sanders' lip,” she said pointedly.
“He grabbed me.”
“So you decided to hit him?”
“Wasn't a decision so much as a reaction...” her voice trailed off, and her gaze slid down. The desk had a chip in the wood near the top, almost like it'd hit the door frame while it was being moved into the room.
Mrs. Holloway studied her for a beat, two. Finally, “This is not the first time he's been brought to my office, but I didn't expect to see you here, Miss Summers.”
“And I didn't expect to see me here either.” That much they could agree on.
Another pause. “Is there something wrong, Buffy? At home or at school?”
Her breath froze in her throat, and she looked up. “No,” she said. “Everything's fine.”
They seemed to sit like that forever. Maybe it was only a few seconds, she didn't know, but the principal finally leaned back. “You'll have detention for the rest of the week, sixth period.” She slid a slip of yellow paper across the desk. “You'll have to have this signed and turned into the office by tomorrow.”
“Sixth period?” she repeated. She could feel herself going white. “But I have cheerleading practice. The play season is starting. I have to be there.”
Her eyes were unreadable. “Next time, you'll think before reacting.”
Fury bubbled up her throat, but she beat it down, saying nothing.
“I hope not to see you back here, Buffy,” she said. “Dismissed.”
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