Ghosts
By
jodyorjen
SPOILERS: AU Season 7, containing vague rumors and speculation.
DISCLAIMER: All hail Joss Whedon, UPN, the WB, FOX, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. GO team! Theirs, not mine.
DEDICATION: For Mezzibelle and Chris, for the therapeutic sessions on the writer’s block couch.
Prologue
It was sunrise in the desert, the fiery orange globe climbing in the sky. The heat shimmered in waves over the surface of the dunes. In the midst of this expanse of nothingness, a figure appeared. Dressed in flowing white robes, she began to run towards a small column of smoke that rose in the air not far from where she had arrived. "Hold," she cried out as she ran. All movement stopped in the desert, the wind holding the sand into sharp peaks like ice. The sun stopped its course, holding fast to the time between day and night.
By the time she reached the source of the smoke, the fire was blazing high. "Extinguish," she murmured. The flames died, revealing the blackened form of a man. "You’re safe now," she whispered soothingly. She conjured a dripping length of material, covering him with it.
"Want die," said a creaking voice, as he flailed against the cloth, trying to uncover himself.
"No matter what you do to try to destroy yourself, you won’t succeed," she said sternly, wrapping long wet strips of linen around his head and neck. "There is a reason that you’ve been given this destiny, and there’s no use trying to fight it."
"Curse," he croaked, and sagged still in her arms.
"I know it feels that way, but it really is a blessing," she said softly. "I know you’re unhappy, but when the Powers choose you, your choices have a way of disappearing." She stood up and levitated his body in the air. In a flash, they both disappeared, leaving the desert empty and barren, the sun resuming its benediction on a new day.
*****
Buffy and Anya walked down the hall of Sunnydale General, both of them dirty and exhausted. They spied Xander through the window, and turned into the hospital room. He looked up from his seat next to the bed, his face lined with strain. "How’s Giles?" he asked.
"Broken ribs, cracked hip, the usual concussion," Buffy said wryly.
"The doctor said he’d be alright in a few days," Anya supplied.
"Where’s Dawnie?" asked Xander.
‘She’s perfectly fine," Buffy said reassuringly. "She’s sitting with Giles now. He’s conscious, they’re talking. How’s Will?" The three friends looked over where Willow lay, her face pale and her wrists tied down in restraints.
"Is she going to be all right?" Anya asked. She furrowed her brow. "Why is she tied up like that?"
"The doctors think that she had a psychotic break," Xander explained. "She- freaked out a little, started screaming about how she wanted to die. They want to commit her, to ensure that she doesn’t harm herself or others."
"No," Buffy said adamantly. "We can’t let them do that to her."
"We don’t have much choice," Xander said. "The hospital contacted her parents, and they want her transferred to the psychiatric hospital." Xander rubbed his brow. "Buffy, I think it’s for the best. She really isn’t-" he broke off, unwilling to say what he was thinking.
"Maybe Giles can talk to the Rosenbergs," Buffy suggested. "She’ll be herself again, after she deals with her pain and her grief."
"She killed people," Anya reminded her. "She tried to kill all of us, her own friends. She can’t just shove it under the rug, emotionally. She’s going to have to deal with that, and deal with the loss of the person she loved with all her heart."
"I’ve been where she is," Buffy said adamantly. "Exactly where she is. If I’d had some space to heal, to be left alone, I might have done better than I did. But locking her up, it’s only going to make it worse." Her voice rose as she became more strident. "No one is going to put Willow in an asylum. I will find another way, and we will make it happen." Buffy set her jaw, her eyes fierce with determination.
*****
A girl sat at a long oak table, engrossed in the book in front of her. Her long dark hair glowed in the light of a sunbeam that filtered through the barred window high on the wall. An elderly woman in a pink suit sat down opposite her. "Hello, Faith."
Faith looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Laura."
"Did you complete the exercises that I asked you to do?" asked the older woman.
Faith opened a folder and handed over her papers to her tutor. The other woman removed a red pencil and an answer key from her tote bag and marked the answers. Faith watched, her eyes flickering with anxiety. Laura looked up with a smile. "Perfect," she said. "Wonderful work."
"Thanks," said the girl, looking pleased. She nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I think that you’re ready to take your GED," Laura explained. "Now, you may choose to take all five tests in one day, or to spread them out and take all five individually. I believe you have a firm grasp on all of the subject areas, but if you wish, we can undertake a thorough review before each one."
"I’m ready," said Faith. "I’m totally raring to go."
"You’ve really made great strides, Faith," said Laura. "When you finish your sentence, you are really going to go places, young lady."
*****
Chapter One
It had seemed like a good idea at the time: bring Willow to Bath to work with the coven, and bring Anya along to help inventory the massive library of one of the most powerful mages in Britain. Giles sighed as he picked up the decanter of brandy. He poured a generous amount into a crystal snifter and drank deeply. He strode over to the window and looked outside. Willow was sitting in her usual spot in the garden, gazing out into space. The only movement was her hair stirring in the breeze, the rest of her as still as one of the marble statues that graced the arbor.
Drops of rain spattered against the window as the downpour began. Willow didn’t react, just continued to sit as the rain poured down, cascading down her cheeks in icy trails. Giles rapped at the window, and she looked over at him, startled. She gathered up her shawl and ran towards the house.
"Giles!" called an impatient voice. Shuddering, he drained his glass and opened the French doors that separated his study from the library. Anya was high up on the sliding ladder that reached to the top of the tall shelves that lined the cavernous room. Her toes were balanced on the very edge of the highest rung as she strained to reach the last volume from the uppermost shelves.
"Careful," he cautioned, as she, inevitably, slipped and began to fall. Giles ran towards the shelf, knowing he’d never make it in time, and slammed into her as she teleported herself directly in front of him. They both fell to the floor, Giles sprawled out on top of her in a most improper manner.
"What are you doing?" she said angrily, staring up at him with a furrowed brow.
"I was trying to save you," he explained, as he rolled off of her and regained his footing.
"I didn’t need to be saved," she snapped. She brandished the book that she held in her hands. "Look what you did! Oblansky’s Guide to Ectoplasm, and you cracked the spine!" Furious, she ran over the marred leather binding with her hand. "You’ve ruined the value!"
"I’m sorry, Anya," he said, but she was already leaving the room, wiping tears from her eyes. He heard her footsteps advancing up the stairs just as he saw Willow dart past the open door. "Willow," he called out, rushing into the hall. He turned just in time to see the door to the greenhouse snap shut, followed by the click of the lock. He heard the sound of sobbing in counterpoint, one woman’s cries slightly behind the others.
Frustrated, he went back into his study and poured some more brandy. After slowly sipping a full glass, he picked up the phone and dialed. "Yes, I need to book two seats on the next flight to Los Angeles," he said.
****
Buffy lay in her bed, tucked in nice and tight, as rain tapped against her windows. Her face was peaceful, her chest rising and falling as she dreamed. She walked through the darkness of a desert night, her only point of reference a fire in the distance. Finally she reached the source, a flaming bonfire that reached as high as she could see. Tara walked forth from the fire and smiled at her. She wore a long white gown, a blazing crown of candles on her head. "I see you made it here," she said warmly.
"I followed your light," Buffy replied.
"You’re going to have to show the others how to get here," Tara said. "They’re all lost somewhere in the darkness."
"I’m not sure I could find this place again," Buffy explained. "It was hard to see the fire, and I stumbled along the way."
"Everyone stumbles, Buffy," she said. "It’s all part of the journey."
"I’m supposed to be sure footed and swift," said the Slayer. "I can’t ever fail."
Tara walked towards Buffy, her eyes fixed on her face. "You’ve failed as utterly as anyone can. Failed to understand the lessons that were right in front of you, and failed to act with courage when it mattered most."
"I did the best I could," Buffy said defensively.
"Where is your love?" Tara asked gently. "Where is your faith?" She held up held up her hand, and a blue flame shot up from her palm. She placed her hand above Buffy’s heart, and the Slayer screamed as her skin sizzled and burned.
Abruptly, the pain ceased. Faith stood before her, holding Tara’s hand in hers. "I’ve got it, B," she said reassuringly. "You just go back to your comfy bed, and let me handle this."
Buffy looked at Faith’s hand, withering and blackening in Tara’s grasp. "You’re hurt," she said. "You have to let go."
"I don’t ever let go," said Faith. "It’s not what I am." She smiled at Buffy. "Get your rest, big sister." She leaned forward and kissed Buffy’s forehead.
Buffy jerked awake. She sat up in bed, still feeling the kiss on her forehead.
*****
Faith walked down the corridor, her laceless tennis shoes flapping as she walked. She reached the end of the hallway and stopped before the metal bars. A buzzer sounded, and they slowly opened, allowing her to walk through. She passed the guard and a bank of security monitors and knocked on the door marked "John Swift, Warden." "Come in," called a deep voice, and she stepped inside.
Sitting behind the desk was a smiling woman with brunette hair cut in a gleaming bob. "Hello," she said in a smooth accent.
"Lilah," Faith replied warily, sitting down in a chair.
The woman slid a manila folder and a heavy fountain pen across the desk. "It’s your lucky day, sweetheart. Today’s the first day of your newfound freedom."
Faith’s eyes narrowed. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"Not at all," the woman replied. "You are free and clear, bound only by the conditions of your parole."
Faith turned her head to look at Mr. Swift. "It’s true, young lady," he said. "Ms. Morgan and her associates at Wolfram and Hart have made arrangements for your parole to begin immediately."
"But I’m not even eligible for another ten years," said Faith, bewildered.
"The parole board recognized your achievements," explained the warden. "Your exemplary conduct here at Fulsom, your academic achievement thus far and your desire to attend college, and, of course, the employment offer from this noted law firm."
Faith flicked the folder with her wrist, sending it flying into Lilah’s chest. "I’m not in the killer for hire game anymore," she said coldly. "You’ll have to find yourself another bullet for your gun."
"That’s not what we want from you, sweetie. All we need you to do," Lila said, "is to act as a companion to an injured person, and share with us any confidences he shares with you."
"So I just spy on him for you?" Faith said. "That’s all? Nothing illegal, or even immoral?"
"You will gather information from him until we tell you that your services are no longer required, after which you shall receive a generous pension," said the woman. "In addition, we will ensure that you are able to attend the university and graduate school of your choice. Any Ivy League schools you wash to attend. We understand that attending Harvard like your-"
"And I’m done with jail?" Faith interjected.
"You’ll never set foot in here again," the woman assured her.
Faith grabbed the folder and signed all the papers with a flourish, her face brightening with a grin that no one had seen for years. She handed them back to the other woman. "Welcome back to Wolfram and Hart, Faith," said Lilah. "We’re so glad to have you on board again." The woman extended her hand and Faith shook it.
"I feel like I just made a deal with the devil," Faith said.
Lilah smirked. "Don’t worry. It’s not your soul we’re concerned about."
****
Buffy set down the casserole on the dining room table and looked around expectantly. "Come on now, eat up." Xander and Dawn looked at the dish wish matching looks of dread. "It won't bite," Buffy said encouragingly. "Try some."
"What is it?" asked Dawn dubiously.
"It's Tuna Noodle bake," Buffy explained. "Straight out of the Betty Crocker cookbook. Nothing in there that didn't come out of a box or can."
"Did you cook the noodles?" Xander asked. "I mean, I want to be supportive, but I cracked a tooth last time."
"It's totally edible," Buffy said reassuringly. "Just try it." She picked up the serving spoon and placed a heaping spoonful on each plate.
Xander took a forkful and put it in his mouth. "Mmm," he said encouragingly. He swallowed and raised his eyebrows. "That's really good, Buffy."
"Thanks!" Buffy said, smiling at him widely.
"You're a total kiss ass," said Dawn. She took a bite. "Hey, it is pretty good."
Xander nodded. "Really, this is much better than anything else you've made." They ate heartily, finishing off the casserole and a green salad.
A car horn sounded outside. "Gotta go," Dawn said, grabbing her purse.
"Don’t go over your clothing budget," Buffy reminded her. "And absolutely no five finger discount, okay?"
"Duh, Buffy," said her sister as she walked to the door.
"And no teeny skirts or low cut tops," Buffy called after her. Her sister slammed the front door in response.
Buffy sighed. "I suck. I’m a sucky mom."
"You’re a good mom," Xander reassured her. "Just you- being little miss dress like a Puritan. It’s funny." He gestured at her tube top and skimpy denim shorts.
She looked down at herself. "Well, yeah," she mumbled. "But it’s not like I dressed like that at her age."
Xander laughed. "Oh yes you did. You totally did. I have the sexual fantasies to prove it too." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
"Oh, shut up," Buffy said. She picked up a cupcake and threw it at him.
He caught it and took a bite. "Hey, good cupcake," he said, finishing off the rest. "Look out, Julia Child."
"I don’t think Julia’s known for her stellar cupcakes, Xander," Buffy said. "Plus, Hostess made them. That’s why they’re edible and have texture unlike a rock." She sighed and poked a hole in the top of a chocolate cupcake.
Xander watched her, taking in her downcast expression. "What’s bugging you?"
"I’m just- feeling a little fun impaired," explained Buffy.
"Well, I have a date," Xander said. "But I can cancel it."
Buffy looked up, alarmed. "I wasn’t hinting, really," she said. "And- don’t cancel your date with Tiffany on my account."
"Tiffany's history. New girl, name's Deidre," he said with a grin.
"You're really racking up the notches in your headboard," Buffy said. "I mean, you've been with a lot of girls this summer. She's like the ninth girl that you've dated."
"I’m free and single," Xander said, helping himself to another cupcake. "I’m not hurting anyone."
"Well, maybe you are," Buffy said sincerely. "I mean, you take these girls out on a few dates, introduce them to me and Dawnie, and then they’re history. It just seems like- you’re- kind of using them."
He turned and looked at her, his eyes hard. "I wasn’t aware that you had a problem with meaningless sex. Seems to me, you’re really in touch with that experience."
"What’s that supposed to mean?" she retorted, stung.
"How can you even dream of criticizing me? Weren’t you the one sneaking around screwing the undead?" Xander said sarcastically. "Or maybe it was a big misunderstanding, and you and Spike were hanging in his crypt, reading poetry and holding hands. "
"I was going through a hard time," Buffy said, choking up. "You don’t understand."
"Explain it to me then, Buffy. Simple it up for me. Did you love him? Did he make you happy? Did he treat you like a queen?" he asked sarcastically.
"No," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
"Why then? Why did you do it? Why did you fuck him?" he yelled.
"He was there," she sobbed.
"That's what she said," he cried, standing up. His chair clattered backwards on the floor. "Both of you, the women I loved, running to him, and not to me." His face crumpled. "How can someone evil, who only cares about himself, be better than me? What the hell is so wrong with me, so repulsive?" He turned and stalked out of the room.
"Xander, wait!" she called, chasing after him.
"Leave me alone!" he said, slamming the back door. A picture fell off the wall, slamming to the floor. Buffy bent to pick it up and turned it over, revealing a picture of her, Xander, and Willow, the glass across their faces deeply cracked.
****
The night was sweltering, the breeze from the Pacific barely stirring the heavy blanket of heat. The hotel overlooked the ocean, the large terrace packed with revelers. A DJ blared loud pop songs, and the drunken crowd sang along lustily. On the dance floor, a huddle of young men crowded around a woman, her long dark hair swirling around as she danced alone. They each tried to join her, but she rebuffed their advances with the twist of a hip or the flick of her wrist.
A tall black man in an expensive suit worked his way through the crowd. He reached the woman and pulled her free from the knot of admirers. His hand tightened hard around her wrist. His eyes flashed angrily as he pressed her against a wall. His mouth closed on hers, his hand clutching his shoulder. The paleness of her skin provided a striking contrast to the jet of his, her lithe frame the counterpoint to his muscular bulk. His large hand slid up her leg and underneath her dress, and she pulled away. A mysterious smile on her face, she took his hand and led him into the hotel.
They walked through the deserted lobby to the elevators. He pushed the button as he slid the strap of her dress down her shoulder, kissing the smooth skin. With a soft chime, the doors slid open, and the couple entered. He slid his leg between her thighs, his knee moving against her in circles as he kissed her neck. She moaned, her eyes closed, as her fingernails ran over the nubby linen of his shirt. He moved his mouth to hers, and they kissed, their tongues flickering. The doors opened and they stumbled out, moving along the hallway in fits and starts as they paused to kiss and fondle each other.
She pulled the key from her pocket and they entered her suite. As soon as the door closed, he pulled up her dress, his hands moving to cup her nude bottom. She pulled him backwards so that she leaned against a long sofa, her hand reaching over to the end table. His finger sought out the cleft between her legs, and she sighed loudly as his fingers moved in and out, his eyes never leaving her face. She cried out softly and shivered as she came in a rush. He bent his mouth to hers as he unzipped his pants, and made only a soft squeak as his eyes rolled back and he sank down.
She dropped the taser back on the table and caught him before he hit the floor, wrapping her arm around his waist and dragging him into the kitchenette. With a sharp knife, she nicked his throat, draining the torrent of blood into a shallow bowl. When it was half full, she dropped the man. She pressed a button on the phone. "Come pick up the snack before he pops off," she said into the speaker. She opened the cabinet and retrieved a thick gauze bandage, pressing it to his neck. She pulled a face at her dirtied hands, "Well, not metaphorically." Two men with a stretcher came in the room and lifted him up, moving quickly out. "Think twice next time you beat up a woman," she called after him. Taking a ceramic mug from a cabinet, she carefully filled it to the brim.
She walked down the hall and opened the door to the bedroom. A nude man lay in the bed, his entire body covered with the ropy, twisted scars of severe burns. "No," he said thickly, turning his head away.
She walked to his side and she ran her hand across the stubbled surface of his head. "You will drink," she said firmly. "I went to a lot of trouble to find an appropriate sleazebag to be your dinner."
"Let me die," he cried weakly. "Let me go back to the desert to die." He kicked his legs weakly, making the chains rattle against the large shackles on each ankle.
"Look, Crispy," she said, "We’ve had this conversation before. I know you’re in pain. I know you’re unhappy about whatever it is that Wolfram and Hart want you to do. Escaping at every opportunity to go take a sunbath isn’t accomplishing anything but showcasing classic passive-aggressive behavior and really fucking up your bod, OK? I assure you, if you just go along with them, things will be easy as pie."
"I don’t want to feel," he said. "I don’t want to think."
"You do what I want," she said softly, "and you know I’ll give you what you need." She turned his head towards her, and he opened his eyes, a soft blue in the ruin of his face.
"I don’t want people to die because of me," he said slowly. "No one else."
She ran her hand across his disfigured cheek. "I won’t kill for you, Cris. I will only take the blood of the dregs of humankind, and bring it to you, nice and fresh, so you can heal. You can drink with a clean conscience."
"I’m filth. I’m evil. There is nothing good or clean in me." He screamed in frustration and pulled against his restraints.
Faith pulled a small metal box from the bedside table and removed a syringe, jabbing it into his arm and pushing the plunger down. He gasped, and she watched as his pupils dilated, blackness engulfing the clarity of his eyes. She pulled him to a sitting position and leaned him against the pillows. She brought the mug to his lips, and he drank.
-TBC-