Buffy Fanfic: When She Was Bad (Part 2)
Buffy Fanfic: When She Was Bad (Part 2)
Willow was deeply in denial, and it made Oz ache to see it. He did everything she asked - even the drops of blood for the Witchlight spell she'd conjured up - but he knew it was just a matter of time before Willow admitted what they all knew.
Buffy was gone.
And she was not coming back.
"Oz," Willow said; she was preoccupied, focused the way she got when faced with a crisis. She was completely cute when she did that. "I'm going to need some toadroot. You know, the squiggly kind? The one that smells like spoiled meat?"
"Spoiled meat, coming up," he said. He went to her big floppy satchel and rummaged through jars and neatly labeled baggies, came up with one and took a cautious sniff. Yep. Definitely back-of-the-refrigerator. As he came back to her he said, gently, "Willow - "
"Um, I need to concentrate on this." She sent him a quick glance full of apology, and fear. She didn't want to hear any bad news about Buffy. He totally knew the feeling.
"I love you," he said. She blinked, caught off guard, and it jumped between them like a shower of sparks, that heat that made him half-crazy with anticipation. Down, boy. He wanted to reach for her, but he contented himself with touching her hair, running his finger gently down her cheek.
She kissed him. Not a blow-off kiss, not a leave-me-alone-and-let-me-work-my-spell kiss. A real serious kiss that came up from her toes and blasted down through his, stopping to light a few fires along the way. He managed to turn it gentle and lingering, and wanted to kiss her again when she whispered, "Buffy's going to be all right."
"I know," he whispered back.
Want turned to need. He was kissing her again when he heard a disgusted sound behind him and looked back to see Cordelia hanging in the doorway, looking every inch her own personal Barbie, complete with fun fashion accessories. In her case, it was a designer cross and a couple of lacquered chopsticks she'd used for hairpins - as good as stakes at close range.
She shot them both a withering look.
"If you two are finished grieving, I need you to give me a hand in here," she said. "And don't touch anything, okay? My dad is going to totally freak when he finds out I loaned out the office."
Oz handed Willow the toadroot and turned back to Cordelia. "Problem?"
"Hello, where were you when we got the syllabus? Buffy vampire, us dead meat walking?" Cordelia billed herself as the steel-plated fashion bitch, but mostly that was just good marketing. Oz had always seen the scared girl behind the glossy finish. And she was scared now, it made her move too fast, snap too hard. "I need you to talk to Xander."
She walked out of the office. Oz followed her and shut the door to let Willow use stinky roots in private. "If you want me to referee, I need a striped shirt and a whistle."
He meant, was she fighting with Xander again. It was the normal state of Xander-Cordelia relations since the declaration of the not-in-love war. She caught the reference.
"Not that. I just need somebody to talk to him," she said. She looked up and down the plush elegant hallway and scuffed a toe in the teal-blue carpet. Oz leaned on a narrow piece of wall lacking expensive art. "Because he's not talking."
"To you?"
"To anybody." Cordy's dark eyes flashed up to meet Oz's. "He's been quiet since he got here. It's - it's not normal. For Xander. For you, sure, you could sit there like Yoda - Yoda's the fat gold guy, right?"
"Buddha."
"Whatever. You could sit there and zen out and nobody would think anything. Well, I wouldn't. But Xander - " She studied Oz closely. "You understand? You'll talk to him?"
He nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strolled past a couple of Picasso sketches - he knew they were Picassos because Cordelia had made sure to point them out - into the withdrawing room. In which the rest of the Scooby gang waited. Mrs. S. was asleep on the red-and-gold striped sofa, covered with a thick blanket. She was dreaming. Not a good dream, from the whimpering.
Xander stood at the windows, looking out at nothing but a big slice of darkness. Oz walked up beside him and stopped, shared the view for long enough that Xander said, "Cordy send you?"
"Uh huh."
"I'm okay."
There was no way Xander was okay. Oz heard it in his voice. There were probably things to say in situations like this, things they taught you in college or middle age, but Oz didn't know any. And he'd long ago learned that when he didn't know, it was better not to say anything. Sooner or later, somebody else would go first.
"I saw her," Xander said. His voice shook, and it sounded suspiciously cloudy, with a strong possibility of tears. "I wish I hadn't. I wish I hadn't seen her like that. She looked like Buffy but what she did - what she said --"
"Scary," Oz said. Xander nodded. "Willow's on top of the spell thing."
"Yeah, Will's - Will's good. That'll be - " Xander's voice faded out as if somebody had turned down his hope knob. "That'll be something to try."
Oz waited. Xander pulled down a shuddering breath.
"I love her, you know."
"Willow?" Oz asked it with no particular heat, but he saw Xander flinch.
"No! I mean, yes, of course, but - not in a full-contact kind of way. Anymore. You know. I meant Buffy. I love Buffy."
"Full contact?"
Xander considered it as if he never had before. And said, with something like wonder, "No. Color me wacky, but - no. But I'd die for her."
"Yeah," Oz said simply.
"I don't mean in principle. I mean in a throw-myself-on-a-bullet kind of way."
Oz nodded. He was tired of looking at the dark - he had the feeling it might be looking back - so he turned to face Xander directly.
Xander looked bad. Pale, shaky, definitely not in full smart-ass mode. He looked more alone than Oz had ever seen him. Deep inside Oz was scared pretty often - once a month, for sure, when he felt the wolf coming on him, when every human thing he was or knew drained out of him - but he'd learned how to bury all that where others didn't see. Xander didn't have that skill.
Oz had never been big on having friends. In his experience friends usually asked a lot and gave a little, and he'd always felt like there was something more important waiting for him than hanging at the drive-through or downing beers with the jocks. At first being part of Buffy's crowd had been a chance to get to know Willow, but then he'd seen what was going on. And he'd known this was what he was waiting for. This cause, these people.
These friends he he'd learn to love.
He remembered, for no particular reason, that Xander was always there for Wolf Watch when Oz was just a hairy beast in a cage, capable of anything. And whether or not they both loved Willow in a non-brotherly sort of way, that counted.
"Dying won't help," Oz said. "Not last time I checked. Giles is looking for her. Willow's spellcasting. Cordelia's - hosting, which is good, 'cause she's pretty much got the snack thing going. You and me, we just need to coast for a while."
"Coast. Yeah. I'm not that good with coasting."
"Then I'm your native guide."
Xander smiled. One thing, Oz had always noticed; guys did not spend a lot of time smiling at each other. It sometimes got misinterpreted. But this was a smile not subject to misinterpretation, and he smiled back.
"Take the lead, bwana," Xander said.
They were on their third straight game of Name That Bad Japanese Movie when Xander suddenly stopped and said, "Angel."
"Sorry, wrong answer," Oz said, and then got where Xander was going. "Didn't you call him?"
"Didn't you?"
Oz felt cold, suddenly. He looked at Xander and said, "Better do it now."
###
Buffy had been expecting to come up at the high school, of course, but when she climbed out of the manhole - with no help from Drusilla - she found they were standing in a deserted alley she recognized. Halfway across town.
About a block from the Bronze.
"Move. It's not safe," Spike said. Drusilla had already taken off. Buffy moved, her feet slapping pavement in rhythm with Spike's as she scanned rooftops. Slayer habit. Vamps came from anywhere and everywhere, and you just had to be prepared.
"Shit!" Spike yelled, and went down with a vamp attached to his back. He slid face-down along the pavement for five or six feet and rolled over, trying to shake his rider. Ahead, the slender shadowed form of Drusilla stopped running and started back, but dark shapes dropped down and popped up.
The fight was on.
Buffy waded in and grabbed a handful of vamp hair, yanked hard. That, and a well-placed kick to the vamp's midsection separated him from Spike, but that was not a big improvement, except for Spike. Buffy retreated when the vamp turned on her. She landed a couple of strikes and a kick, then moved back again.
Moonlight fell on his face.
Oz. She'd been expecting Bad Xander, somehow, but Bad Oz - she couldn't get her mind over it. He looked like her Oz, all right, even to the dyed hair, but the look on his face, the shine in his eyes - well, it was bad. Plain bad.
And she really didn't want to hurt him.
Spike rolled, came up to one knee, and delivered a stake perfectly on target. Oz, leaping for her with fangs gleaming, exploded in a shower of dust. Buffy watched what was left of him blow away with a strange sense of numbness. She snapped back to here-and-now as Spike grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her toward Drusilla.
Oh, God, Oz -
Dru finished with the last of her attackers and spun back into a run. They made it to the doors of the Bronze without any more jumpings, and just as they did, the doors rattled and swung open.
It took Buffy a second to recognize the man holding the door, because he had lines on his face and exhaustion in his eyes, and he was wearing a neat dark suit. Drusilla passed him without a second glance, and so did Spike. As the light dawned, Buffy came to a stop in the doorway and locked eyes with Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne, master of chaos and mayhem, former friend of Giles, who'd nearly fed her to a demon once or twice just on general principles.
That Ethan Rayne.
"Buffy," he said. "I'm glad to see you."
She punched him in the face.
"Thanks," she snapped. "Likewise. Now get me the hell out of here."
He staggered back, one hand pressed to his mouth. Spike started to get in the middle, but Ethan waved him off and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
"Nice shot," he said. "Probably well deserved. I'm afraid I can't send you home quite yet. Not until you do what I brought you here to do."
It occurred to her, several seconds too late, that this Ethan Rayne was probably the opposite of the one on her side. Not a vamp, though. Some other kind of opposite.
He was Drusilla's senior Watcher.
Therefore a good guy.
Another mind-boggler.
"You brought me here," she said, fist still cocked. Ow. It felt like her knuckles were full of broken glass. Wouldn't stop her from hitting him again, though. "Why?"
"I had no choice. We need you to help us stop the Master from opening the Hellmouth." Ethan shut the door of the Bronze behind her and locked it. "Mocha? I can whip one up for you."
"Excuse me? Hellmouth? Been there, had to die to do it. Not interested in a rematch. Besides, you've got your own Slayer, why import?"
The Bronze was eerily the same, trashily cool, lit right now by harsh spotlights. Drusilla sat under one near the stage, inventorying a load of crossbows and stakes. Spike disappeared toward the bathrooms.
She couldn't help thinking how come they get the cool clubhouse and I get the musty old library?
Weird how Ethan looked like Giles now. No glasses, but some of the same crow's feet, the lived-in look that made Giles so easy to trust. The same warmth in his eyes, like he really cared about what went on around him. Definitely not her Ethan, who would have sold her to the vamps at a dollar a bite for no better reason than the entertainment value.
"I discovered the existence of other universes several years ago," Ethan said, and walked over to the coffee bar, where he took down cups and saucers. "About the same time my counterpart on your side was messing about with forces he really couldn't control. We had some interesting chats through our mirrors, but nothing too informative. Since then, I've been following your career - your Sunnydale - with great interest. Many of your problems get echoed here, and seeing how you deal with them has always been helpful."
"I feel an 'except' creeping up," Buffy said.
"Except for the problem of our Dru. She's unquestionably the Chosen One, but fragile. I was lucky to find Spike and make him her companion - "
"Based on my Sunnydale again."
Ethan nodded. "Having him with her has helped. Not enough, but some. And then, a month ago, Drusilla was captured by the Master. Angel traded his life for hers, but not soon enough, I fear; she endured some tremendous abuse. She's coming apart. All of Spike's best efforts to help her are unraveling, and soon she won't be able to function at all. A mad Slayer is worse than none."
He said it matter-of-factly, but Buffy read between the lines. Watcher or not, this Ethan felt something for his Slayer, the way Giles felt for her. And he was hurting.
"She held together okay out there," Buffy said. Praising Drusilla felt weird. "I told Spike maybe she needed him to be something more than just her Watcher. Romance-wise. Hope I didn't break any big Watcher codes."
"As a matter of fact - "
"Well, oops. Whatever."
Ethan mixed mochas with silent efficiency, adding a dollop of whipped cream, a sprinkle of chocolate and cinnamon. She took the cup and sipped. It was sweet and dark and perfect.
"I need you to help," Ethan said. "If we fail now, our world falls to the vampires. We have to stop them, and it must be soon. Tonight. The Master is very close to achieving his freedom."
"Look, nice plan, but this transfer thing, it left my Slayer powers along with my wardrobe. I'm just Buffy Summers, girl adventurer. Not what you need." She watched Ethan's face as he took a sip of his own drink. "Right? So you can send me back."
"No."
"I don't think I liked the no part of that answer." She reached out and wrapped her hand around his throat. Even human, she was pretty strong. "Think fast."
He broke free, but she noticed the red marks on his throat and felt a flush of satisfaction. It was always good to keep Ethan Rayne - any Ethan Rayne - off balance. Because as sorcerer or Watcher, he was likely to have bigger things on his mind than the safety of Buffy Summers.
"No," he repeated. "We have a plan. And we need you to carry it out, Slayer or not. If all goes well, you won't need your Slayer powers in any case. The element of surprise will be all that's necessary."
Buffy hadn't heard Spike return, but he pulled up a stool next to her and reached for Ethan's mocha, which he gulped down with evident satisfaction. Ethan glared.
"But when does everything go well, my lovely?" Spike asked. "Tell her the truth."
Ethan said, "We want to send you inside to the Master. Buffy Summers was one of his favorite vampires. Your face and clothes will make sure you can get close enough to kill him without anyone suspecting."
Drusilla had gotten up from the weapons table and was wandering the club now, whispering to herself. Buffy kept an eye on her as she said, "Uh, I hate to be the bringer of bad, but you have noticed that I'm not a vampire? Hence not trustworthy to vamps anymore?"
"I have a spell that will give you the outward appearances," Ethan said. "You'll be indistinguishable from the Buffy Summers they know. The Master himself won't be able to tell you're not Undead. All you have to do is find him and kill him, and go home."
"That part sounds weak."
"Not so," Ethan said. "In fact, it's built into the spell. Kill the Master, you go home. Automatically."
Buffy pushed her cooling mocha aside. "And if I say no?"
Ethan Rayne smiled, and it was exactly his counterpart's smile, all delight, no mercy. "Then I expect you'll have to learn to like this world," he said. "And live with the idea that our Buffy Summers has taken your place in your own."
The thought froze her in place, then made her explode with rage. "A vampire? You set a vampire me to Sunnydale? With my friends? With my mom?"
"And the faster you do your job, the sooner that can be over," Ethan said. "Choose."
As if there was a choice involved. As if she could believe a thing he said. Spike was very carefully not looking at her, and she thought that there must have been a very good reason.
"I'm going to need some tools," she said. "And when this is over, you're going to need major medical."
###
Angel paused in the act of towel-drying his hair to listen. Something had changed in the house, something he couldn't quite identify. Air pressure, maybe. A door opening and closing. A telephone was ringing somewhere, but even as he pinpointed the sound, it vanished.
Why did these things always happen when you were in the bathroom? One of the great mysteries of life. He picked up his pants from the floor and stepped into them, draped the towel around his neck, and opened the bathroom door to take a look outside.
Buffy was standing beside the huge blazing fireplace, soaking up the warmth the way she liked to do. He thought about stopping to put on his shirt, since the emergency was over, but part of him didn't want to. She might touch his skin, if he gave her the opportunity. And that was the kind of thing that made continuing his life worthwhile.
"Hey," he said, and walked out to join her. "I didn't expect you."
"Nobody called?" she asked. He was still a few feet away when the wrongness hit him. He should have felt the heat of her skin at this distance, heard the whisper of her breath and heartbeat, smelled the warm human perfume of her.
She was - gone.
She turned to look at him, and he saw it in her eyes. Or rather, he saw what was missing from her eyes.
He saw the void where her soul had been.
"No," he said. The word sounded raw, scraped bloody out of him. "Oh God."
"People say that a lot," Buffy said. "It's getting old. God must be tired of hearing it by now."
"What - " His voice didn't seem to want to work right. "What happened to you? Who did this to you?"
"You did," she said. "Long time ago. Oh, come on, Angel, don't be like that. We can have it good here. Angel and Buffy burning up the town. Together. Together forever, the way you always wanted us to be. All we have to do is do what we want to do."
She came closer, moved him back to the cold stone wall, and in spite of everything he knew, every horror he felt, she was still Buffy, and his body still knew it. He shuddered when she touched him, and it went through his mind in a mad screaming rush that he really could have her now, no guilt, no risk, no pain.
She put her hands on him to prove it, and for a blind endless time he let himself give in to that, to the pressure of her lips on his, the soft stroke of her skin.
And then he felt the pressure of her canines against his lips, and sanity came back. He shoved her off, hard.
She laughed and wiped her mouth. She had Drusilla's eyes, he realized. The eyes of something that was no longer human, and no longer sane.
"Too bad, Angel," she said. "You had your chance. Now I'm going to destroy you with the rest. Because I may be a vampire, but I'm still the Slayer."
"Take the shot if you have to, but I'm not going to let you do this. Not to your friends. Not to your mother. If I have to stop you, I will."
She clapped her hands mockingly and blew him a kiss.
"Then let's do it," she said, and came at him.
Oh, God, she was fast. Maybe twice as fast as he was.
And it didn't take long for her to put him down.
###
Glad I saved the boots, Buffy thought as she dropped down into the darkness. She'd been walking for half an hour already but she hadn't seen any vamps - some dead humans, drained and tossed like empty juice boxes - but she was nearing the Master's caverns, and it shouldn't be long now. Why is there never a bloodsucker around when you need one?
Not that she was eager-beaver. Ethan had cast his spell of Whatchamcallit, but she hadn't felt any effects. That made it hard to stir up any real confidence for this whole plan, but Spike had told her she was vamped, and he ought to know. Drusilla hadn't said anything, but the way she'd been handling the stake made Buffy figure Ethan might have done his job.
Still, the test was going to be on another vampire. And she only had one stake, and no cross.
"Buffy!"
Willow. Goth-Will came out of a side tunnel, looking exotic and weirdly beautiful, and threw her arms around Buffy. Hugging? Vampires hugged? Buffy returned the gesture with a couple of pats thrown in, and watched closely as Willow pulled away. Nothing but trust in that pale face, those bright eerie eyes.
"Buffy, I was worried! You know you're not supposed to go off alone, he's been asking for you and I didn't know what to tell him. It wasn't the Slayer again, was it?"
"Well, uh, yeah, but I took care of it."
Willow's eyes widened. "You did?"
"Not - permanently. But I threw them off. So here I am. Ready to go." Past ready. Please, let's get this over.
"You look hungry," Willow said sympathetically. "No chance to snack? Okay, let's get back home. I think Xander brought extra."
Alexander Harris, walking dead. Buffy bit her lip at the idea and followed Willow down the tunnel to where the caves began. Vamps everywhere, here, calling out casual hellos, nodding as she passed. She counted twenty or more before Willow took a turnoff and they followed the little winding path down toward the Master's hellhole.
Xander dropped down in front of her.
Buffy's heart turned over at the sight of him. Xander still grinned, but it was a skull-grin, all the humor burned away. The only thing this Xander was likely to find funny was pain. His eyes were glossy and dead.
"Yo," he said, and pulled Buffy into his arms. Another hug? She yelped in spite of herself when he squeezed her ass and kissed her. Tongue kiss with Vampire Xander. Not in the playbook. She managed to squirm out of his hold and resisted the urge to spit and wipe her mouth. Xander licked his lips and grinned.
"Xander," Willow said reprovingly. "She's hungry. Stop teasing."
Xander glanced at Will with smoking eyes, and it made Buffy cold to realize that it wasn't just her that turned him on, it was Will too, and probably anybody else. Xander was a walking pit of hunger that would never be filled up.
"In that case, let me get you a table at Chez Xander," he said, and reached behind a stalagmite to pull out a middle-aged guy. He could have been her father, or even Giles, though thank God he wasn't. His mouth and wrists were fastened with duck tape. "Drink up, Buffy."
He shoved the guy at her. Buffy caught him and weighed the options. She wasn't the Slayer here. She wanted to save the man, but she'd never make it back to the tunnels with him. Not with Xander at her back.
But she couldn't - couldn't just walk away -
Something cold fell across her like a shadow, and she saw Xander's face go even paler. Willow winced. Buffy felt a hand fall on her shoulder and knew she'd found what she'd been sent to do.
A low, seductive voice whispered at her ear, "I've been waiting for you."
She turned and looked at the Master.
She was so stunned, so devastated she hardly even heard Xander say, "Guess you're not hungry," and bite into his victim.
"Buffy," Giles said. His voice got inside her, did things. Made her feel things she didn't want to feel.
Rupert Giles.
Master Vampire.
###
"Does this hurt?"
Angel screamed as holy water ate a hole in his chest, exposing muscle like damp pale rope. Buffy smiled and filled up the eyedropper again. This time, she climbed on top of him, her weight pressing down on his groin. Drusilla had done this once, he remembered, half delirious. Chained him up and played her sick little games - But Drusilla he could understand. He'd made Dru what she was, and the pain was deserved.
The horror of it coming from Buffy was mind-numbing. For the first time he really understood what she'd felt when he had changed to Angelus and tormented her, taken her love and destroyed her with it.
He'd wanted to kill her when she'd first chained him down here in the dark and brought out her toys.
Now he only wished he could die.
Buffy slapped him back conscious. He'd drifted off into a gray calming fog, but she was holding a knife now, and that frightened him. That, and the look in her eyes.
"You know, you're more fun than the other one," she said. "It took me days to make him scream."
He had no idea what she was talking about, and was sickly afraid to find out. He was even more afraid that one of Buffy's friends might come looking for them, or even her mother. He was in no position to help anybody right now. Maybe if Giles came -
Then Giles would die. Buffy wouldn't hesitate long over that one.
"Buffy - " Angel licked dry lips and tried again. "I don't know what happened, but there must be a way we can help you. Change you back. Willow cursed me to bring back my soul, maybe we can do the same for you. All you have to do is let us help you."
Buffy's mad smile slipped a little.
"I love you," he whispered. "I know you don't want to do this. I love you, Buffy."
She cut him. He bit back a scream as his skin split, spilling precious blood.
"I love you too," she said. "And we're going to have so much fun. You first, then the others. Especially Giles. I'm going to make him watch. That's what you would have done in the good old days, Angel, isn't it?"
She reached for the holy water again. He braced himself for it, and pulled again at the chains holding him. Strong chains. They'd been designed to hold against a vampire's strength, and they were doing their job.
He wasn't going to survive this.
He wasn't going to want to.
He heard the footsteps a second or two before Buffy cocked her head.
"We have a visitor," she said, and leaned down to kiss him. Her hair was still the same, warm and silken over his skin. "Should I make him watch this, too?"
From the doorway Giles' voice came, soft and deadly, "It's over, Buffy."
Buffy smiled.
"You think so?" she asked, and moved like a streak of light, too fast for mortal eyes to track. Angel only barely registered her hand reaching out for the crossbow in Giles' hands, her other stretching for his neck.
Giles shot her. One bolt, point blank range, through the stomach. Buffy gasped and stopped, grabbing at the wound. She tried to pull the bolt out.
Giles shot her again, with the second loaded bolt. This one went in high and to the right of her heart. She screamed then, and dropped to her knees.
"You took your time. Unlock me," Angel said. He rattled the chains. "Quick."
Giles dropped the crossbow and took the key from the hook on the wall, and turned Angel's right manacle loose, then the left. He dropped the key in Angel's hand as Buffy, still screaming her rage, pulled the bolt out of her shoulder in a spray of blood.
Giles pulled out a crucifix and held it in both shaking hands as Buffy snarled at them, red-eyed, faced in a demonic mask. Angel unlocked his feet and stood up facing her. She ripped the second bolt out of her flesh.
"Still love me?" she asked him, and came for him.
###
Leather. Buffy had never imagined Giles in leather. She probably would have laughed at the idea. She wasn't laughing anymore, because this lithe, angular, graceful thing that had once been Rupert Giles wore it very well indeed. Tight black pants, a butter-soft black jacket over a silk black shirt. An earring dangled from one ear, a mystic symbol she didn't know but figured could not be good.
The endless dark lust in his eyes was powerful enough to consume everything around him, an evil that sucked life from the world, not just people. Next to him, all the other vamps, including Willow and Xander, were just shadows. Kids playing at evil.
Giles' hand caressed her face, cold as ice. He took her hand and led her down the path, past Xander and Willow and the crying little girl, down into the dark.
Now, Buffy's mind told her. Do it now! Get him in the back, you don't have to look at his face, just do it!
But the truth was she was afraid. And she knew without a doubt that he'd be able to stop her the second she made a move. Slayer? That was a laugh. How did you slay this? No wonder Ethan had imported a ringer. Drusilla, even crazy, wasn't mad enough to stand up to this by herself.
Around the next corner she saw candlelight. Giles had made his throne room into a fairyland of candles, guttering in pools of wax everywhere she looked; the orange light made him look deceptively Giles-ish, almost human except for his eyes. And the leather. She couldn't look at the leather for very long without getting short of breath.
"Sit," Giles said, and pointed to the place. She sat without question. He leaned close, and -
And kissed her.
She'd gagged at Xander's kiss, and she wanted to gag up this one, but she couldn't. It got inside her, found all the unguarded entrances and flooded her with something dark and warm and sticky as spiderwebs. His lips felt cool and soft and gentle, and while half of her mind was screaming you're kissing Giles, break off! she couldn't seem to stop doing it. His hands were all over her, knowing her in ways that even Angel didn't.
She hardly even felt the handcuff slip over her wrist until its jaws snapped shut hard enough to pinch.
Giles pulled back and sat down across from her. He was smiling as he watched her, and that smile made her burn and freeze at the same time. Dark streak? This Giles didn't have a pale streak. He was the jet-black expressway to Hell.
"Did you really think I wouldn't know?" he asked. He still had the same accent, the same voice, only now it seemed deeper, more intimate. "Really, Buffy, what kind of fool do you take me for? I know what Ethan's been up to. Ethan certainly has no secrets from me, not after all the fun we had in our youth."
"Giles - "
"Ripper," he corrected. "I've been Ripper for a long time."
He was going to bite her. This talking part, this was foreplay. And she was in very deep trouble. With Slayer strength she could have broken the handcuff, done a nice little drop-kick and planted a stake in his chest, no muss, no fuss, but she didn't have that option anymore.
She was handcuffed to a rock, and Ripper was eating her with his eyes.
"Do you want to know?" he asked. "How you became a vampire?"
"Let me guess. You bit me."
"Angel bit you. He used to be a disciple of mine, you see, before his -- conversion. You became one of my very favorite toys, Buffy. And when you brought your friends to me I only valued you more." Ripper's smile disappeared. "This version of you has cost me a very valuable servant. I think I'll have to make you take her place."
"It's not going to happen that way." She sounded cool and steady, and couldn't think why because she was screaming inside.
"Of course it is. It's very brave of you coming here," Ripper continued. "I doubt our Buffy would have ever had the courage, had your positions been reversed. Oh, although I suppose they are reversed, aren't they? Would you like to see?"
He tugged a scarf from a mirror.
In it, Buffy was killing Angel. She was doing it slowly, one kick at a time, while the other Giles, the real Giles, lay unconscious nearby.
Buffy's eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away and said, as quietly as she could, "Well, you're a ball of barbed wire fun, aren't you?"
"I try." Ripper toyed with the scarf, sliding it through his hands as he watched her. He liked her pain. She could feel him thinking about it, wondering how to make it more unbearable. "That other poor bastard turned right when he should have gone left, you know. If he'd followed the path laid out for him by Eygon, he might have become like me. Now he's just a pathetic shell of a man, too afraid of his own feelings to indulge them in the smallest way."
"He does okay," Buffy said. "And I never thought I'd say it, but he dresses way better than you. Confidentially? Those pants make you look gay."
He laughed. She hadn't meant it to be funny.
"Hold still," he said. She didn't have any warning, but he was all over her again, his hands touching and probing and lingering, and she couldn't throw him off, couldn't stop him. She remembered the Master in her own world crawling inside her head like a fat bloated spider. This spider didn't even care about her mind, but it very much liked her body. Maybe it was the Fredrick's ensemble.
She was half-fainting from his touch when he got down to business. He unzipped her corset and found the stake she'd shoved down it. Ripper looked at it critically, shrugged, and tossed it into the darkness where it clattered against rock.
The cave smelled like death. Death and rot. Buffy couldn't seem to get her breath. Ethan, Spike, you better not have lied to me.
Ripper said, softly, "I hope you appreciate how much I'm going to enjoy this."
She took a deep breath. "Really? Me too."
She brought up her right foot, lightning-fast, and kicked him.
The four-inch spike heel sank deep into his chest.
The wooden spike heel. The one she'd asked Spike to put on in place of the regular composition one.
Giles' mouth opened in shock, and for a second she saw Rupert in him, not Ripper, the man instead of the monster. That broke her heart. Please die. Please die now, quickly.
He did, exploding in a shower of ash that tasted gritty and bitter on her tongue. A small silver key tinkled to the rock. Buffy grabbed for it and unlocked her handcuff.
Okay. Any second now.
The Master was ash. The Master was ash and she should be going home.
Damn it, Ethan Rayne had promised she'd be going home! He'd promised!
And you believed him? Why the hell would he tell the truth? You're not even his Slayer!
Spike had known she was vamp food. That's why he wouldn't look at her. Oh God. She had to get out of here.
And then Willow said, from the shadows, "You're not really Buffy, are you?"
###
Giles came back awake with a snap of terror and pain. Buffy had caught him with a quick, offhanded strike, but it had nearly snapped his neck. He flinched at the meaty thunk of flesh on flesh, and looked up to see Buffy landing another kick to Angel's chest. He went down, boneless and limp, eyes open and still aware.
"Get up," she said. Angel didn't breathe, but if he had, he would have been gasping. The pain on his face was unbelievable.
And still he got up. It was a parody of his usual grace, more of a lurch than a controlled movement. He hadn't even gotten all the way straight before she launched a roundhouse kick that connected hard with the side of his head. It spun him around, slammed him hard into the wall, and he collapsed again.
Buffy stalked him like lion around a fallen antelope.
"Get up," she said again. "Come on, sweetie. Give me a fight. I need a good fight. You're not in any shape to give me anything else, might as well keep fighting."
Giles got to his knees and reached for the stake in his pocket. He didn't dare throw it this time, it was his last, and if he missed -
Angel's eyes opened. Vampire-red now. His face contorted as the demon in him clawed its way to the surface.
Buffy laughed and swung another kick at him.
He caught her foot and twisted. The incredible force of it twirled her in mid-air like a toy, and she slammed hard to the floor. Angel dragged her backward, into his grasp. He wouldn't be able to hold her long, but rage gave him a momentary advantage.
Giles lunged toward them, then hesitated. Angel pinned Buffy's arms, wrapped her very close against him, and said, "Do it! I'll hold her!"
"No!" Buffy shrieked. She nearly pulled free but Angel had greater leverage. He buried his face against her shoulder as Giles raised the stake.
Giles could hardly see her through his tears. I can't miss. I owe it to her not to miss. God guide my hand.
He drove the stake through Buffy's heart.
###
Willow stepped out of the darkness, her eyes glittering.
"Not our Buffy." Willow licked her pale lips. "What are you?"
"A Slayer," Buffy sighed. "Where I come from, you're not a vampire either. You're my best friend."
Willow looked so very sad. Buffy realized the glitter in her eyes was tears, not rage. Maybe she hadn't loved the Master very much. Maybe living with Demon Giles would have destroyed anybody's good time.
Willow took a step toward her. Buffy adjusted her balance. The spike-heeled shoe trick wouldn't work this time, Willow had seen it already. And she didn't want to fight Willow. She really really didn't.
"Please," Buffy said. "Don't make me kill you. I don't want to."
"Why not?" Willow asked. "I've been wishing somebody would. You came to the school, you know. You took me and Xander to the Master and he hurt me, Buffy, he hurt me so bad --"
Her voice trailed off. She looked down at her Goth clothes. Buffy hadn't been wrong. This wasn't Vamp Willow, this was her friend, lost and alone. And Buffy herself had helped do this to her.
Ripper, you bastard. I'm glad you're dead.
"Do me a favor, Buffy?" Willow held up the stake that Giles had thrown into the dark.
"Will, no."
She put it in Buffy's hand.
"Just hold it for me," she said, as offhandedly as if she'd given Buffy a stack of books in the library. "I never wanted to be a vampire. I just wanted to be with you and Xander."
"Don't -- "
Willow's cool hand touched her warm cheek, and Buffy felt tears welling up hot inside. Demon or not, she was still her friend.
"It's okay, really," Willow said, and impaled herself on the stake. Her arms went around Buffy, and for a second it was another hug, solid and real, and then Buffy felt the drift of ash stroke her cheek like a soft goodbye.
"Goodbye, Will," she whispered. Tears broke free, finally. "I want to go home now. Please let me go, damn it!"
No magic working for her. She could try walking out, she supposed, but she had the suspicion that whatever spell Ethan had cast to make her show up Friend on vamp radar was gone. The minute she walked out, Xander would be there. Hungry.
She couldn't let that happen.
She opened her eyes and looked at the mirror just as Giles - her Giles - drove a stake through the heart of a vampire named Buffy Summers. She opened her mouth to scream -
And fell, sucked down the rabbit hole.
###
Angel's arms were full of ash. He sat up slowly without looking at Giles, and the remains of Buffy drifted to the floor like dirty snow.
Giles collapsed. He went down on his knees, braced himself with one hand, dirty-pale. The sound he made had no words to it, nothing but raw agony, a primitive animal sound of grief.
Angel didn't scream. He'd scream later, he thought. For now, all he could do was wait for her to return, to move, to smile and say his name.
He'd be waiting forever for that. No matter how long he lived, he would always be waiting.
It occurred to him that Giles still had the stake. Maybe -
Giles realized he had it at the same time. He looked up at Angel, the sharp wooden point between them, and whispered, "God, no. Don't think it."
He threw it away, off into the shadows where it clattered against a wall.
It was Angel's turn to make a soft sound of pain. Giles reached out and touched him - had Giles ever done that before? - and the contact of flesh made it all suddenly too real for both of them.
Buffy was dead.
They had killed her.
Angel said, very softly, "Get your fucking hands off of me."
Giles mutely let go. Angel struggled to his feet, bleeding, battered, destroyed in his soul. He looked down at Giles, who was still on his knees as if he might never get up.
"Angel - " Giles said. Angel snarled, eyes flaring red, face vamping. It felt good to let that rage out. It felt - dangerously right. He saw emotion move over Giles' face, and he was glad. Be afraid. Be afraid of what you just did.
But Giles' eyes were wet with tears, not fear.
And Angel, shuddering with tears he couldn't shed, slowly fought his way back to human. He said, "I can't get through this, Giles. I can't."
"She'd want us to. We have to try," Giles said.
From the doorway, Buffy said, "Trying is for losers. We're winners. We just do it."
They both turned as one to look, stunned, disbelieving. She stood there, bright as an angel, real as flesh.
"I'm back," she said. Angel wondered for a heartbeat if he had gone insane, if his mind had snapped under the strain. But Giles had the same expression, of horrified elation. Believing, and not daring to believe.
"Buffy?" Angel's lips caressed her name. She came across the floor, walking over the pile of ash that had been a vampire, and went into his arms as if she belonged there. He sagged against her, buried his face in her hair, and for the first time since he'd seen her double's face he began to feel warm.
It was all right, then.
Or it would be. In time.
Buffy turned away from Angel to Giles. He didn't speak -- couldn't, Angel thought -- but wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for long seconds before he took a deep breath and let her go.
"How - " As if the how was important right now. As if he realized it too, Giles shook his head. "Later. We should call Cordelia's house immediately to let them know you're -- you're safe."
"We need to stop at my house first. Something I have to do," she said.
"Can it wait? Your mother - "
"No waiting," she said. "I need to break a mirror. There's something I never want to see again -- and neither do you."
Giles touched her face, then pressed two fingers to her neck as if he were counting her pulse. No need for that. Angel could hear it beating, steady and regular, tripping faster as Giles touched her.
She was also looking at Giles very oddly.
"Buffy?" Angel asked. "Anything wrong?"
Buffy blushed and shook her head. "You do not want to know."
He thought she was very wrong. At the time.
But when he later heard the entire tale, over hot tea and a library table, he saw that she was absolutely right.
Well, there it is, my very own Mirror/Mirror story. Hey, if you can't do the classics ... :)
-- Julie
Willow was deeply in denial, and it made Oz ache to see it. He did everything she asked - even the drops of blood for the Witchlight spell she'd conjured up - but he knew it was just a matter of time before Willow admitted what they all knew.
Buffy was gone.
And she was not coming back.
"Oz," Willow said; she was preoccupied, focused the way she got when faced with a crisis. She was completely cute when she did that. "I'm going to need some toadroot. You know, the squiggly kind? The one that smells like spoiled meat?"
"Spoiled meat, coming up," he said. He went to her big floppy satchel and rummaged through jars and neatly labeled baggies, came up with one and took a cautious sniff. Yep. Definitely back-of-the-refrigerator. As he came back to her he said, gently, "Willow - "
"Um, I need to concentrate on this." She sent him a quick glance full of apology, and fear. She didn't want to hear any bad news about Buffy. He totally knew the feeling.
"I love you," he said. She blinked, caught off guard, and it jumped between them like a shower of sparks, that heat that made him half-crazy with anticipation. Down, boy. He wanted to reach for her, but he contented himself with touching her hair, running his finger gently down her cheek.
She kissed him. Not a blow-off kiss, not a leave-me-alone-and-let-me-work-my-spell kiss. A real serious kiss that came up from her toes and blasted down through his, stopping to light a few fires along the way. He managed to turn it gentle and lingering, and wanted to kiss her again when she whispered, "Buffy's going to be all right."
"I know," he whispered back.
Want turned to need. He was kissing her again when he heard a disgusted sound behind him and looked back to see Cordelia hanging in the doorway, looking every inch her own personal Barbie, complete with fun fashion accessories. In her case, it was a designer cross and a couple of lacquered chopsticks she'd used for hairpins - as good as stakes at close range.
She shot them both a withering look.
"If you two are finished grieving, I need you to give me a hand in here," she said. "And don't touch anything, okay? My dad is going to totally freak when he finds out I loaned out the office."
Oz handed Willow the toadroot and turned back to Cordelia. "Problem?"
"Hello, where were you when we got the syllabus? Buffy vampire, us dead meat walking?" Cordelia billed herself as the steel-plated fashion bitch, but mostly that was just good marketing. Oz had always seen the scared girl behind the glossy finish. And she was scared now, it made her move too fast, snap too hard. "I need you to talk to Xander."
She walked out of the office. Oz followed her and shut the door to let Willow use stinky roots in private. "If you want me to referee, I need a striped shirt and a whistle."
He meant, was she fighting with Xander again. It was the normal state of Xander-Cordelia relations since the declaration of the not-in-love war. She caught the reference.
"Not that. I just need somebody to talk to him," she said. She looked up and down the plush elegant hallway and scuffed a toe in the teal-blue carpet. Oz leaned on a narrow piece of wall lacking expensive art. "Because he's not talking."
"To you?"
"To anybody." Cordy's dark eyes flashed up to meet Oz's. "He's been quiet since he got here. It's - it's not normal. For Xander. For you, sure, you could sit there like Yoda - Yoda's the fat gold guy, right?"
"Buddha."
"Whatever. You could sit there and zen out and nobody would think anything. Well, I wouldn't. But Xander - " She studied Oz closely. "You understand? You'll talk to him?"
He nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strolled past a couple of Picasso sketches - he knew they were Picassos because Cordelia had made sure to point them out - into the withdrawing room. In which the rest of the Scooby gang waited. Mrs. S. was asleep on the red-and-gold striped sofa, covered with a thick blanket. She was dreaming. Not a good dream, from the whimpering.
Xander stood at the windows, looking out at nothing but a big slice of darkness. Oz walked up beside him and stopped, shared the view for long enough that Xander said, "Cordy send you?"
"Uh huh."
"I'm okay."
There was no way Xander was okay. Oz heard it in his voice. There were probably things to say in situations like this, things they taught you in college or middle age, but Oz didn't know any. And he'd long ago learned that when he didn't know, it was better not to say anything. Sooner or later, somebody else would go first.
"I saw her," Xander said. His voice shook, and it sounded suspiciously cloudy, with a strong possibility of tears. "I wish I hadn't. I wish I hadn't seen her like that. She looked like Buffy but what she did - what she said --"
"Scary," Oz said. Xander nodded. "Willow's on top of the spell thing."
"Yeah, Will's - Will's good. That'll be - " Xander's voice faded out as if somebody had turned down his hope knob. "That'll be something to try."
Oz waited. Xander pulled down a shuddering breath.
"I love her, you know."
"Willow?" Oz asked it with no particular heat, but he saw Xander flinch.
"No! I mean, yes, of course, but - not in a full-contact kind of way. Anymore. You know. I meant Buffy. I love Buffy."
"Full contact?"
Xander considered it as if he never had before. And said, with something like wonder, "No. Color me wacky, but - no. But I'd die for her."
"Yeah," Oz said simply.
"I don't mean in principle. I mean in a throw-myself-on-a-bullet kind of way."
Oz nodded. He was tired of looking at the dark - he had the feeling it might be looking back - so he turned to face Xander directly.
Xander looked bad. Pale, shaky, definitely not in full smart-ass mode. He looked more alone than Oz had ever seen him. Deep inside Oz was scared pretty often - once a month, for sure, when he felt the wolf coming on him, when every human thing he was or knew drained out of him - but he'd learned how to bury all that where others didn't see. Xander didn't have that skill.
Oz had never been big on having friends. In his experience friends usually asked a lot and gave a little, and he'd always felt like there was something more important waiting for him than hanging at the drive-through or downing beers with the jocks. At first being part of Buffy's crowd had been a chance to get to know Willow, but then he'd seen what was going on. And he'd known this was what he was waiting for. This cause, these people.
These friends he he'd learn to love.
He remembered, for no particular reason, that Xander was always there for Wolf Watch when Oz was just a hairy beast in a cage, capable of anything. And whether or not they both loved Willow in a non-brotherly sort of way, that counted.
"Dying won't help," Oz said. "Not last time I checked. Giles is looking for her. Willow's spellcasting. Cordelia's - hosting, which is good, 'cause she's pretty much got the snack thing going. You and me, we just need to coast for a while."
"Coast. Yeah. I'm not that good with coasting."
"Then I'm your native guide."
Xander smiled. One thing, Oz had always noticed; guys did not spend a lot of time smiling at each other. It sometimes got misinterpreted. But this was a smile not subject to misinterpretation, and he smiled back.
"Take the lead, bwana," Xander said.
They were on their third straight game of Name That Bad Japanese Movie when Xander suddenly stopped and said, "Angel."
"Sorry, wrong answer," Oz said, and then got where Xander was going. "Didn't you call him?"
"Didn't you?"
Oz felt cold, suddenly. He looked at Xander and said, "Better do it now."
###
Buffy had been expecting to come up at the high school, of course, but when she climbed out of the manhole - with no help from Drusilla - she found they were standing in a deserted alley she recognized. Halfway across town.
About a block from the Bronze.
"Move. It's not safe," Spike said. Drusilla had already taken off. Buffy moved, her feet slapping pavement in rhythm with Spike's as she scanned rooftops. Slayer habit. Vamps came from anywhere and everywhere, and you just had to be prepared.
"Shit!" Spike yelled, and went down with a vamp attached to his back. He slid face-down along the pavement for five or six feet and rolled over, trying to shake his rider. Ahead, the slender shadowed form of Drusilla stopped running and started back, but dark shapes dropped down and popped up.
The fight was on.
Buffy waded in and grabbed a handful of vamp hair, yanked hard. That, and a well-placed kick to the vamp's midsection separated him from Spike, but that was not a big improvement, except for Spike. Buffy retreated when the vamp turned on her. She landed a couple of strikes and a kick, then moved back again.
Moonlight fell on his face.
Oz. She'd been expecting Bad Xander, somehow, but Bad Oz - she couldn't get her mind over it. He looked like her Oz, all right, even to the dyed hair, but the look on his face, the shine in his eyes - well, it was bad. Plain bad.
And she really didn't want to hurt him.
Spike rolled, came up to one knee, and delivered a stake perfectly on target. Oz, leaping for her with fangs gleaming, exploded in a shower of dust. Buffy watched what was left of him blow away with a strange sense of numbness. She snapped back to here-and-now as Spike grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her toward Drusilla.
Oh, God, Oz -
Dru finished with the last of her attackers and spun back into a run. They made it to the doors of the Bronze without any more jumpings, and just as they did, the doors rattled and swung open.
It took Buffy a second to recognize the man holding the door, because he had lines on his face and exhaustion in his eyes, and he was wearing a neat dark suit. Drusilla passed him without a second glance, and so did Spike. As the light dawned, Buffy came to a stop in the doorway and locked eyes with Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne, master of chaos and mayhem, former friend of Giles, who'd nearly fed her to a demon once or twice just on general principles.
That Ethan Rayne.
"Buffy," he said. "I'm glad to see you."
She punched him in the face.
"Thanks," she snapped. "Likewise. Now get me the hell out of here."
He staggered back, one hand pressed to his mouth. Spike started to get in the middle, but Ethan waved him off and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
"Nice shot," he said. "Probably well deserved. I'm afraid I can't send you home quite yet. Not until you do what I brought you here to do."
It occurred to her, several seconds too late, that this Ethan Rayne was probably the opposite of the one on her side. Not a vamp, though. Some other kind of opposite.
He was Drusilla's senior Watcher.
Therefore a good guy.
Another mind-boggler.
"You brought me here," she said, fist still cocked. Ow. It felt like her knuckles were full of broken glass. Wouldn't stop her from hitting him again, though. "Why?"
"I had no choice. We need you to help us stop the Master from opening the Hellmouth." Ethan shut the door of the Bronze behind her and locked it. "Mocha? I can whip one up for you."
"Excuse me? Hellmouth? Been there, had to die to do it. Not interested in a rematch. Besides, you've got your own Slayer, why import?"
The Bronze was eerily the same, trashily cool, lit right now by harsh spotlights. Drusilla sat under one near the stage, inventorying a load of crossbows and stakes. Spike disappeared toward the bathrooms.
She couldn't help thinking how come they get the cool clubhouse and I get the musty old library?
Weird how Ethan looked like Giles now. No glasses, but some of the same crow's feet, the lived-in look that made Giles so easy to trust. The same warmth in his eyes, like he really cared about what went on around him. Definitely not her Ethan, who would have sold her to the vamps at a dollar a bite for no better reason than the entertainment value.
"I discovered the existence of other universes several years ago," Ethan said, and walked over to the coffee bar, where he took down cups and saucers. "About the same time my counterpart on your side was messing about with forces he really couldn't control. We had some interesting chats through our mirrors, but nothing too informative. Since then, I've been following your career - your Sunnydale - with great interest. Many of your problems get echoed here, and seeing how you deal with them has always been helpful."
"I feel an 'except' creeping up," Buffy said.
"Except for the problem of our Dru. She's unquestionably the Chosen One, but fragile. I was lucky to find Spike and make him her companion - "
"Based on my Sunnydale again."
Ethan nodded. "Having him with her has helped. Not enough, but some. And then, a month ago, Drusilla was captured by the Master. Angel traded his life for hers, but not soon enough, I fear; she endured some tremendous abuse. She's coming apart. All of Spike's best efforts to help her are unraveling, and soon she won't be able to function at all. A mad Slayer is worse than none."
He said it matter-of-factly, but Buffy read between the lines. Watcher or not, this Ethan felt something for his Slayer, the way Giles felt for her. And he was hurting.
"She held together okay out there," Buffy said. Praising Drusilla felt weird. "I told Spike maybe she needed him to be something more than just her Watcher. Romance-wise. Hope I didn't break any big Watcher codes."
"As a matter of fact - "
"Well, oops. Whatever."
Ethan mixed mochas with silent efficiency, adding a dollop of whipped cream, a sprinkle of chocolate and cinnamon. She took the cup and sipped. It was sweet and dark and perfect.
"I need you to help," Ethan said. "If we fail now, our world falls to the vampires. We have to stop them, and it must be soon. Tonight. The Master is very close to achieving his freedom."
"Look, nice plan, but this transfer thing, it left my Slayer powers along with my wardrobe. I'm just Buffy Summers, girl adventurer. Not what you need." She watched Ethan's face as he took a sip of his own drink. "Right? So you can send me back."
"No."
"I don't think I liked the no part of that answer." She reached out and wrapped her hand around his throat. Even human, she was pretty strong. "Think fast."
He broke free, but she noticed the red marks on his throat and felt a flush of satisfaction. It was always good to keep Ethan Rayne - any Ethan Rayne - off balance. Because as sorcerer or Watcher, he was likely to have bigger things on his mind than the safety of Buffy Summers.
"No," he repeated. "We have a plan. And we need you to carry it out, Slayer or not. If all goes well, you won't need your Slayer powers in any case. The element of surprise will be all that's necessary."
Buffy hadn't heard Spike return, but he pulled up a stool next to her and reached for Ethan's mocha, which he gulped down with evident satisfaction. Ethan glared.
"But when does everything go well, my lovely?" Spike asked. "Tell her the truth."
Ethan said, "We want to send you inside to the Master. Buffy Summers was one of his favorite vampires. Your face and clothes will make sure you can get close enough to kill him without anyone suspecting."
Drusilla had gotten up from the weapons table and was wandering the club now, whispering to herself. Buffy kept an eye on her as she said, "Uh, I hate to be the bringer of bad, but you have noticed that I'm not a vampire? Hence not trustworthy to vamps anymore?"
"I have a spell that will give you the outward appearances," Ethan said. "You'll be indistinguishable from the Buffy Summers they know. The Master himself won't be able to tell you're not Undead. All you have to do is find him and kill him, and go home."
"That part sounds weak."
"Not so," Ethan said. "In fact, it's built into the spell. Kill the Master, you go home. Automatically."
Buffy pushed her cooling mocha aside. "And if I say no?"
Ethan Rayne smiled, and it was exactly his counterpart's smile, all delight, no mercy. "Then I expect you'll have to learn to like this world," he said. "And live with the idea that our Buffy Summers has taken your place in your own."
The thought froze her in place, then made her explode with rage. "A vampire? You set a vampire me to Sunnydale? With my friends? With my mom?"
"And the faster you do your job, the sooner that can be over," Ethan said. "Choose."
As if there was a choice involved. As if she could believe a thing he said. Spike was very carefully not looking at her, and she thought that there must have been a very good reason.
"I'm going to need some tools," she said. "And when this is over, you're going to need major medical."
###
Angel paused in the act of towel-drying his hair to listen. Something had changed in the house, something he couldn't quite identify. Air pressure, maybe. A door opening and closing. A telephone was ringing somewhere, but even as he pinpointed the sound, it vanished.
Why did these things always happen when you were in the bathroom? One of the great mysteries of life. He picked up his pants from the floor and stepped into them, draped the towel around his neck, and opened the bathroom door to take a look outside.
Buffy was standing beside the huge blazing fireplace, soaking up the warmth the way she liked to do. He thought about stopping to put on his shirt, since the emergency was over, but part of him didn't want to. She might touch his skin, if he gave her the opportunity. And that was the kind of thing that made continuing his life worthwhile.
"Hey," he said, and walked out to join her. "I didn't expect you."
"Nobody called?" she asked. He was still a few feet away when the wrongness hit him. He should have felt the heat of her skin at this distance, heard the whisper of her breath and heartbeat, smelled the warm human perfume of her.
She was - gone.
She turned to look at him, and he saw it in her eyes. Or rather, he saw what was missing from her eyes.
He saw the void where her soul had been.
"No," he said. The word sounded raw, scraped bloody out of him. "Oh God."
"People say that a lot," Buffy said. "It's getting old. God must be tired of hearing it by now."
"What - " His voice didn't seem to want to work right. "What happened to you? Who did this to you?"
"You did," she said. "Long time ago. Oh, come on, Angel, don't be like that. We can have it good here. Angel and Buffy burning up the town. Together. Together forever, the way you always wanted us to be. All we have to do is do what we want to do."
She came closer, moved him back to the cold stone wall, and in spite of everything he knew, every horror he felt, she was still Buffy, and his body still knew it. He shuddered when she touched him, and it went through his mind in a mad screaming rush that he really could have her now, no guilt, no risk, no pain.
She put her hands on him to prove it, and for a blind endless time he let himself give in to that, to the pressure of her lips on his, the soft stroke of her skin.
And then he felt the pressure of her canines against his lips, and sanity came back. He shoved her off, hard.
She laughed and wiped her mouth. She had Drusilla's eyes, he realized. The eyes of something that was no longer human, and no longer sane.
"Too bad, Angel," she said. "You had your chance. Now I'm going to destroy you with the rest. Because I may be a vampire, but I'm still the Slayer."
"Take the shot if you have to, but I'm not going to let you do this. Not to your friends. Not to your mother. If I have to stop you, I will."
She clapped her hands mockingly and blew him a kiss.
"Then let's do it," she said, and came at him.
Oh, God, she was fast. Maybe twice as fast as he was.
And it didn't take long for her to put him down.
###
Glad I saved the boots, Buffy thought as she dropped down into the darkness. She'd been walking for half an hour already but she hadn't seen any vamps - some dead humans, drained and tossed like empty juice boxes - but she was nearing the Master's caverns, and it shouldn't be long now. Why is there never a bloodsucker around when you need one?
Not that she was eager-beaver. Ethan had cast his spell of Whatchamcallit, but she hadn't felt any effects. That made it hard to stir up any real confidence for this whole plan, but Spike had told her she was vamped, and he ought to know. Drusilla hadn't said anything, but the way she'd been handling the stake made Buffy figure Ethan might have done his job.
Still, the test was going to be on another vampire. And she only had one stake, and no cross.
"Buffy!"
Willow. Goth-Will came out of a side tunnel, looking exotic and weirdly beautiful, and threw her arms around Buffy. Hugging? Vampires hugged? Buffy returned the gesture with a couple of pats thrown in, and watched closely as Willow pulled away. Nothing but trust in that pale face, those bright eerie eyes.
"Buffy, I was worried! You know you're not supposed to go off alone, he's been asking for you and I didn't know what to tell him. It wasn't the Slayer again, was it?"
"Well, uh, yeah, but I took care of it."
Willow's eyes widened. "You did?"
"Not - permanently. But I threw them off. So here I am. Ready to go." Past ready. Please, let's get this over.
"You look hungry," Willow said sympathetically. "No chance to snack? Okay, let's get back home. I think Xander brought extra."
Alexander Harris, walking dead. Buffy bit her lip at the idea and followed Willow down the tunnel to where the caves began. Vamps everywhere, here, calling out casual hellos, nodding as she passed. She counted twenty or more before Willow took a turnoff and they followed the little winding path down toward the Master's hellhole.
Xander dropped down in front of her.
Buffy's heart turned over at the sight of him. Xander still grinned, but it was a skull-grin, all the humor burned away. The only thing this Xander was likely to find funny was pain. His eyes were glossy and dead.
"Yo," he said, and pulled Buffy into his arms. Another hug? She yelped in spite of herself when he squeezed her ass and kissed her. Tongue kiss with Vampire Xander. Not in the playbook. She managed to squirm out of his hold and resisted the urge to spit and wipe her mouth. Xander licked his lips and grinned.
"Xander," Willow said reprovingly. "She's hungry. Stop teasing."
Xander glanced at Will with smoking eyes, and it made Buffy cold to realize that it wasn't just her that turned him on, it was Will too, and probably anybody else. Xander was a walking pit of hunger that would never be filled up.
"In that case, let me get you a table at Chez Xander," he said, and reached behind a stalagmite to pull out a middle-aged guy. He could have been her father, or even Giles, though thank God he wasn't. His mouth and wrists were fastened with duck tape. "Drink up, Buffy."
He shoved the guy at her. Buffy caught him and weighed the options. She wasn't the Slayer here. She wanted to save the man, but she'd never make it back to the tunnels with him. Not with Xander at her back.
But she couldn't - couldn't just walk away -
Something cold fell across her like a shadow, and she saw Xander's face go even paler. Willow winced. Buffy felt a hand fall on her shoulder and knew she'd found what she'd been sent to do.
A low, seductive voice whispered at her ear, "I've been waiting for you."
She turned and looked at the Master.
She was so stunned, so devastated she hardly even heard Xander say, "Guess you're not hungry," and bite into his victim.
"Buffy," Giles said. His voice got inside her, did things. Made her feel things she didn't want to feel.
Rupert Giles.
Master Vampire.
###
"Does this hurt?"
Angel screamed as holy water ate a hole in his chest, exposing muscle like damp pale rope. Buffy smiled and filled up the eyedropper again. This time, she climbed on top of him, her weight pressing down on his groin. Drusilla had done this once, he remembered, half delirious. Chained him up and played her sick little games - But Drusilla he could understand. He'd made Dru what she was, and the pain was deserved.
The horror of it coming from Buffy was mind-numbing. For the first time he really understood what she'd felt when he had changed to Angelus and tormented her, taken her love and destroyed her with it.
He'd wanted to kill her when she'd first chained him down here in the dark and brought out her toys.
Now he only wished he could die.
Buffy slapped him back conscious. He'd drifted off into a gray calming fog, but she was holding a knife now, and that frightened him. That, and the look in her eyes.
"You know, you're more fun than the other one," she said. "It took me days to make him scream."
He had no idea what she was talking about, and was sickly afraid to find out. He was even more afraid that one of Buffy's friends might come looking for them, or even her mother. He was in no position to help anybody right now. Maybe if Giles came -
Then Giles would die. Buffy wouldn't hesitate long over that one.
"Buffy - " Angel licked dry lips and tried again. "I don't know what happened, but there must be a way we can help you. Change you back. Willow cursed me to bring back my soul, maybe we can do the same for you. All you have to do is let us help you."
Buffy's mad smile slipped a little.
"I love you," he whispered. "I know you don't want to do this. I love you, Buffy."
She cut him. He bit back a scream as his skin split, spilling precious blood.
"I love you too," she said. "And we're going to have so much fun. You first, then the others. Especially Giles. I'm going to make him watch. That's what you would have done in the good old days, Angel, isn't it?"
She reached for the holy water again. He braced himself for it, and pulled again at the chains holding him. Strong chains. They'd been designed to hold against a vampire's strength, and they were doing their job.
He wasn't going to survive this.
He wasn't going to want to.
He heard the footsteps a second or two before Buffy cocked her head.
"We have a visitor," she said, and leaned down to kiss him. Her hair was still the same, warm and silken over his skin. "Should I make him watch this, too?"
From the doorway Giles' voice came, soft and deadly, "It's over, Buffy."
Buffy smiled.
"You think so?" she asked, and moved like a streak of light, too fast for mortal eyes to track. Angel only barely registered her hand reaching out for the crossbow in Giles' hands, her other stretching for his neck.
Giles shot her. One bolt, point blank range, through the stomach. Buffy gasped and stopped, grabbing at the wound. She tried to pull the bolt out.
Giles shot her again, with the second loaded bolt. This one went in high and to the right of her heart. She screamed then, and dropped to her knees.
"You took your time. Unlock me," Angel said. He rattled the chains. "Quick."
Giles dropped the crossbow and took the key from the hook on the wall, and turned Angel's right manacle loose, then the left. He dropped the key in Angel's hand as Buffy, still screaming her rage, pulled the bolt out of her shoulder in a spray of blood.
Giles pulled out a crucifix and held it in both shaking hands as Buffy snarled at them, red-eyed, faced in a demonic mask. Angel unlocked his feet and stood up facing her. She ripped the second bolt out of her flesh.
"Still love me?" she asked him, and came for him.
###
Leather. Buffy had never imagined Giles in leather. She probably would have laughed at the idea. She wasn't laughing anymore, because this lithe, angular, graceful thing that had once been Rupert Giles wore it very well indeed. Tight black pants, a butter-soft black jacket over a silk black shirt. An earring dangled from one ear, a mystic symbol she didn't know but figured could not be good.
The endless dark lust in his eyes was powerful enough to consume everything around him, an evil that sucked life from the world, not just people. Next to him, all the other vamps, including Willow and Xander, were just shadows. Kids playing at evil.
Giles' hand caressed her face, cold as ice. He took her hand and led her down the path, past Xander and Willow and the crying little girl, down into the dark.
Now, Buffy's mind told her. Do it now! Get him in the back, you don't have to look at his face, just do it!
But the truth was she was afraid. And she knew without a doubt that he'd be able to stop her the second she made a move. Slayer? That was a laugh. How did you slay this? No wonder Ethan had imported a ringer. Drusilla, even crazy, wasn't mad enough to stand up to this by herself.
Around the next corner she saw candlelight. Giles had made his throne room into a fairyland of candles, guttering in pools of wax everywhere she looked; the orange light made him look deceptively Giles-ish, almost human except for his eyes. And the leather. She couldn't look at the leather for very long without getting short of breath.
"Sit," Giles said, and pointed to the place. She sat without question. He leaned close, and -
And kissed her.
She'd gagged at Xander's kiss, and she wanted to gag up this one, but she couldn't. It got inside her, found all the unguarded entrances and flooded her with something dark and warm and sticky as spiderwebs. His lips felt cool and soft and gentle, and while half of her mind was screaming you're kissing Giles, break off! she couldn't seem to stop doing it. His hands were all over her, knowing her in ways that even Angel didn't.
She hardly even felt the handcuff slip over her wrist until its jaws snapped shut hard enough to pinch.
Giles pulled back and sat down across from her. He was smiling as he watched her, and that smile made her burn and freeze at the same time. Dark streak? This Giles didn't have a pale streak. He was the jet-black expressway to Hell.
"Did you really think I wouldn't know?" he asked. He still had the same accent, the same voice, only now it seemed deeper, more intimate. "Really, Buffy, what kind of fool do you take me for? I know what Ethan's been up to. Ethan certainly has no secrets from me, not after all the fun we had in our youth."
"Giles - "
"Ripper," he corrected. "I've been Ripper for a long time."
He was going to bite her. This talking part, this was foreplay. And she was in very deep trouble. With Slayer strength she could have broken the handcuff, done a nice little drop-kick and planted a stake in his chest, no muss, no fuss, but she didn't have that option anymore.
She was handcuffed to a rock, and Ripper was eating her with his eyes.
"Do you want to know?" he asked. "How you became a vampire?"
"Let me guess. You bit me."
"Angel bit you. He used to be a disciple of mine, you see, before his -- conversion. You became one of my very favorite toys, Buffy. And when you brought your friends to me I only valued you more." Ripper's smile disappeared. "This version of you has cost me a very valuable servant. I think I'll have to make you take her place."
"It's not going to happen that way." She sounded cool and steady, and couldn't think why because she was screaming inside.
"Of course it is. It's very brave of you coming here," Ripper continued. "I doubt our Buffy would have ever had the courage, had your positions been reversed. Oh, although I suppose they are reversed, aren't they? Would you like to see?"
He tugged a scarf from a mirror.
In it, Buffy was killing Angel. She was doing it slowly, one kick at a time, while the other Giles, the real Giles, lay unconscious nearby.
Buffy's eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away and said, as quietly as she could, "Well, you're a ball of barbed wire fun, aren't you?"
"I try." Ripper toyed with the scarf, sliding it through his hands as he watched her. He liked her pain. She could feel him thinking about it, wondering how to make it more unbearable. "That other poor bastard turned right when he should have gone left, you know. If he'd followed the path laid out for him by Eygon, he might have become like me. Now he's just a pathetic shell of a man, too afraid of his own feelings to indulge them in the smallest way."
"He does okay," Buffy said. "And I never thought I'd say it, but he dresses way better than you. Confidentially? Those pants make you look gay."
He laughed. She hadn't meant it to be funny.
"Hold still," he said. She didn't have any warning, but he was all over her again, his hands touching and probing and lingering, and she couldn't throw him off, couldn't stop him. She remembered the Master in her own world crawling inside her head like a fat bloated spider. This spider didn't even care about her mind, but it very much liked her body. Maybe it was the Fredrick's ensemble.
She was half-fainting from his touch when he got down to business. He unzipped her corset and found the stake she'd shoved down it. Ripper looked at it critically, shrugged, and tossed it into the darkness where it clattered against rock.
The cave smelled like death. Death and rot. Buffy couldn't seem to get her breath. Ethan, Spike, you better not have lied to me.
Ripper said, softly, "I hope you appreciate how much I'm going to enjoy this."
She took a deep breath. "Really? Me too."
She brought up her right foot, lightning-fast, and kicked him.
The four-inch spike heel sank deep into his chest.
The wooden spike heel. The one she'd asked Spike to put on in place of the regular composition one.
Giles' mouth opened in shock, and for a second she saw Rupert in him, not Ripper, the man instead of the monster. That broke her heart. Please die. Please die now, quickly.
He did, exploding in a shower of ash that tasted gritty and bitter on her tongue. A small silver key tinkled to the rock. Buffy grabbed for it and unlocked her handcuff.
Okay. Any second now.
The Master was ash. The Master was ash and she should be going home.
Damn it, Ethan Rayne had promised she'd be going home! He'd promised!
And you believed him? Why the hell would he tell the truth? You're not even his Slayer!
Spike had known she was vamp food. That's why he wouldn't look at her. Oh God. She had to get out of here.
And then Willow said, from the shadows, "You're not really Buffy, are you?"
###
Giles came back awake with a snap of terror and pain. Buffy had caught him with a quick, offhanded strike, but it had nearly snapped his neck. He flinched at the meaty thunk of flesh on flesh, and looked up to see Buffy landing another kick to Angel's chest. He went down, boneless and limp, eyes open and still aware.
"Get up," she said. Angel didn't breathe, but if he had, he would have been gasping. The pain on his face was unbelievable.
And still he got up. It was a parody of his usual grace, more of a lurch than a controlled movement. He hadn't even gotten all the way straight before she launched a roundhouse kick that connected hard with the side of his head. It spun him around, slammed him hard into the wall, and he collapsed again.
Buffy stalked him like lion around a fallen antelope.
"Get up," she said again. "Come on, sweetie. Give me a fight. I need a good fight. You're not in any shape to give me anything else, might as well keep fighting."
Giles got to his knees and reached for the stake in his pocket. He didn't dare throw it this time, it was his last, and if he missed -
Angel's eyes opened. Vampire-red now. His face contorted as the demon in him clawed its way to the surface.
Buffy laughed and swung another kick at him.
He caught her foot and twisted. The incredible force of it twirled her in mid-air like a toy, and she slammed hard to the floor. Angel dragged her backward, into his grasp. He wouldn't be able to hold her long, but rage gave him a momentary advantage.
Giles lunged toward them, then hesitated. Angel pinned Buffy's arms, wrapped her very close against him, and said, "Do it! I'll hold her!"
"No!" Buffy shrieked. She nearly pulled free but Angel had greater leverage. He buried his face against her shoulder as Giles raised the stake.
Giles could hardly see her through his tears. I can't miss. I owe it to her not to miss. God guide my hand.
He drove the stake through Buffy's heart.
###
Willow stepped out of the darkness, her eyes glittering.
"Not our Buffy." Willow licked her pale lips. "What are you?"
"A Slayer," Buffy sighed. "Where I come from, you're not a vampire either. You're my best friend."
Willow looked so very sad. Buffy realized the glitter in her eyes was tears, not rage. Maybe she hadn't loved the Master very much. Maybe living with Demon Giles would have destroyed anybody's good time.
Willow took a step toward her. Buffy adjusted her balance. The spike-heeled shoe trick wouldn't work this time, Willow had seen it already. And she didn't want to fight Willow. She really really didn't.
"Please," Buffy said. "Don't make me kill you. I don't want to."
"Why not?" Willow asked. "I've been wishing somebody would. You came to the school, you know. You took me and Xander to the Master and he hurt me, Buffy, he hurt me so bad --"
Her voice trailed off. She looked down at her Goth clothes. Buffy hadn't been wrong. This wasn't Vamp Willow, this was her friend, lost and alone. And Buffy herself had helped do this to her.
Ripper, you bastard. I'm glad you're dead.
"Do me a favor, Buffy?" Willow held up the stake that Giles had thrown into the dark.
"Will, no."
She put it in Buffy's hand.
"Just hold it for me," she said, as offhandedly as if she'd given Buffy a stack of books in the library. "I never wanted to be a vampire. I just wanted to be with you and Xander."
"Don't -- "
Willow's cool hand touched her warm cheek, and Buffy felt tears welling up hot inside. Demon or not, she was still her friend.
"It's okay, really," Willow said, and impaled herself on the stake. Her arms went around Buffy, and for a second it was another hug, solid and real, and then Buffy felt the drift of ash stroke her cheek like a soft goodbye.
"Goodbye, Will," she whispered. Tears broke free, finally. "I want to go home now. Please let me go, damn it!"
No magic working for her. She could try walking out, she supposed, but she had the suspicion that whatever spell Ethan had cast to make her show up Friend on vamp radar was gone. The minute she walked out, Xander would be there. Hungry.
She couldn't let that happen.
She opened her eyes and looked at the mirror just as Giles - her Giles - drove a stake through the heart of a vampire named Buffy Summers. She opened her mouth to scream -
And fell, sucked down the rabbit hole.
###
Angel's arms were full of ash. He sat up slowly without looking at Giles, and the remains of Buffy drifted to the floor like dirty snow.
Giles collapsed. He went down on his knees, braced himself with one hand, dirty-pale. The sound he made had no words to it, nothing but raw agony, a primitive animal sound of grief.
Angel didn't scream. He'd scream later, he thought. For now, all he could do was wait for her to return, to move, to smile and say his name.
He'd be waiting forever for that. No matter how long he lived, he would always be waiting.
It occurred to him that Giles still had the stake. Maybe -
Giles realized he had it at the same time. He looked up at Angel, the sharp wooden point between them, and whispered, "God, no. Don't think it."
He threw it away, off into the shadows where it clattered against a wall.
It was Angel's turn to make a soft sound of pain. Giles reached out and touched him - had Giles ever done that before? - and the contact of flesh made it all suddenly too real for both of them.
Buffy was dead.
They had killed her.
Angel said, very softly, "Get your fucking hands off of me."
Giles mutely let go. Angel struggled to his feet, bleeding, battered, destroyed in his soul. He looked down at Giles, who was still on his knees as if he might never get up.
"Angel - " Giles said. Angel snarled, eyes flaring red, face vamping. It felt good to let that rage out. It felt - dangerously right. He saw emotion move over Giles' face, and he was glad. Be afraid. Be afraid of what you just did.
But Giles' eyes were wet with tears, not fear.
And Angel, shuddering with tears he couldn't shed, slowly fought his way back to human. He said, "I can't get through this, Giles. I can't."
"She'd want us to. We have to try," Giles said.
From the doorway, Buffy said, "Trying is for losers. We're winners. We just do it."
They both turned as one to look, stunned, disbelieving. She stood there, bright as an angel, real as flesh.
"I'm back," she said. Angel wondered for a heartbeat if he had gone insane, if his mind had snapped under the strain. But Giles had the same expression, of horrified elation. Believing, and not daring to believe.
"Buffy?" Angel's lips caressed her name. She came across the floor, walking over the pile of ash that had been a vampire, and went into his arms as if she belonged there. He sagged against her, buried his face in her hair, and for the first time since he'd seen her double's face he began to feel warm.
It was all right, then.
Or it would be. In time.
Buffy turned away from Angel to Giles. He didn't speak -- couldn't, Angel thought -- but wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for long seconds before he took a deep breath and let her go.
"How - " As if the how was important right now. As if he realized it too, Giles shook his head. "Later. We should call Cordelia's house immediately to let them know you're -- you're safe."
"We need to stop at my house first. Something I have to do," she said.
"Can it wait? Your mother - "
"No waiting," she said. "I need to break a mirror. There's something I never want to see again -- and neither do you."
Giles touched her face, then pressed two fingers to her neck as if he were counting her pulse. No need for that. Angel could hear it beating, steady and regular, tripping faster as Giles touched her.
She was also looking at Giles very oddly.
"Buffy?" Angel asked. "Anything wrong?"
Buffy blushed and shook her head. "You do not want to know."
He thought she was very wrong. At the time.
But when he later heard the entire tale, over hot tea and a library table, he saw that she was absolutely right.
Well, there it is, my very own Mirror/Mirror story. Hey, if you can't do the classics ... :)
-- Julie