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Kallysten
Disclaimer : Of course they belong to someone else, I just play with them
sometimes.
Distribution : Sure, just tell me where. When the story is finished, I will
post it on my website at http://www.geocities.com/kallysten_fr/
Feedback : Anything but flames kallysten_fr@yahoo.com
Story notes : This is a sequel to my story His Childe. If you haven't read it,
I strongly suggest you stop right here and go read it first, some things in
here will make more sense if you do.
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It was the night before the apocalypse, and Sunnydale was quiet. Ignorance was bliss, especially when combined with the local brand of denial. Had they been alerted that the next day might see all hell break loose on the town, would its citizens have believed it? Or would they have ignored the warnings, dismissed them as fairy tales? Or maybe they would have believed, but shrugged the news off. If they had stayed in town after the ascension of the mayor, if they knew enough not to go out after dark, maybe the prospect of more unnatural events taking place a few blocks from their quiet neighborhoods wouldn’t have been all that shocking.
But no warning had been issued. The dozen people who knew what was coming also knew that the panic of crowds or supposed help from the authorities would only prevent them from doing properly what needed to be done. Fight. And win.
These twelve persons were currently gathered in the back yard of a modest house on Revello Drive, and it would have been difficult to guess that they were aware of the pending doom. The night had been declared worry-free, apocalypse-free, demon-free, and all talk about what was to happen at noon the following day was banned. They were ready, as ready as they would ever be, physically and magically. This night was supposed to take care of the mental part, and remind all of them what they were fighting for. It was a celebration of life.
It had started two days before with Willow’s idea that they had to celebrate Buffy and Spike’s engagement, which, she noted, she had not caused in any way. Dawn added that they should also throw a party for the soon-to-be new Scooby and his or her parents. Someone else put in that it might be nice to celebrate the return to life of the three ex-vamps. Before long, plans were made. Everybody was to attend, and everybody was to help decorating or cooking.
And now, with the evening well on it way, here they were, all twelve of them around the dining room table, and why had Buffy never noticed before that so many people could fit around this table? She suspected that something had been done to her furniture as it was moved under the tent the men had set in the backyard, something that involved complicated non-English words and shimmering lights. But she wasn’t allowed to talk of magic tonight; she had made the rule herself, so she didn’t question Willow and Tara, who had been in charge of setting the table.
After initially declining to attend, Andrea had let herself be convinced by the combined efforts of Manon and Giles. The British woman, as well as her charge, had both proved to be quite decent cooks, and the afternoon in the kitchen with them, Anya and Dawn had gone merrily for Buffy. For all of them, time had flown by, and it still was. They were already eating dessert, compliments of the French girl among them, all chatting and laughing happily. The conversations stopped when Giles rose from his chair and cleared his throat, his champagne glass held in front of him for a toast.
“I’m not one for big speeches,” he started, and was interrupted by a couple of giggles, and a sneeze from Xander that sounded suspiciously like ‘liar’.
“Some of us have been fighting side by side through more apocalypses than anyone should ever have to face,” he continued, still composed. “For others, it will be the first fire of what could be many. But I think we are privileged.”
He paused for a second, just long enough for Spike to slip in a quiet ‘we happy few’ that Giles ignored with determination.
“We are privileged to have each other. We are privileged to have among us some of the best fighters on this earth, as well as powerful witches. We are privileged to be friends, a family even, when our links to this world might be all that will save us. So if you please, I propose a toast.”
He raised his glass higher, and eleven more joined it, some filled with champagne, a few with sparkling water.
“To us,” Giles said quietly. “And to life.”
The toast was repeated, glasses were emptied. And in the second of silence that followed, a clear voice rose from the side of the house.
“I was told the festivities are to begin tomorrow, but I see you guys started early.”
Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward the approaching woman, most surprised at seeing the brunette there, but no one as much as Andrea.
“But you’re dead!” the Watcher exclaimed as she jumped up from her chair. “A new one was called so you have to be dead!”
Giles placed a hand on her arm, murmuring calmly that he would explain to her. Glances were exchanged around the table, no one quite sure of what to say, until Buffy got up and held her hand out toward Faith.
“We just finished dinner,” she said with a smile. “But there’s plenty left in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”
Faith took a few steps, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, and shook the offered hand, grinning.
“I’m not hungry, I’m starving. Did a quick sweep on my…”
Her eyes came down to their still clasped hands, and Buffy laughed softly.
“A lot happened since we met last.”
“Yeah, I see that. How about you feed me first? Explanations can wait for later.”
The two Slayers walked inside through the kitchen’s door, and before it closed Buffy heard Manon break the silence and ask:
“Uh… Who was that?”
* * * * *
As Buffy warmed food for Faith, all the others came back into the house, carrying their empty plates that they left in the sink. Faith watched the procession, a bit amused by the hesitant glances the original Slayerettes gave her as they passed by her. To their credit, they all spoke to her on their way to the living room, and she returned the greetings sincerely. Maybe there were apologies to be given, but that could wait for later. The woman who had said earlier that she was dead seemed a bit shaken still as she walked through the kitchen, as if she couldn’t quite believe that Faith was there. By her accent, she was British, and probably a Watcher, though she didn’t look like one. Faith could only hope she was a ‘good’ Watcher, but then it was doubtful Buffy would have welcomed the enemy in her home. Angel hugged her briefly, and it was a surprise to realize that he was human, too. They exchanged a few friendly words, but she answered his questions about what she had been up to vaguely, more because there wasn’t much to say than because she had something to hide. Quickly though, Buffy sent him away, telling him to let Faith eat in peace. By then, there were only four people left in the kitchen. A quiet red haired girl was leaning against the door, arms crossed and a thoughtful look on her face, while a blonde vampire was watching Faith with an unreadable expression. Except… he wasn’t a vampire anymore either, was he?
“Hey blondie,” she said between two bites. “What’s with the breathing?”
He shrugged, and his eyes left her to fall on Buffy, who was putting food away in the fridge.
“Supposedly our little sun allergy would have been inconvenient tomorrow,” he said, and he almost sounded unconcerned.
His eyes came back to her, and the faintest smile touched his lips.
“Glad to see you’re fine, ducks,” he said softly before giving a quick kiss to Buffy and leaving the kitchen.
The blonde Slayer watched him go, head cocked slightly, a small frown worrying her forehead. Faith couldn’t help smirking at her.
“Jealous, Buff?”
“Of you?” came the immediate reply, with a short laugh. “Only in your dreams, ‘ducks’.”
With that, she placed a slice of pie in front of Faith, her hand lingering on the kitchen island long enough for the brunette to see the ring on her finger.
“I’d say congratulations,” Faith said, grinning, “but where’s the diamond?”
Buffy rolled her eyes at her, and she laughed, before noticing again the girl by the door. It wasn’t too hard to figure out who she was. Or rather, what she was. If the other woman was a Watcher, this had to be the new Slayer. Poor kid.
“What’s you name, kiddo?”
“Manon. And you are Faith?”
Faith only nodded, her mouth full with deliciously warm apple pie.
“I was told you were dead,” the girl said, looking at Buffy with a reproachful frown.
“Hey, I never told you she was dead,” the blonde replied with a sly grin. “Take that as a lesson. The Council doesn’t know everything, and it’s often best that way.”
“And another lesson might be this,” Faith added glumly. “If you follow their rules, you might get killed because of it. But if you don’t, they might kill you themselves.”
Of course, that didn’t explain how Buffy was still alive – or rather, how she was alive again – after having defied them for so long, Faith mused grimly.
“So, why are you here?” Buffy asked suddenly. “You said you didn’t want to have anything to do with slaying anymore.”
And it had been her intention, truthfully. But it was hard to do nothing when she could feel a vampire was close. It was hard not to get antsy when night fell and she had too much energy to burn. It was hard to dismiss the dreams. And it had been impossible to refuse the offer she had been made. But she couldn’t explain any of this, not to Buffy.
“I dreamed that I was needed here,” she explained slowly, and it was the truth, if only part of it. “You’d never believe who gave me the message though.”
Buffy laughed lightly at that, and arched an eyebrow at her.
“Let me guess. Cordelia?”
“You dreamt of her too, huh?”
Buffy told Faith about Cordelia being an angel, explained that she was the one who had restored the three vamps humanity, and a weight was lifted off Faith’s shoulders. If she had been able to do that, then certainly she would be able to give Faith what she had promised her.
“We weren’t supposed to talk about tomorrow,” Buffy said then, “but I guess we need to fill you in if you’re going to join the fun.”
So she followed the blonde into the living room, to be with these people whom in truth she barely knew. She had fought by their sides once. Then against them, later. And now they were back on the same team. And to her big surprise, they gave no sign of holding anything against her. They didn’t mention it at all. Even when they started reminiscing about the past apocalypses they had averted, even when they reached the mayor’s ascension, they skimmed over the weeks that had preceded it. But then, they had done the same courtesy to Angel, conveniently forgetting his Angelus phase. Not that long ago, it would have made Faith laugh at their hypocrisy. But now she could understand that they had truly put this all behind them. And that simple fact gave her hope for the new life she still wanted for herself.
* * * * *
Sitting on the steps of the deck, Manon could hear the buzz of voices coming from inside, and, every now and then, laughter. Strange people, really. They might not live to see another night, but they acted as if nothing would happen the next day. She could understand why, of course; they had all been focused on the upcoming battle for ten days and needed to breathe. But she couldn’t put her fears out of her mind as easily as them. Or maybe they weren’t afraid at all. Maybe she was the only one whose heart was beating so fast every time she heard the word ‘apocalypse’ that she thought it might burst. Maybe for the others it was just natural to fight not only for their lives but also for the whole world. But for her, it was new. And terrifying. She was sixteen. She didn’t want to die. There were too many things she hadn’t experienced yet. So much to live for. Too much not to be scared about what was coming. She hadn’t been afraid at first, but it had gotten worse every day since the big meeting, as she slowly realize the seriousness of the situation.
She took a sip from the champagne bottle she had snatched from the deserted table. There wasn’t much left in it, and it wasn’t chilled anymore, but the bubbles tickling her palate felt pleasantly distracting. She heard the kitchen door open behind her, and turned to see Spike sit down by her side. He looked at the bottle in her hand and gave her that irritating smirk of his, though surprisingly without a trace of reproof. He gently grabbed the bottle from her and took a swig before returning it to her.
“Whatever’s bugging you,” he said, “getting drunk won’t help. I know what I’m talking about, believe me.”
She chuckled lightly and raised the bottle to his eye level.
“There’s not even two full glasses left in there,” she pointed out. “It would take a lot more for me to get drunk. My country invented the stuff, after all. And I’m not trying to get drunk anyway. Just enjoying the taste.”
To prove her point, she took a sip, and as an afterthought offered the bottle back to him.
“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas, gamine?”
She liked how he cared about her. She liked the way he talked French to her, sometimes. Andrea did it too, but not enough. She missed speaking her language. Missed her country, her family, her friends.
“J’ai peur,” she whispered, admitting for the first time out loud that she was afraid. But then, he was the first who had asked. Not that the others didn’t care, but she had not let them see something was wrong. She was the youngest of them all, and didn’t want to be seen and treated as the baby of the group.
“It’s normal,” he replied quietly. “We are all afraid.”
“No one looks afraid to me.”
“We don’t show it. Doesn’t mean we’re not.”
They each took another swig in silence, and from the corner of her eye Manon could see that Spike was looking up at the stars. Her own gaze was fixed straight ahead, on nothing in particular.
“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t kill her?” she asked suddenly.
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but finally said nothing and nibbled on her bottom lip. He was right. She wouldn’t have believed without proof.
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” she said with a shrug. “Everything I was told since I was called was a lie. Faith isn’t dead, I’m just one of several Slayers and not the only one, not all vampires or demons are bad, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a secret that I’m a Slayer. All lies.”
“Not lies,” Spike corrected her. “Just the Council’s version of the truth. Be glad that you’ve been shown the other side of it.”
She shook her head. It was all so complicated. And scary.
“What about the part about slayers dying young? Is that a lie? Or a half truth? Or what?”
“You’ll be fine, pet,” he said gently, finally turning to look at her. “You fight well and you’ll be just fine.”
She finished the remains of the champagne in a long gulp and got to her feet. Walking to the table, she placed the empty bottle on it before turning back to face Spike.
“I don’t fight as well as any of you. And you don’t know any more than me what will happen tomorrow.”
She took a deep breath and blinked several times to get rid of the extra moisture in her eyes.
“I don’t want to die, Spike,” she whispered. “Not so soon. Not so far from home. Not away from the people I love. “
“I don’t want you to die either, kid. You’re the first Slayer I’ve met that I have no plans whatsoever to see dead, even for just a minute. Tell you what. You’re going to get inside, you’ll call you family and your friends for a while, and then you’ll go have a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you’ll fight the best you can, and I’ll be watching your back. And you will be OK. Like my plan?”
She couldn’t help smiling slightly at the confidence in his voice. It was so tempting to believe him. She doubted it would be that easy, or else why would three Slayers be needed at once? But his assurance that he would keep an eye on her was comforting. And, she realized, it had nothing to do with him being human now, she would have trusted just as much the vampire he had been. She could admit to herself that she could see exactly what Buffy liked in him. Loved. Because she might just like the same things. Or even… No, nothing more than like. Not with her blonde elder standing right behind him.
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