Fic: Palimpsest - Part One
Prompt: I don't believe in this stuff anyway... (Sept 2014).
Title: Palimpsest
Rating: R
Setting: Post-series AU (could be mid-S9)
Warnings: Grab your tissues. At least - I hope you need them! :)
A/N: I wrote this a year ago in preparation for the next round of Seasonal Spuffy... but Seasonal Spuffy has gone on hiatus. Meanwhile, S10 keeps getting more and more Scooby-friendship friendly, unlike S9. This is much closer to S9's mood.
A/N2: Written to go off-canon sometime mid-S9, but also written so that comic knowledge is unnecessary (except for a few small jokes).
A/N3: Thanks to foxstarreh and margueritedaisy for beta work, and foxstarreh for being my S9 encyclopedia so that I didn't have to actually buy or read the comics. :)
Palimpsest: 1) A parchment or the like from which the writing has been partially or completely erased and replaced with new writing. 2) Something that has been changed over time and shows evidence of that change. (Merriam-Webster Online)
PART ONE
I'm a hero, really. I mean, to be cast such an ugly lot in life, and then to rise above it.
- Randy Giles (Tablua Rasa)
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They came at her out of the shadows, faces twisted. Eyes shining with unholy light. Voices raspy and sibilant around gleaming fangs. "Slayer," they called her. And slay she did. Through the terror, through the mad rush of blood pounding in her ears and sweat running down her back. She ducked, kicked, punched. Staked. Won.
It wasn't over though. It was never over - it never would be over. On they came, walking nightmares of every shape and size. Furry, leathery, slimy, huge or small, they all had one thing in common: the desire to baptize the earth with her blood.
She couldn't give in. Wouldn't. She fought until her legs shook and her arm muscles burned. Until her lungs screamed. Until her vision dimmed, ruby red liquid pooling around her in long, slowing spurts.
And then he came. His face was the one leering at her out of the darkness.
Her heart strained, a rapid staccato beating in her chest. Her brain fired desperate signals to her body - movemovemove - that went unheard.
He leaned closer, tongue dancing over wicked, sharp teeth, caressing jagged edges. "Got you now, Slayer."
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*******
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Buffy screamed.
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*******
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"Buffy! Bloody hell, wake up!"
William's voice broke through the darkness and the confusion, shattering the panic that held her in its grip. She gasped and clung to him, his body her lifeline, the warmth of his hands and the steady thudding of his heartbeat soothing her, bringing her back to the still, calm night.
When her sobs had died down, he said, quietly, "It's getting worse. You can't fool me, love. Every night, it's been getting worse." She shook her head against his chest. William's large, capable hands stroked their way up her back and down again, guiding her through the post-adrenaline letdown. "Buffy..."
"Tonight was a bad one," she admitted, voice shaky. "But it's getting better. I didn't have any nightmares at all last night!"
"And you don't think not going to sleep all night might've had something to do with it?"
She sighed, realizing she'd been caught. "Shh. I don't wanna talk about it right now. I just wanna..." Buffy pressed closer, making her intent clear. It was the perfect antidote - the only antidote to the nightmares. She always managed to sleep soundly after, worn out, logy and content in his arms.
Without further prompting, his touch morphed into light, delicate strokes, dancing along her sides. Buffy could feel him hardening against her, and she wriggled until his hardness pressed more firmly against her thigh. "William. I love you. So much."
"Love you too, pet."
When he slipped his fingers inside of her, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. A few weeks back, not long after they'd begun this ritual, she'd asked him if he minded. If he felt used. He'd only laughed and gone back to kissing her, deep, bone-melting kisses that left her breathless. The good kind of breathless. Just as he did now.
With his mouth working its magic, Buffy soon relaxed her death grip on his arms. William reached for the small lamp on the end table next to their bed and flicked it on. This was another part of the ritual for chasing away the bogeymen that haunted her dreams. Seeing their small, cozy, normal bedroom illuminated by the diffuse glow reminded her that they were just dreams. Nothing to be afraid of. She took in the framed photos on the bedside table, one of their recent weekend in the mountains, the other of them at the beach. From there, her gaze slid over the wall on her right. William's wall, she called it. Hers was opposite his, on the left. Buffy closed her eyes; she didn't need the reminders of her family or his.
William was her family now. Her heart. Her love.
Now - oh. Oh. He nudged his way between her thighs, and Buffy smiled. "William..." Eyes still closed, she savored the feeling, breathing him in. Warm, musky, with a faint sheen of masculine sweat. She breathed deeper, opening her heart and her legs.
Fully seated, William nipped at her earlobe. "You with me, love?"
"Sure am." Buffy wriggled, urging him on.
"Wanna see those pretty eyes of yours."
She wanted to see his too. They were his most striking feature - deep, clear blue, brimming with love and devotion. The old saying about eyes being windows to the soul had never been more true than it was with William, and those eyes were one of the first things that had drawn her to him. Slowly, she fluttered her eyelashes open.
The angle of the light cast his face in shadow, turning his irises yellow and his skin unnaturally pale. William grinned. His teeth gleamed, canines long and sharp in the dim light, and panic slammed her heart against her ribs. God no, not him, he's not real he's not real he's not it's just a dream always just a dream...
It didn't help. William disappeared, was gone, maybe had never existed. Buffy closed her eyes, but the monster remained. Bleached hair atop a face twisted and demonic. Eyes gleaming with evil intent. Death threats hissed on bloodied breath. No escape, not this time, gotyounowSlayer. From somewhere deep inside, a scream bubbled up, welling higher, filling her burning lungs with hot, stale air - a
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*******
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Still dazed, Buffy sat on the edge of their bed and stared absently at the wall. Slowly, her breathing evened, and as the nightmare faded back into the shadows, the Cassatt hanging in front of her drew her eye. She focused on it, willing herself into reality. Normalcy. No monsters here, no sir. Just Buffy and William, see, and here is their room. Their life. Their possessions. Mother and Child. Can't get any more normal than that.
She looked harder, taking in each detail. A mother held a young girl in a billowy dress, countenance tender and adoring, and Buffy lingered over the expression on the woman's face. They'd painted their bedroom walls the same warm, yellow hues of the child's hair, and it offset the clear blue of the mother's eyes. Eyes which, now that she looked more closely, were an almost identical replica of William's. Huh. Buffy was still surprised by how deeply the image had resonated with her boyfriend. When they'd moved in together, she'd been prepared to negotiate over decor, but she'd expected to be negotiating over Sex Pistols posters. Not gentle scenes of mothers and children. "Reminds me of my mum and sister," he'd said, staring at the print in the display bin. "Looks just like them." Any inclination to negotiate (argue) had disappeared with those words. She had an entire wall of their bedroom devoted to photos of her family - her own mom and sister - but he had none. For whatever reason, his photos hadn't survived the years since their deaths.
She might have the photos, but she didn't have the people, not anymore than he did.
At least he has this. When they'd first hung it, he'd sat exactly where she was sitting now, eyes glued to the slightly diaphanous figures. "I can't get over how much it looks like them," he said. "Almost feels real. Like a real memory. If you could look over in this corner, here..." He flicked his fingers. "You'd find young William playing quietly with his toys.
"You mean, if young William had lived over a hundred years ago. Look at those clothes!"
They'd both laughed, but he hadn't taken his eyes off the print. Not for a long time.
He sat down beside her now and pressed a glass into her hand. Recognizing the amber liquid, Buffy made a face. "You know, Jack Daniels does not hold the answer to all of life's little problems."
"'Course it does. Back in my day, a stiff drink was always what the doctor ordered for shock. Even for the ladies."
"Back in your day?" She snorted. "You mean, all those five years you lived before I was born?"
"Drink up, smartass."
Buffy did, gulping down the fiery liquid as rapidly as possible and finishing off with a wracking shudder. "Bleargh! I don't know how you stand this stuff."
William smiled, eyes crinkled in amusement. "It's my mature and refined palate."
"Destroyed palate is more like it. Bleargh!" She shuddered again, but the burn in her chest mellowed into a warm glow in the pit of her stomach, spreading outwards and relieving the suppressed shaking of her limbs. Buffy yawned. "Maybe you were right," she said, and yawned again. She laid her head on his shoulder. "Mishter Daniels ish very shmart."
"Lightweight," William murmured. Buffy felt him tugging her back into bed, and she did her best to help him, crawling under the covers and crashing facedown. "Better now?"
"Better. Shtay, okay? Don't go."
"Never, my love. Never."
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*******
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The buzzing of the alarm clock cut through the buzzing in her head, pulling Buffy out of a vague half-sleep. With a groan, she tugged the pillow over her head to drown out the sound. "Tell me it's not morning."
"It's not morning."
"Now make it true."
"Sorry, love, wish I could. But duty calls."
Buffy peeked at him, one eye half-slitted against the harsh morning light. "You love that record store more than me."
"Love lots of things more than you. A good pint. Spicy Buffalo wings. Football on the telly." He caught her scowl and grinned, biting his lip and waggling his eyebrows. "Dog racing."
"Asshole."
"Yeah, but you love it. Especially when you let me in yours."
"Shut up!" she hissed, though there was nobody around to overhear. Cheeks flaming, she pulled the pillow back over her head. "Get gone, already."
The bed dipped under his weight, and William's face appeared next to hers. "You'll call the doctor, right? Promise?"
"And say what? The dreams are bleeding over into when I'm awake? I know exactly what his response will be - same thing as always. 'It's your memories coming back, don't push it, they'll come to you, blah blah blah.' And -" she said, forestalling his argument, "I can tell you how not impressed he'll be that you were in my dream. 'William is associated with whatever traumatic memory you are both suppressing. It is only natural your subconscious would give form to your fears by painting him as one of the monsters.' Tell me I'm wrong."
William shook his head. "Don't need all my memories to know that's a bad idea. But give the fellow a call, all right? For me?"
"For you. I'll do it on my lunch break." He blinked at her expectantly, and she sighed. "Promise."
"Thank you." William feathered his hand over her cheek. "You know I'd take all the nasties away if I could. But look on the bright side. At least your memories are coming back, love. I'm still tabula rasa. It doesn't look like mine will ever return."
"You don't seem to care."
"It'd be nice to know how we both ended up coma patients, and me all done up in plaster. But..." He shrugged. "I know the important things. My name. My address. My job. I know Man U is the only team to root for, and the music scene has been so much trash for the last twenty years."
"All the important things," Buffy agreed with a pout.
"You're just too easy. Oh - look at that lip." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a playful, husky whisper. "Gonna get it!" Buffy waited, breath held in anticipation as he drew closer and captured her mouth with his. When her toes had curled and she'd forgotten why she was even pouting in the first place, William broke the kiss. "And I know the only thing that really matters: the most amazing, beautiful, incredible woman in the entire world loves me, and shares my life. I'd give up every other memory I had if need be, so long as I could know this one thing."
What was a girl supposed to say to that?
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*******
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"So?" he asked after work, when they'd sat down to a pasta salad and a bottle of wine. "What'd the doc say?"
Buffy ignored the question, rolling out her shoulders one at a time. "I think I'm over the whole barista thing. It's not that I don't enjoy it... but I really don't enjoy it. Remember when I was the counselor at - remember when I was a counselor? I could do that again."
"Yeah. So why don't you?"
"Lack of higher education, for one. Sunnydale High made an exception for me, being alumni and all, but it turns out the other high schools are a little more picky. Maybe it's time for me to go back to college. There's no reason not to now. Not since..."
She fell silent. William reached across the table and took her hand, and they sat in quiet reflection. "Anyhow." Buffy wiped at her eyes, and William did the same with a loud sniff. "What do you think? Give it another go?"
"Absolutely, pet."
"You sure? It'll mean I can't contribute to the bills, and maybe even have to take out some loans. I just finished paying off the last set of student loans - hey! Stop laughing at me!"
"Sorry! It was just so bloody funny."
"I guess... why was it funny?"
"Because." William frowned, his face scrunched up in concentration. "Dunno. It just was. Wasn't it?"
The memory, such as it was, wouldn't come. Buffy remembered him laughing at the time - sniggering in that infuriating way of his. But why? And why had she met with a loan officer at night? Outside? It didn't make any sense. She shook her head, frustrated. One more annoying gap she couldn't explain. The more she tried to tease the memory out, the more it faded, until all that remained was a vague unsettled feeling and a whole lot of anger with nowhere to put it. "Maybe you were just drunk," she said with a saccharine smile.
"Maybe," he agreed equitably. Buffy scowled. Once upon a time, such a simple bait would have set him off, granting her the fight she was itching for. But he'd been so damn calm since he'd awoken from his coma. The literature had said coma patients sometimes underwent drastic personality changes, and it looked like the literature was right. She missed fighting the way they used to. But then, they'd never managed to be a couple before - they'd been too busy fighting. Maybe the new and improved William wasn't so bad after all.
Buffy had the sneaking suspicion the changes weren't just due to the coma, though. He'd gone off - left her - months earlier. Gone on to live his own life, he'd said. Make something of himself. She'd missed him, desperately, but she'd let him go. Whatever they'd meant to each other, it hadn't been the time or place. And when her sister had - when he'd come back to San Francisco, William had been different. Calmer. More sure of himself.
"I missed you," she said, and he nodded. She'd told him often enough that he knew exactly what she meant, even coming out of the blue as it did. "But it was good. I'm glad now, even if I hated it then. I hated you."
"I know," he said, and it was true. Despite all the gaps in their memories, this was the one thing they were both sure of. When he'd returned from starting up his business, prepared to face tragedy with her, Buffy had laid her heart on the line. She'd taken a deep breath, told him she loved him, and made certain he believed it.
At least one good thing had come out of -
Her mind shied away, as it always did. If only she could forget these memories in place of the others. "Doctor Crane said exactly what I expected." Buffy finally acknowledged William's question in an attempt to distract herself. She deepened her voice. "This is very good. It shows you are close to a breakthrough. Just give it time."
"We've got time, sweetheart." William reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "We've got all the time in the world."
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*******
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Buffy rubbed at her eyes, and peered blearily at herself in the mirror. If this kept up, she wouldn't have to worry about quitting her job - they'd fire her soon enough. It had only been one week since William had begun haunting her dreams, but she looked as if she hadn't slept in months. She picked up the concealer and gave it a hopeful glance before dropping it back to the counter. Nothing could help bags like these. Just call her Buffy the Bag Lady.
William appeared behind her in the mirror. "Ready, love?"
"You don't have to go with me."
"Like I'd bloody well let you go on your own. You're a menace, state you're in. You'd do some poor pedestrian in before you reached city limits, never mind making the seven hour drive to San Fran."
"I could take the bus."
"And terrify the lot of them when you drift off into dreamland?"
She slumped. "If I terrify you into an accident when you're driving, don't blame me."
"Steady hands," said William, holding them aloft for her inspection. "It'd take a lot more than a little thing like you to throw me off my game. Besides. That's not the only reason I have to go with you."
"I know." Buffy picked up the delicate silver necklace resting on the dresser. "You going to give this to her today?"
William swallowed. "Yeah. Seems appropriate, for her birthday, you know?"
They moved together without another word, silently supporting each other, holding each other close. With a final squeeze, they broke apart. Buffy picked up her purse and headed for the door, William following. He grabbed a six-pack resting on the table on the way out. She lifted an eyebrow. "Thought we'd stop by and visit Xander after," he said.
She winced, unsure of the propriety of his suggestion, before shaking it off. "Yeah. Good idea." Buffy waited while he locked up, then added, "Maybe we could swing by Sunnydale on the way home tomorrow. Make the rounds. See everybody."
"So long as Andrew's not included in 'everybody', you've got yourself a plan."
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*******
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The usually foggy city was awash in bright midday sunshine by the time they arrived, cruising slowly down the street and puttering to a stop. Buffy stretched, rousing herself from the sleepy, dull stare she'd maintained most of the way there. It was a long drive from Temecula, the little town south of Los Angeles where William had started his new life months earlier, too long to make the trip very often. Why here? Buffy had asked him when he'd first told her about his shop, and he'd replied, It's a good tourist town. It's got the right kind of visitors for my wares. And it seemed... safe. When she'd pressed him further, he'd shrugged and added, Only one cemetery in the whole damn town. That's got to be a good sign, right?
For whatever reason, his answer had made perfect sense. Temecula, with its lone cemetery, seemed like the sort of place a person could find happiness.
She'd spent far too much time in cemeteries these last few years.
Buffy stared out the window at the lush green lawn, barely seeing what was in front of her, until William opened the door and snapped her out of her trance. He offered her his hand, and she let him pull her to her feet. "Here we go," she said. It was the first time they'd been back in the three months since she'd moved south with him, and her legs shook as they wended their way through the headstones. William made to leave when they neared Dawn's grave, but Buffy didn't need privacy. She needed him to help her face this moment. "Stay," she said, holding tight to his hand.
They sat together for a long time, neither saying a word. Buffy ran her hand over the inscription on the stone, tears running silently down her cheeks, while William wrapped the silver chain around his fingers, tangling and untangling them in the delicate metal. All around them, birds twittered under the warm sun. In the distance, a school bell rang, and the sound of children screaming and laughing burbled up though the still air.
Eventually, her tears ran out. "Miss you, Dawnie," Buffy whispered, and climbed to her feet. "You want a minute alone?" she said a little louder, but not so loud as to disturb the quiet hush surrounding them.
"No." William took her hand in his right, and traced the gravestone with his left. "Nibblet, I..." His voice cracked. He cleared it and tried again. "I picked this up for you when I was..." For a moment, his face clouded over, and then he shrugged. "When I was off traveling." He laid the necklace along the foot of the stone, tucking it into the crack between the granite and the earth. "Happy birthday, Little Bit."
Buffy felt her eyes begin to burn once more, and she swallowed, hard. William wiped at his own eyes, then grabbed the six-pack and headed off to his left, just a few plots away. "Harris," he said, and plopped back down on the ground. She followed suit, feeling incredibly old and drained.
Feet tucked under her thighs, she laid her head on William's shoulder. "Why?"
"Xander?"
"Yeah."
They'd never talked about it, not before now. William sat silent a long time, watching a nearby sparrow peck at the ground. Finally, he said, "Guess he couldn't take it anymore. First Anya, then Dawn... Don't know that I rightly blame him. If it'd been you..."
"No!" Buffy said sharply, sitting up to look him in the face. "Promise me you won't do that. Ever!"
"I know I thought about it plenty. That summer, when you were..." His brow furrowed. "This being in a coma thing is getting to be a bad habit for you, isn't it, love?"
Buffy frowned too, and then she remembered. "Oh. Right, after I fell off that weird tower. I guess I forgot." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Not that I should be surprised."
"Don't blame you for forgetting." William squeezed her hand. "At any rate... It was bad. The doctors said there was no hope, and... well, if it hadn't have been for my promise to take care of your sis, let's just say I wouldn't be here now."
"It's a good thing you didn't."
"It is."
"I would've killed you if you did."
"I know."
"And if you hadn't been there when I woke up, what was it, a hundred and forty-seven days later..."
"I know."
They fell silent again. William twisted the cap off one of the bottles and offered it to Buffy. When she shook her head, he leaned it against Xander's headstone and opened another for himself. She squirmed into a more comfortable position, head on his stomach, and watched the sun traverse the sky out of the corner of her eye. "I wish they could've been next to each other."
"They're pretty damn close."
"And Mom too. Do you think... do you think they're together now?"
"I'd stake my life on it, Buffy."
She contemplated this for a while. "It kinda feels like somebody has it in for us, doesn't it? All the bad things that've happened in our lives... all the people we've lost. It's just you and me now."
"And Willow."
"And Willow. Not that we ever see her. She's... I don't know. It's like we lost her too."
William opened another beer. He took a swallow. "Well, I guess there's always Andrew."
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*******
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Willow opened the door right as Buffy decided to give up, her hair disarrayed and her eyes - were they black? Buffy blinked and looked again. No. Her pupils were a bit dilated, maybe, or maybe it was a trick of the light. Either way, Willow looked dazed, that was all. Or maybe it was sleepy. Sleepy, and kinda satisfied.
"Did I wake you, Wills?" The redhead stared straight through her, and hello. Creepy. "Earth to Willow?"
"Earth to Willow," Willow mimicked, and chuckled low in her throat. "Good one, Buff," she said, but Buffy got the distinct impression Willow wasn't really with her.
"Um... I can come back? If you're busy?"
Or... stoned? They'd agreed to meet at seven, and sure, she was a few minutes early, but Buffy was getting the feeling she wasn't really expected. Or welcome.
Willow shook her head and seemed to snap to, her somnolent expression replaced by an intensely focused stare, no less disconcerting. She flicked her fingers in a strange pattern, head cocked to one side. Before Buffy could so much as frown, Willow had changed demeanor again, suddenly warm and welcoming.
"Buffy! Come in! Sorry, I was just..." She blushed slightly. "Meditating. When I really get into it, I'm all loopy after."
"Ah. Right." Buffy followed her friend into her apartment, bemused.
"Tea? I've got chamomile, or some of that Earl Grey William likes." She turned. "Where is William?"
"He crashed at the hotel. Long drive, and all that."
Willow fluttered around her kitchen, ping-ponging between a nervous desire to please and natural efficiency, babbling all the while. Buffy smiled, feeling more comfortable with the other woman than she had since she'd awoken from her coma. This was how she remembered her best friend.
Her smile faded. This was how she remembered her best friend... back in high school. Willow hadn't acted like a spaz in years - except when she had something to hide. "So what's the deep, dark secret, Willow? Spill."
Willow stumbled, water sloshing out of the kettle and onto the counter. She swiped a sponge over it in jerky arcs. "Secret? No secret. Nothing going on here, just regular old Willow. Doing regular old things. Boring and normal! How about you?"
Buffy eyed her. "Something's up. Oooh! Is it a new girlfriend?"
"What? No!" Willow shook her head, then nodded. Vigorously. More water spilled. "You got me. That's - it's still kind of a secret."
Buffy took the kettle from her friend and set it on the stove. "How come?"
Willow stared at her. "How - how come? Well, um... because she lives far away. And we don't really know if it's going to work yet. And..." She blushed and bit her lip, her hand going to the polished red stone that hung on a chain around her neck. "And I kinda met her when I was still with Kennedy."
"So?"
Willow winced.
"Oh! Oh..."
"Yeah. So, guilt factor. Major guilt factor. And it's still there, even if Kennedy and I are over now."
"Gotcha."
Willow tucked her hair behind her ear, a sheepish expression on her face. "You don't hate me?"
"Like I could ever hate you. But..." Buffy grinned. "I think you need to make it up to me by telling me all about this secret girlfriend of yours."
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*******
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Secret girlfriend stories out of the way, and tea finally made, it was Buffy's turn to talk. "I know Doctor Crane's got all those fancy degrees - at least he's got lots of framed pieces of paper on his wall - but, really? Vampires real? How am I supposed to trust a doctor who says stuff like that?"
Willow's brow creased. "You think he was serious? Maybe it was some kind of new memory-restoration technique. Trying to jog your memory into providing more details, or something."
"Maybe. But it was such a ridiculous idea, I couldn't bring myself to tell William what he'd suggested. Either way, so obviously not the case. I mean, William's not a vampire. Can you imagine him creeping around in the dead of night, all I vant to suck your blood and stuff?" She rolled her eyes at the thought. "Whatever my subconscious is trying to tell me by giving him a shiny set of fangs, I really wish it would stop." Buffy waggled her fingers at the dark shadows under her eyes. "Not appreciating the five-piece luggage set I've got going on here. And if it's all just a reminder of how we used to fight constantly? Wow, am I going to be pissed."
"I've got some po- some teas that might help. Guaranteed dreamless sleep."
"I might take you up on it." Buffy steepled her fingers against her temples. "If only I could remember what happened that night. How we both ended up in the hospital."
The redhead made a noise of suppressed irritation. When Buffy looked at her in surprise, she shrugged. "You might not like what you remember."
"It can't be any worse than this!"
Willow narrowed her eyes, and she clutched at the amulet around her neck. The hints of red peeking through Willow's fingers caught Buffy's attention and she leaned closer to get a better look, mind working at the edge of a memory.
"Oh, Buffy, Buffy, Buffy..." The words came out in a lazy drawl, so unlike Willow's usual voice that Buffy's gaze jerked to her face. "That normal life you spent so many years whining about not all it's cracked up to be, huh? You finally have it, and now it's all boohoo, something's missing. Wish I knew what it was."
Buffy shrank back, startled at the unexpected venom. "I'm... sorry?" She didn't know what she was apologizing for, not when she had no idea what her friend was talking about, but it seemed the safest bet.
"Whatever."
"But we know what's missing - my memories."
"Just your memories? Trust me, you got off easy."
Silence reigned. Buffy was too stunned to speak. Willow sat unnaturally still, unperturbed by her outburst, gaze focused on something Buffy couldn't see once more. Her fingers caressed the red stone lying against her chest, but Buffy had lost interest in the unusual necklace. "Willow - if I did something to upset you, I'm sorry. But I really don't remember. Like, not just I'm a bad friend don't remember. There are gaps in my mind, big, huge empty spaces, and this is obviously one of them."
Willow chuckled. The sound made the hairs on the back of Buffy's neck stand up. "I've always known about the big empty space that is your mind, Buff. Nothing new there. Act first, think never, and to hell with anybody else, right? I came through in the end, but not everybody was so lucky. Dawn, for example. Or Xander. Giles. Anya. Miss Calendar. Tara."
"I'm -" Buffy stood quickly, knocking over her cup in her haste. She moved to blot the carpet, and changed her mind. Without another word, she made for the door through a haze of tears, barking her shins more than once on her way out.
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*******
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"You think..." Buffy rolled over to stare at the ceiling. Ceilings were nonjudgmental. Safe. You could say anything to them. "You think maybe that's why I don't remember? Because I know I'm responsible, somehow, and I've blocked it out?"
"Don't be daft, how could you be?"
"I don't know. But it would explain why she was so angry. I mean, Willow's not just angry. She hates me. I must have done something awful."
William was quiet for a long time - so long, Buffy began to worry he secretly agreed.
Or, worse, had fallen back asleep.
"She's grieving too," he said at last. "She's grieving, same as we are, but she's got nobody to share it with. Even if she's got a new bird, this Aluwyn chippie can't possibly understand. Harris was all Willow had left of her childhood. Now he's gone, and the witch is lashing out. Seems to me it's what she does." William propped himself up on one elbow, and Buffy rolled back onto her side to face him. "You told me how it was when Tara died."
"It was bad," she said. "We thought we were going to have to have Willow committed. Maybe worse. Xander -" Her voice broke. "Xander was the only one who could get through to her."
"And now he's the one she's grieving."
Buffy thought about this for a while. William's insights into her and her friends had always bordered on uncannily accurate, not that she would ever let him know. His ego was too big for his head as it was. Something about what he'd said struck her as odd, though. "Why'd you call her a witch?"
"Willow? She's acting like a right witch. Don't care how addled by grief the woman is, she hurt my girl. I can call her worse things if it'd make you feel better," he said, and his hopeful tone made Buffy laugh despite herself.
"Ugh," she groaned. "At least this day is over. Can't get any worse."
He peered at his watch, then grinned down at her, a wicked twinkle in his eye. "It's officially tomorrow. Care to start the new day off right?"
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*******
.
Her legs betrayed her, and she hit the ground with a sharp crunch. Fresh pain bloomed in her side, painting her vision in a haze of red. The monsters loomed closer. Fetid breath washed over her face, and she waited with fatalistic resignation. To give in meant no more fighting and failing. No more terror. Just peace.
Maybe tonight she would let him end the horror.
She craned her head. Bared her neck in supplication.
He didn't save her.
The air crackled. Popped. Hissed. A thousand writhing black snakes resolved into obsidian hair flying on the wind, sparking with the absence of light. Beneath unnaturally pale skin, ebony tentacles crawled and writhed, twisting their way into the witch's heart. They pulsed with forbidden knowledge, waxing and waning in time with the glowing red stone that had been inscribed by darkness itself.
The witch's voice sounded of death and decay. Of things older than time. "You clawed your way out of the earth once already. Oops. My bad. Let's see how you claw your way out of this, Slayer-bitch."
.
PART TWO HERE
Title: Palimpsest
Rating: R
Setting: Post-series AU (could be mid-S9)
Warnings: Grab your tissues. At least - I hope you need them! :)
A/N: I wrote this a year ago in preparation for the next round of Seasonal Spuffy... but Seasonal Spuffy has gone on hiatus. Meanwhile, S10 keeps getting more and more Scooby-friendship friendly, unlike S9. This is much closer to S9's mood.
A/N2: Written to go off-canon sometime mid-S9, but also written so that comic knowledge is unnecessary (except for a few small jokes).
A/N3: Thanks to foxstarreh and margueritedaisy for beta work, and foxstarreh for being my S9 encyclopedia so that I didn't have to actually buy or read the comics. :)
Palimpsest: 1) A parchment or the like from which the writing has been partially or completely erased and replaced with new writing. 2) Something that has been changed over time and shows evidence of that change. (Merriam-Webster Online)
PART ONE
I'm a hero, really. I mean, to be cast such an ugly lot in life, and then to rise above it.
- Randy Giles (Tablua Rasa)
.
.
They came at her out of the shadows, faces twisted. Eyes shining with unholy light. Voices raspy and sibilant around gleaming fangs. "Slayer," they called her. And slay she did. Through the terror, through the mad rush of blood pounding in her ears and sweat running down her back. She ducked, kicked, punched. Staked. Won.
It wasn't over though. It was never over - it never would be over. On they came, walking nightmares of every shape and size. Furry, leathery, slimy, huge or small, they all had one thing in common: the desire to baptize the earth with her blood.
She couldn't give in. Wouldn't. She fought until her legs shook and her arm muscles burned. Until her lungs screamed. Until her vision dimmed, ruby red liquid pooling around her in long, slowing spurts.
And then he came. His face was the one leering at her out of the darkness.
Her heart strained, a rapid staccato beating in her chest. Her brain fired desperate signals to her body - movemovemove - that went unheard.
He leaned closer, tongue dancing over wicked, sharp teeth, caressing jagged edges. "Got you now, Slayer."
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*******
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Buffy screamed.
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*******
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"Buffy! Bloody hell, wake up!"
William's voice broke through the darkness and the confusion, shattering the panic that held her in its grip. She gasped and clung to him, his body her lifeline, the warmth of his hands and the steady thudding of his heartbeat soothing her, bringing her back to the still, calm night.
When her sobs had died down, he said, quietly, "It's getting worse. You can't fool me, love. Every night, it's been getting worse." She shook her head against his chest. William's large, capable hands stroked their way up her back and down again, guiding her through the post-adrenaline letdown. "Buffy..."
"Tonight was a bad one," she admitted, voice shaky. "But it's getting better. I didn't have any nightmares at all last night!"
"And you don't think not going to sleep all night might've had something to do with it?"
She sighed, realizing she'd been caught. "Shh. I don't wanna talk about it right now. I just wanna..." Buffy pressed closer, making her intent clear. It was the perfect antidote - the only antidote to the nightmares. She always managed to sleep soundly after, worn out, logy and content in his arms.
Without further prompting, his touch morphed into light, delicate strokes, dancing along her sides. Buffy could feel him hardening against her, and she wriggled until his hardness pressed more firmly against her thigh. "William. I love you. So much."
"Love you too, pet."
When he slipped his fingers inside of her, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. A few weeks back, not long after they'd begun this ritual, she'd asked him if he minded. If he felt used. He'd only laughed and gone back to kissing her, deep, bone-melting kisses that left her breathless. The good kind of breathless. Just as he did now.
With his mouth working its magic, Buffy soon relaxed her death grip on his arms. William reached for the small lamp on the end table next to their bed and flicked it on. This was another part of the ritual for chasing away the bogeymen that haunted her dreams. Seeing their small, cozy, normal bedroom illuminated by the diffuse glow reminded her that they were just dreams. Nothing to be afraid of. She took in the framed photos on the bedside table, one of their recent weekend in the mountains, the other of them at the beach. From there, her gaze slid over the wall on her right. William's wall, she called it. Hers was opposite his, on the left. Buffy closed her eyes; she didn't need the reminders of her family or his.
William was her family now. Her heart. Her love.
Now - oh. Oh. He nudged his way between her thighs, and Buffy smiled. "William..." Eyes still closed, she savored the feeling, breathing him in. Warm, musky, with a faint sheen of masculine sweat. She breathed deeper, opening her heart and her legs.
Fully seated, William nipped at her earlobe. "You with me, love?"
"Sure am." Buffy wriggled, urging him on.
"Wanna see those pretty eyes of yours."
She wanted to see his too. They were his most striking feature - deep, clear blue, brimming with love and devotion. The old saying about eyes being windows to the soul had never been more true than it was with William, and those eyes were one of the first things that had drawn her to him. Slowly, she fluttered her eyelashes open.
The angle of the light cast his face in shadow, turning his irises yellow and his skin unnaturally pale. William grinned. His teeth gleamed, canines long and sharp in the dim light, and panic slammed her heart against her ribs. God no, not him, he's not real he's not real he's not it's just a dream always just a dream...
It didn't help. William disappeared, was gone, maybe had never existed. Buffy closed her eyes, but the monster remained. Bleached hair atop a face twisted and demonic. Eyes gleaming with evil intent. Death threats hissed on bloodied breath. No escape, not this time, gotyounowSlayer. From somewhere deep inside, a scream bubbled up, welling higher, filling her burning lungs with hot, stale air - a
.
*******
.
Still dazed, Buffy sat on the edge of their bed and stared absently at the wall. Slowly, her breathing evened, and as the nightmare faded back into the shadows, the Cassatt hanging in front of her drew her eye. She focused on it, willing herself into reality. Normalcy. No monsters here, no sir. Just Buffy and William, see, and here is their room. Their life. Their possessions. Mother and Child. Can't get any more normal than that.
She looked harder, taking in each detail. A mother held a young girl in a billowy dress, countenance tender and adoring, and Buffy lingered over the expression on the woman's face. They'd painted their bedroom walls the same warm, yellow hues of the child's hair, and it offset the clear blue of the mother's eyes. Eyes which, now that she looked more closely, were an almost identical replica of William's. Huh. Buffy was still surprised by how deeply the image had resonated with her boyfriend. When they'd moved in together, she'd been prepared to negotiate over decor, but she'd expected to be negotiating over Sex Pistols posters. Not gentle scenes of mothers and children. "Reminds me of my mum and sister," he'd said, staring at the print in the display bin. "Looks just like them." Any inclination to negotiate (argue) had disappeared with those words. She had an entire wall of their bedroom devoted to photos of her family - her own mom and sister - but he had none. For whatever reason, his photos hadn't survived the years since their deaths.
She might have the photos, but she didn't have the people, not anymore than he did.
At least he has this. When they'd first hung it, he'd sat exactly where she was sitting now, eyes glued to the slightly diaphanous figures. "I can't get over how much it looks like them," he said. "Almost feels real. Like a real memory. If you could look over in this corner, here..." He flicked his fingers. "You'd find young William playing quietly with his toys.
"You mean, if young William had lived over a hundred years ago. Look at those clothes!"
They'd both laughed, but he hadn't taken his eyes off the print. Not for a long time.
He sat down beside her now and pressed a glass into her hand. Recognizing the amber liquid, Buffy made a face. "You know, Jack Daniels does not hold the answer to all of life's little problems."
"'Course it does. Back in my day, a stiff drink was always what the doctor ordered for shock. Even for the ladies."
"Back in your day?" She snorted. "You mean, all those five years you lived before I was born?"
"Drink up, smartass."
Buffy did, gulping down the fiery liquid as rapidly as possible and finishing off with a wracking shudder. "Bleargh! I don't know how you stand this stuff."
William smiled, eyes crinkled in amusement. "It's my mature and refined palate."
"Destroyed palate is more like it. Bleargh!" She shuddered again, but the burn in her chest mellowed into a warm glow in the pit of her stomach, spreading outwards and relieving the suppressed shaking of her limbs. Buffy yawned. "Maybe you were right," she said, and yawned again. She laid her head on his shoulder. "Mishter Daniels ish very shmart."
"Lightweight," William murmured. Buffy felt him tugging her back into bed, and she did her best to help him, crawling under the covers and crashing facedown. "Better now?"
"Better. Shtay, okay? Don't go."
"Never, my love. Never."
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*******
.
The buzzing of the alarm clock cut through the buzzing in her head, pulling Buffy out of a vague half-sleep. With a groan, she tugged the pillow over her head to drown out the sound. "Tell me it's not morning."
"It's not morning."
"Now make it true."
"Sorry, love, wish I could. But duty calls."
Buffy peeked at him, one eye half-slitted against the harsh morning light. "You love that record store more than me."
"Love lots of things more than you. A good pint. Spicy Buffalo wings. Football on the telly." He caught her scowl and grinned, biting his lip and waggling his eyebrows. "Dog racing."
"Asshole."
"Yeah, but you love it. Especially when you let me in yours."
"Shut up!" she hissed, though there was nobody around to overhear. Cheeks flaming, she pulled the pillow back over her head. "Get gone, already."
The bed dipped under his weight, and William's face appeared next to hers. "You'll call the doctor, right? Promise?"
"And say what? The dreams are bleeding over into when I'm awake? I know exactly what his response will be - same thing as always. 'It's your memories coming back, don't push it, they'll come to you, blah blah blah.' And -" she said, forestalling his argument, "I can tell you how not impressed he'll be that you were in my dream. 'William is associated with whatever traumatic memory you are both suppressing. It is only natural your subconscious would give form to your fears by painting him as one of the monsters.' Tell me I'm wrong."
William shook his head. "Don't need all my memories to know that's a bad idea. But give the fellow a call, all right? For me?"
"For you. I'll do it on my lunch break." He blinked at her expectantly, and she sighed. "Promise."
"Thank you." William feathered his hand over her cheek. "You know I'd take all the nasties away if I could. But look on the bright side. At least your memories are coming back, love. I'm still tabula rasa. It doesn't look like mine will ever return."
"You don't seem to care."
"It'd be nice to know how we both ended up coma patients, and me all done up in plaster. But..." He shrugged. "I know the important things. My name. My address. My job. I know Man U is the only team to root for, and the music scene has been so much trash for the last twenty years."
"All the important things," Buffy agreed with a pout.
"You're just too easy. Oh - look at that lip." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a playful, husky whisper. "Gonna get it!" Buffy waited, breath held in anticipation as he drew closer and captured her mouth with his. When her toes had curled and she'd forgotten why she was even pouting in the first place, William broke the kiss. "And I know the only thing that really matters: the most amazing, beautiful, incredible woman in the entire world loves me, and shares my life. I'd give up every other memory I had if need be, so long as I could know this one thing."
What was a girl supposed to say to that?
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*******
.
"So?" he asked after work, when they'd sat down to a pasta salad and a bottle of wine. "What'd the doc say?"
Buffy ignored the question, rolling out her shoulders one at a time. "I think I'm over the whole barista thing. It's not that I don't enjoy it... but I really don't enjoy it. Remember when I was the counselor at - remember when I was a counselor? I could do that again."
"Yeah. So why don't you?"
"Lack of higher education, for one. Sunnydale High made an exception for me, being alumni and all, but it turns out the other high schools are a little more picky. Maybe it's time for me to go back to college. There's no reason not to now. Not since..."
She fell silent. William reached across the table and took her hand, and they sat in quiet reflection. "Anyhow." Buffy wiped at her eyes, and William did the same with a loud sniff. "What do you think? Give it another go?"
"Absolutely, pet."
"You sure? It'll mean I can't contribute to the bills, and maybe even have to take out some loans. I just finished paying off the last set of student loans - hey! Stop laughing at me!"
"Sorry! It was just so bloody funny."
"I guess... why was it funny?"
"Because." William frowned, his face scrunched up in concentration. "Dunno. It just was. Wasn't it?"
The memory, such as it was, wouldn't come. Buffy remembered him laughing at the time - sniggering in that infuriating way of his. But why? And why had she met with a loan officer at night? Outside? It didn't make any sense. She shook her head, frustrated. One more annoying gap she couldn't explain. The more she tried to tease the memory out, the more it faded, until all that remained was a vague unsettled feeling and a whole lot of anger with nowhere to put it. "Maybe you were just drunk," she said with a saccharine smile.
"Maybe," he agreed equitably. Buffy scowled. Once upon a time, such a simple bait would have set him off, granting her the fight she was itching for. But he'd been so damn calm since he'd awoken from his coma. The literature had said coma patients sometimes underwent drastic personality changes, and it looked like the literature was right. She missed fighting the way they used to. But then, they'd never managed to be a couple before - they'd been too busy fighting. Maybe the new and improved William wasn't so bad after all.
Buffy had the sneaking suspicion the changes weren't just due to the coma, though. He'd gone off - left her - months earlier. Gone on to live his own life, he'd said. Make something of himself. She'd missed him, desperately, but she'd let him go. Whatever they'd meant to each other, it hadn't been the time or place. And when her sister had - when he'd come back to San Francisco, William had been different. Calmer. More sure of himself.
"I missed you," she said, and he nodded. She'd told him often enough that he knew exactly what she meant, even coming out of the blue as it did. "But it was good. I'm glad now, even if I hated it then. I hated you."
"I know," he said, and it was true. Despite all the gaps in their memories, this was the one thing they were both sure of. When he'd returned from starting up his business, prepared to face tragedy with her, Buffy had laid her heart on the line. She'd taken a deep breath, told him she loved him, and made certain he believed it.
At least one good thing had come out of -
Her mind shied away, as it always did. If only she could forget these memories in place of the others. "Doctor Crane said exactly what I expected." Buffy finally acknowledged William's question in an attempt to distract herself. She deepened her voice. "This is very good. It shows you are close to a breakthrough. Just give it time."
"We've got time, sweetheart." William reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "We've got all the time in the world."
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*******
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Buffy rubbed at her eyes, and peered blearily at herself in the mirror. If this kept up, she wouldn't have to worry about quitting her job - they'd fire her soon enough. It had only been one week since William had begun haunting her dreams, but she looked as if she hadn't slept in months. She picked up the concealer and gave it a hopeful glance before dropping it back to the counter. Nothing could help bags like these. Just call her Buffy the Bag Lady.
William appeared behind her in the mirror. "Ready, love?"
"You don't have to go with me."
"Like I'd bloody well let you go on your own. You're a menace, state you're in. You'd do some poor pedestrian in before you reached city limits, never mind making the seven hour drive to San Fran."
"I could take the bus."
"And terrify the lot of them when you drift off into dreamland?"
She slumped. "If I terrify you into an accident when you're driving, don't blame me."
"Steady hands," said William, holding them aloft for her inspection. "It'd take a lot more than a little thing like you to throw me off my game. Besides. That's not the only reason I have to go with you."
"I know." Buffy picked up the delicate silver necklace resting on the dresser. "You going to give this to her today?"
William swallowed. "Yeah. Seems appropriate, for her birthday, you know?"
They moved together without another word, silently supporting each other, holding each other close. With a final squeeze, they broke apart. Buffy picked up her purse and headed for the door, William following. He grabbed a six-pack resting on the table on the way out. She lifted an eyebrow. "Thought we'd stop by and visit Xander after," he said.
She winced, unsure of the propriety of his suggestion, before shaking it off. "Yeah. Good idea." Buffy waited while he locked up, then added, "Maybe we could swing by Sunnydale on the way home tomorrow. Make the rounds. See everybody."
"So long as Andrew's not included in 'everybody', you've got yourself a plan."
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*******
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The usually foggy city was awash in bright midday sunshine by the time they arrived, cruising slowly down the street and puttering to a stop. Buffy stretched, rousing herself from the sleepy, dull stare she'd maintained most of the way there. It was a long drive from Temecula, the little town south of Los Angeles where William had started his new life months earlier, too long to make the trip very often. Why here? Buffy had asked him when he'd first told her about his shop, and he'd replied, It's a good tourist town. It's got the right kind of visitors for my wares. And it seemed... safe. When she'd pressed him further, he'd shrugged and added, Only one cemetery in the whole damn town. That's got to be a good sign, right?
For whatever reason, his answer had made perfect sense. Temecula, with its lone cemetery, seemed like the sort of place a person could find happiness.
She'd spent far too much time in cemeteries these last few years.
Buffy stared out the window at the lush green lawn, barely seeing what was in front of her, until William opened the door and snapped her out of her trance. He offered her his hand, and she let him pull her to her feet. "Here we go," she said. It was the first time they'd been back in the three months since she'd moved south with him, and her legs shook as they wended their way through the headstones. William made to leave when they neared Dawn's grave, but Buffy didn't need privacy. She needed him to help her face this moment. "Stay," she said, holding tight to his hand.
They sat together for a long time, neither saying a word. Buffy ran her hand over the inscription on the stone, tears running silently down her cheeks, while William wrapped the silver chain around his fingers, tangling and untangling them in the delicate metal. All around them, birds twittered under the warm sun. In the distance, a school bell rang, and the sound of children screaming and laughing burbled up though the still air.
Eventually, her tears ran out. "Miss you, Dawnie," Buffy whispered, and climbed to her feet. "You want a minute alone?" she said a little louder, but not so loud as to disturb the quiet hush surrounding them.
"No." William took her hand in his right, and traced the gravestone with his left. "Nibblet, I..." His voice cracked. He cleared it and tried again. "I picked this up for you when I was..." For a moment, his face clouded over, and then he shrugged. "When I was off traveling." He laid the necklace along the foot of the stone, tucking it into the crack between the granite and the earth. "Happy birthday, Little Bit."
Buffy felt her eyes begin to burn once more, and she swallowed, hard. William wiped at his own eyes, then grabbed the six-pack and headed off to his left, just a few plots away. "Harris," he said, and plopped back down on the ground. She followed suit, feeling incredibly old and drained.
Feet tucked under her thighs, she laid her head on William's shoulder. "Why?"
"Xander?"
"Yeah."
They'd never talked about it, not before now. William sat silent a long time, watching a nearby sparrow peck at the ground. Finally, he said, "Guess he couldn't take it anymore. First Anya, then Dawn... Don't know that I rightly blame him. If it'd been you..."
"No!" Buffy said sharply, sitting up to look him in the face. "Promise me you won't do that. Ever!"
"I know I thought about it plenty. That summer, when you were..." His brow furrowed. "This being in a coma thing is getting to be a bad habit for you, isn't it, love?"
Buffy frowned too, and then she remembered. "Oh. Right, after I fell off that weird tower. I guess I forgot." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Not that I should be surprised."
"Don't blame you for forgetting." William squeezed her hand. "At any rate... It was bad. The doctors said there was no hope, and... well, if it hadn't have been for my promise to take care of your sis, let's just say I wouldn't be here now."
"It's a good thing you didn't."
"It is."
"I would've killed you if you did."
"I know."
"And if you hadn't been there when I woke up, what was it, a hundred and forty-seven days later..."
"I know."
They fell silent again. William twisted the cap off one of the bottles and offered it to Buffy. When she shook her head, he leaned it against Xander's headstone and opened another for himself. She squirmed into a more comfortable position, head on his stomach, and watched the sun traverse the sky out of the corner of her eye. "I wish they could've been next to each other."
"They're pretty damn close."
"And Mom too. Do you think... do you think they're together now?"
"I'd stake my life on it, Buffy."
She contemplated this for a while. "It kinda feels like somebody has it in for us, doesn't it? All the bad things that've happened in our lives... all the people we've lost. It's just you and me now."
"And Willow."
"And Willow. Not that we ever see her. She's... I don't know. It's like we lost her too."
William opened another beer. He took a swallow. "Well, I guess there's always Andrew."
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*******
.
Willow opened the door right as Buffy decided to give up, her hair disarrayed and her eyes - were they black? Buffy blinked and looked again. No. Her pupils were a bit dilated, maybe, or maybe it was a trick of the light. Either way, Willow looked dazed, that was all. Or maybe it was sleepy. Sleepy, and kinda satisfied.
"Did I wake you, Wills?" The redhead stared straight through her, and hello. Creepy. "Earth to Willow?"
"Earth to Willow," Willow mimicked, and chuckled low in her throat. "Good one, Buff," she said, but Buffy got the distinct impression Willow wasn't really with her.
"Um... I can come back? If you're busy?"
Or... stoned? They'd agreed to meet at seven, and sure, she was a few minutes early, but Buffy was getting the feeling she wasn't really expected. Or welcome.
Willow shook her head and seemed to snap to, her somnolent expression replaced by an intensely focused stare, no less disconcerting. She flicked her fingers in a strange pattern, head cocked to one side. Before Buffy could so much as frown, Willow had changed demeanor again, suddenly warm and welcoming.
"Buffy! Come in! Sorry, I was just..." She blushed slightly. "Meditating. When I really get into it, I'm all loopy after."
"Ah. Right." Buffy followed her friend into her apartment, bemused.
"Tea? I've got chamomile, or some of that Earl Grey William likes." She turned. "Where is William?"
"He crashed at the hotel. Long drive, and all that."
Willow fluttered around her kitchen, ping-ponging between a nervous desire to please and natural efficiency, babbling all the while. Buffy smiled, feeling more comfortable with the other woman than she had since she'd awoken from her coma. This was how she remembered her best friend.
Her smile faded. This was how she remembered her best friend... back in high school. Willow hadn't acted like a spaz in years - except when she had something to hide. "So what's the deep, dark secret, Willow? Spill."
Willow stumbled, water sloshing out of the kettle and onto the counter. She swiped a sponge over it in jerky arcs. "Secret? No secret. Nothing going on here, just regular old Willow. Doing regular old things. Boring and normal! How about you?"
Buffy eyed her. "Something's up. Oooh! Is it a new girlfriend?"
"What? No!" Willow shook her head, then nodded. Vigorously. More water spilled. "You got me. That's - it's still kind of a secret."
Buffy took the kettle from her friend and set it on the stove. "How come?"
Willow stared at her. "How - how come? Well, um... because she lives far away. And we don't really know if it's going to work yet. And..." She blushed and bit her lip, her hand going to the polished red stone that hung on a chain around her neck. "And I kinda met her when I was still with Kennedy."
"So?"
Willow winced.
"Oh! Oh..."
"Yeah. So, guilt factor. Major guilt factor. And it's still there, even if Kennedy and I are over now."
"Gotcha."
Willow tucked her hair behind her ear, a sheepish expression on her face. "You don't hate me?"
"Like I could ever hate you. But..." Buffy grinned. "I think you need to make it up to me by telling me all about this secret girlfriend of yours."
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*******
.
Secret girlfriend stories out of the way, and tea finally made, it was Buffy's turn to talk. "I know Doctor Crane's got all those fancy degrees - at least he's got lots of framed pieces of paper on his wall - but, really? Vampires real? How am I supposed to trust a doctor who says stuff like that?"
Willow's brow creased. "You think he was serious? Maybe it was some kind of new memory-restoration technique. Trying to jog your memory into providing more details, or something."
"Maybe. But it was such a ridiculous idea, I couldn't bring myself to tell William what he'd suggested. Either way, so obviously not the case. I mean, William's not a vampire. Can you imagine him creeping around in the dead of night, all I vant to suck your blood and stuff?" She rolled her eyes at the thought. "Whatever my subconscious is trying to tell me by giving him a shiny set of fangs, I really wish it would stop." Buffy waggled her fingers at the dark shadows under her eyes. "Not appreciating the five-piece luggage set I've got going on here. And if it's all just a reminder of how we used to fight constantly? Wow, am I going to be pissed."
"I've got some po- some teas that might help. Guaranteed dreamless sleep."
"I might take you up on it." Buffy steepled her fingers against her temples. "If only I could remember what happened that night. How we both ended up in the hospital."
The redhead made a noise of suppressed irritation. When Buffy looked at her in surprise, she shrugged. "You might not like what you remember."
"It can't be any worse than this!"
Willow narrowed her eyes, and she clutched at the amulet around her neck. The hints of red peeking through Willow's fingers caught Buffy's attention and she leaned closer to get a better look, mind working at the edge of a memory.
"Oh, Buffy, Buffy, Buffy..." The words came out in a lazy drawl, so unlike Willow's usual voice that Buffy's gaze jerked to her face. "That normal life you spent so many years whining about not all it's cracked up to be, huh? You finally have it, and now it's all boohoo, something's missing. Wish I knew what it was."
Buffy shrank back, startled at the unexpected venom. "I'm... sorry?" She didn't know what she was apologizing for, not when she had no idea what her friend was talking about, but it seemed the safest bet.
"Whatever."
"But we know what's missing - my memories."
"Just your memories? Trust me, you got off easy."
Silence reigned. Buffy was too stunned to speak. Willow sat unnaturally still, unperturbed by her outburst, gaze focused on something Buffy couldn't see once more. Her fingers caressed the red stone lying against her chest, but Buffy had lost interest in the unusual necklace. "Willow - if I did something to upset you, I'm sorry. But I really don't remember. Like, not just I'm a bad friend don't remember. There are gaps in my mind, big, huge empty spaces, and this is obviously one of them."
Willow chuckled. The sound made the hairs on the back of Buffy's neck stand up. "I've always known about the big empty space that is your mind, Buff. Nothing new there. Act first, think never, and to hell with anybody else, right? I came through in the end, but not everybody was so lucky. Dawn, for example. Or Xander. Giles. Anya. Miss Calendar. Tara."
"I'm -" Buffy stood quickly, knocking over her cup in her haste. She moved to blot the carpet, and changed her mind. Without another word, she made for the door through a haze of tears, barking her shins more than once on her way out.
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*******
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"You think..." Buffy rolled over to stare at the ceiling. Ceilings were nonjudgmental. Safe. You could say anything to them. "You think maybe that's why I don't remember? Because I know I'm responsible, somehow, and I've blocked it out?"
"Don't be daft, how could you be?"
"I don't know. But it would explain why she was so angry. I mean, Willow's not just angry. She hates me. I must have done something awful."
William was quiet for a long time - so long, Buffy began to worry he secretly agreed.
Or, worse, had fallen back asleep.
"She's grieving too," he said at last. "She's grieving, same as we are, but she's got nobody to share it with. Even if she's got a new bird, this Aluwyn chippie can't possibly understand. Harris was all Willow had left of her childhood. Now he's gone, and the witch is lashing out. Seems to me it's what she does." William propped himself up on one elbow, and Buffy rolled back onto her side to face him. "You told me how it was when Tara died."
"It was bad," she said. "We thought we were going to have to have Willow committed. Maybe worse. Xander -" Her voice broke. "Xander was the only one who could get through to her."
"And now he's the one she's grieving."
Buffy thought about this for a while. William's insights into her and her friends had always bordered on uncannily accurate, not that she would ever let him know. His ego was too big for his head as it was. Something about what he'd said struck her as odd, though. "Why'd you call her a witch?"
"Willow? She's acting like a right witch. Don't care how addled by grief the woman is, she hurt my girl. I can call her worse things if it'd make you feel better," he said, and his hopeful tone made Buffy laugh despite herself.
"Ugh," she groaned. "At least this day is over. Can't get any worse."
He peered at his watch, then grinned down at her, a wicked twinkle in his eye. "It's officially tomorrow. Care to start the new day off right?"
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*******
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Her legs betrayed her, and she hit the ground with a sharp crunch. Fresh pain bloomed in her side, painting her vision in a haze of red. The monsters loomed closer. Fetid breath washed over her face, and she waited with fatalistic resignation. To give in meant no more fighting and failing. No more terror. Just peace.
Maybe tonight she would let him end the horror.
She craned her head. Bared her neck in supplication.
He didn't save her.
The air crackled. Popped. Hissed. A thousand writhing black snakes resolved into obsidian hair flying on the wind, sparking with the absence of light. Beneath unnaturally pale skin, ebony tentacles crawled and writhed, twisting their way into the witch's heart. They pulsed with forbidden knowledge, waxing and waning in time with the glowing red stone that had been inscribed by darkness itself.
The witch's voice sounded of death and decay. Of things older than time. "You clawed your way out of the earth once already. Oops. My bad. Let's see how you claw your way out of this, Slayer-bitch."
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PART TWO HERE