The Chosen One


Author: Fyre
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. I pout muchly.
Spoilers: Only "What's My Line" and "Becoming"
Summary: Nothing! ha! I'm not telling!
Improv: Blue-rave-fell-flow
Notes: I've taken a liking to underrated characters, people who don't get into fic-dom much, so here's my first attempt at something involving one o' them. And don't mind my crappy attempts at accents - I'm useless at them and I've probably offended a few cultures, but hey! I'm like that :)

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The sound of the sea could be heard through the open door of the small house, lilting music rippling out from the radio, the local Dj extolling the virtues of having an outdoor studio to broadcast from.

"Momma," A dark face peeked around the door at the woman in the kitchen, a wide grin on her face. "I is goin' to da beach. Danny K says dey's found a pirate treasure. We's gonna dig it up and sell it!" Clad in a rainbow t-shirt and tiny, denim shorts the little girl fitted in with every other child on the island.

Her mother turned from the massive pan she was stirring. "You t'ink dey's gonna give a midget like you any o' dis treasure?" Her daughter's lower lip stuck out in a pout, her wild hair standing out like a bush. She really needed to have her braids redone.

"Dey is me friends, momma." She replied. Barely six years old and as stubborn as they come, that's what her little girl was. "An' if dey try an' take me treasure 'way fram me, I will kick di crap outta dem!"

The metal spoon clanged against the side of the pan. "Kendra Jones! When did you be learnin' such language?"

"In da movies, momma." The girl's cheshire-cat-like grin never wavered, mischief glinting in her brown eyes. "Dat's what dey all say, when dey get's pissed off!"

"Kendra!"

Her lower lip jutted out again, eyes widening and gleaming with the threat of tears, her usual technique to get herself out of trouble. "I...I is sorry, momma. Dey said it, so I t'ought I could be sayin' it to. I won't say it no more, momma. I promise."

"You be gettin' along." Her mothered chastised, fondly, seeing beyond the tears. "You go to da beach an' dig up di treasure." Kendra grinned again, hugging her mother around her thick waist, before darting out of the house on her skinny, little legs. "Dat's me girl."

Like every Jamaican 'momma', Helena Jones had been a slender woman when she had married, but years of child-bearing and good, traditional food had helped the spread of her waistline. And her husband of twenty-two years couldn't have loved her more.

Glancing beyond the strings of beads that hung over the kitchen window, she watched Kendra running happily down the dry road, barefoot as ever. Kendra was the youngest of her six babies, the eldest being Mickey R.

All the other kids were older, but Kendra – she was something special. Her oldest brother was fifteen years older than her, the youngest twelve years older. The tiny one had been a surprise, almost killing off her old father with surprise when she was born.

Helena had thought herself passed the age for infants, thought she had done her part for the population, but she had been wrong. And Kendra had popped out of her in the middle of the night, making her father feel more the man than ever.

Her three brothers and two sisters had loved the tiny critter, so small compared to all the rest, so frail and delicate at birth that she had to be taken to a special baby hospital for almost three months, hooked up to wires and tubes to keep her alive.

Now, she was a livewire. Nothing could tie her down. She always had to be doing something, finding something, playing with people she shouldn't be and digging holes or raiding orchards in properties without getting caught.

"Hey momma." Stirring herself out of her reminiscence, Helena turned to the door, found her eldest son standing there, grinning. "I jus' saw Kendra runnin' towards da Jamieson property. Know what she's doin'?"

Momma Jones chuckled. "She says dey is gonna dig up di treasure." She replied. "Maybe you should be goin' and gettin' her before she gets her ass spanked again."

"But, momma!" The twenty-one year old feigned annoyance. "She's a bad un! She should be gettin' caught again!" His mother gave him a reproving look. "A'right, a'right. I is gonna go and get me sista, so you can tell her she's a bad un and den, you can let her go an' get in trouble again."

The sound of shuffling from the other room drew Helena's attention from her son. "You be goin' now, Mickey." She warned him. "I is gonna try an' soffen Kendra's daddy, stop him bein' too mad at me baby."

Grabbing a small orange from the table, Mickey winked and ducked out into the street, leaving his momma to 'soffen' his father up, which would usually take a while, specially since there were no children in the house.

* * *


"Dis is wrong!"

"And you is gonna run and tell yo'r momma dat you was doin' it?"

"But I could get in trouble!"

"I is a'ready in trouble. I wanna find di treasure."

Danny R looked down through the small grove of trees, then back at the scrawny girl who was nimbly scrambling up the nearest mango tree. "Kendra, I t'ink someone is comin' in di grove! We is gonna be caught!"

Kendra glanced down at him. "You is a momma's boy, Danny K!" One small hand wrapped around a nearby fruit, her dark eyes glinting wickedly. "Is you gonna run an' leave me to take di crap meself?"

"Kendra Jones, you are in di crap enough as it is."

The skinny little girl gave a muffled "Eep!" Shinning down the tree, she dropped from the lowest branch, landing lightly on the dusty ground on her toes, ready to break into a run as she hit the surface, but her brother was too quick, grabbing her roughly around the waist and swinging her up.

"Mickey R! You let me go!" Kicking her feet futiley, Kendra pummeled her elder brother's chest with her small fists. Hanging under his arm, at his mercy, she wriggled and squirmed, trying to escape his grip. "One day, I is gonna be bigga an' stronga than you." She warned.

Mickey R grinned down at her, his dark eyes glinting. "But I is bigga an' stronga than you is now, Kendra." He reminded her, turning and walking back towards the beach, leaving Danny K staring after them, trying not to laugh at his friend's predicament.

"Lemme go! Lemme run an' I bet I is fasta!"

On the soft sand of the beach, Mickey deposited the wiry six year old on her feet and she broke into a run immediately, her bare feet kicking up clouds of golden sand, her laughter carrying over the soft rush of the sea.

Her big brother shook his head, chuckled. Then, he too, started running. On legs that matched his sister's height, he sprinted after the tiny girl. "I is gonna git you, Kendra!" He howled, grinning wickedly when she glanced back.

With a shriek of laughter, she seemed to double her speed. This was their usual game, the game on she and Mickey R played. None of the others were around much, but her biggest big brother – he always had time to play.

They were in sight of their home when Mickey R caught up with her, tackling her into the sand and tickling her like crazy, making her scream and kick and beg for mercy. Her small fists pounded unheeded on his broad shoulders, her pained giggles trailing away into gasps.

"You givin' up, sista?"

She nodded, her cheeks rosy from exertion, her grin wide. Scrambling to her feet, she leapt onto her brother's back, arms around his neck. His hand gripped under her knees as he stood up, glancing back at the little girl with sand in her wild hair.

"You are one crazy kid, Kendra Jones." He stated warmly, breaking into a shambling run towards the house.

"But ya likes me the way I is." Kendra noted gleefully, raising one hand to tug his shoulder-length dreadlocks. "Mickey R, we is always gonna be friends, isn't we?"

Mickey R paused to look at her. "You are me sister, Kendra." He replied firmly. She slid down to the ground and he squatted to face her. "You'll always be me sister. Nothing in dis world could ever change dat."

Taking his hand, she flashed him a grin. "Not even if you ever wanted rid of me." She added.

"Dat's right." He looked crest-fallen. "Even if I wants ridda you, I can't do it, all cos you is me sweetest baby sista."

Kendra giggled, smacked him playfully on the back of his hand. Entering the house, the pair of them headed for the refridgerator, grabbing cans of cool Cola.

"Kendra, can you come in here, chil'?" Two sets of brown eyes exchanged nervous glances, the younger of the two asuming that she had been caught out. Grabbing Mickey R's hand, they moved from the kitchen, to the living room, where Momma and Poppa Jones sat with a strange-looking man in a suit.

Half-hiding behind Mickey R, she looked from her parents faces to the darker face on the man, his face sheened with sweat, which wasn't surprising considering the high-necked shirt, thick suit and dark shoes he was wearing. "Who's dis?" She asked uneasily. "Is I in trouble 'gain, momma?"

"This is Mistah Zabuto, Kendra." Her mother seemed to have trouble looking at her, as if she didn't want to tell her something. "He's come ovah here, all the way from England, just to meet you."

Looking the man up and down suspiciously, she nodded. "Uh...hello, Mistah Zabuto."

"Hello, Kendra." The man held out a hand, lowering it when all her received was a confused stare from the child. "I've come to take you for your training."

"No t'anks." Sipping her cola, she backed further behind Mickey R. "I don't want no trainin'. I is doin' jus' fine here."

Mistah Zabuto looked at Momma. "You didn't tell her?" He sounded surprised, looked surprised too. Momma shook her head, looking at the striped rug on the floor. "But it was your duty to tell her, Mrs Jones."

"She is me baby, Mistah Zabuto." Momma looked like she was gonna cry or somethin'. "I don't want to be losin' me precious baby."

"But I ain't lost, Momma." Kendra pushed passed Mistah Zabuto, glared at him for makin' momma cry. "I is right here." Climbing into momma's lap, she got the biggest hug momma had ever given her. "I ain't goin' anywhere."

"But you is, chil'." Poppa said sadly, reachin' up an' strokin' Kendra's head. "You is gonna be a Slayer. Dat's yo'r destiny."

Kendra's brown eyes looked at her parents in confusion. "You wants me to go 'way?" She said it, half-questioning, half-stating. "You don't want me no more?"

"No, Kendra," Her momma hugged her even tighter. "We wants you more dan anyting in da world, but you has to go. You has to learn and be strong an' brave an' evert'ing. You is one of da Chosen ones and we has to let let you go."

"I don't wanna go! I don't wanna be da Chosen One!" She stared angrily at Mistah Zabuto, who was looking upset. "I ain't goin' nowhere wit you, Mistah Zabuto. Momma wants me to stay, so I is stayin' right here."

Mistah Zabuto took of his glasses and wiped them on his kerchief, looked at the Momma and Poppa and their sweet chil', then at the big brother who was standin' behind him. "I can't help you, Kendra. You are destined, you must come with me, or your whole family will be in the gravest of dangers."

"You have to go with him, Kendra." Mickey R said quietly. "You have to learn what he's gots to teach you. He'll teach you how to be a super hero. You'll be strong, jus' like Superman and den you can come and show us all."

Kendra shook her head vehemently. "I don' wanna go! I don' wanna leave you!"

"I'm afraid you have no choice, Kendra. We allowed your family to keep you for long enough, but now, we have to begin your training, in case the time comes for you to be called as a Slayer. It is a great responsibility."

The little girl stared at him. "So I might be a Slayer." She murmured, sliding closer to her mother's warm, soft, reassuring body. "What is dis t'ing? What is it that I will be? Why do I have ta leave me family fer it?"

"The Slayer is the Chosen One." Mistah Zabuto said. "In ever generation, a Chosen One is born. She alone can stand against the demons, the vampires and the forces of darkness. That is what a Slayer is."

"Vampires? Demons? I t'ink you might be a little bit crazy, Mistah Zabuto."

"Kendra, hush." Her mother chatised her softly. "Mistah Zabuto is tellin' da trut', chil'. You is a special one, you have to do dis...for us. You have ta learn what Mistah Zabuto has to teach you. It can save us and you. You must go."

Tears filled the girl's dark eyes. "You want me to go 'way." She said, her voice full of hurt. "I was in trouble so you wants me to go..."

"No, baby." Her momma was tryin' not to cry. "We love you, Kendra, but we has no choice. It is yo'r destiny, chil'. You have ta go wit' him."

The little girl got to her feet, shaking her head. Two large tears broke from the corners of her tragic eyes and rolled silently down her cheeks, dripping onto her sand-matted t-shirt. "No." She said. Turning, she ran out of the house.

"You ought to have told her, Mrs Jones." Zabuto spoke softly. "She should have been prepared for this day. You knew it would come and yet, the child has no inkling of what awaits her. We gave you that responsibility."

Kendra's mother looked up from her folded hands, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "She is me baby." She repeated. "You was wantin' me to tell me chil' that I want her to go 'way wit' a complete stranger. Why did ye not jus' take her when she was born? It woulda bin easier."

"You know why we left her with you for this long." Zabuto said. He was clearly upset by the impact that the loss of this child would have on the little family. And yet, there was nothing he could do. The girl had to be trained. "She must understand I am nothing more than a teacher, a watcher for her. I'm not a family member. She has to know that."

"Damn fine time to come for her." Mickey R said. His expression was hard and hollow, voice as cold as steel. "She'll prolly nevah be called anyways. Why do you break up families for trainin'? She's just a kid."

Zabuto had the good grace to bow his head. "I have to follow my orders." He said. "She may not be called and if that is so, she will be returned to , once she reaches the necessary age. However, there is every chance that she will be called. We can't risk her not having the training. If she was called and she didn't have the knowledge and training, she could be undisciplined, problematic and a danger to herself and others."

Issachar Jones nodded sadly, squeezed his wife's shaking hand reassuringly. "We understand, sir." He said. "Time just went so fast. We didn't t'ink we would have her for such a short time. Now, we have to give her up, after everyt'ing."

Mickey R sighed. "I'll go an' find her." He said. He cast a disdainful glare at Zabuto. "I'll try an' h'explain why she has ta go wit' you, Mistah Zabuto. At least, dat way, she might not hate you as much."

Aceepting a grateful nod from his parents, the twenty-one year old turned and walked out of the house and into the blazing sunlight, squinting. Now, all he had to do was find Kendra and try and sort out everything.

* * *


Scuffing her toes in the stones, Kendra booted a small pebble onto the surface of the footpath, her eyes following it as it skittered along the ground.

Making her way onto the beach, the sand was warm and soft against her skin. She walked along, watching the waves wash up on the shore, the sun glinting off the waves in the bright afternoon light.

A few friends called to her, as she drifted passed, but she didn't notice, her thoughts focused on what had just happened in the house – learning that her family wanted to send her away with a man with a funny voice, to fight things she thought were pretend.

Under one of the few palm trees scattered along the beach, she dropped onto the sun-warmed sand, crossing her legs, leaning back against the rough ridges of the tree's thick trunk, resting her hands in her lap.

Her family wanted her to go away.

Why?

She hadn't been that bad, had she?

A'right, maybe she had accidentally set fire to the neighbours' chicken coop, but that had been an accident and there had been something big and scaly like a snake in there. An' maybe she had taken some mangos from the Jamiesons' properties without askin', but the Jamiesons were away, so she couldn't have aksed them, could she?

Wriggling her toes until half of her feet were buried, she sighed. A thread from her shorts tickled her hand and she twisted it around her finger, watching the way that the sun was making shining patterns on the surface of the sea.

"So, me sista." A deep voice spoke from above her. "Ye try to get yo'rself killed by sittin' unda da coconut tree?"

"Did you know they was gonna make me go 'way, Mickey R?" Focusing on the turquiose expanse of ocean, she gripped her bony knees between her thin hands. "Did you know an' not tell me?"

Mickey R's tall, limber body dropped down beside her, his arm draped careessly around her shoulder, pulling her against his side. "I diden know, Kendra." He replied honestly, stroking her wild bush of hair. "Dey said you was special, but I diden think you was one of the Chosen Ones, sista. It's a big honour, for you, for da family."

"You wants me to go too?"

"No, sista." Tilting her chin up, he found her tear-filled eyes matching his own. "I don't want ya to go, but you have to, else we could be in a whole heap o' trouble." He hugged her tightly, trying not to let his tears fall. "If you don' go, then you could be real dangerous when you is called. You could get all of us killed."

Kendra snuffled, arms around his waist. "I don' wants to go! I don' wants to leave you! You is gonna forget me and when I come back, you won' know who I is!"

"Kendra," His tone soft, gentle, Mickey R lifted his little sister into his lap and held her close to his warm chest. "I promise you, little sista, we would neva forget you." He half-smiled. "You gots in so much trouble, we could neva forget you, could we?"

She nodded reluctantly, pulling on one of his dreadlocks. "Will I be able to call you on da phone?" She asked warily. "I don' wanna be all on me own wit dat man. He has a funny voice."

"I don' know, little sista." Mickey R sighed. "But you is gonna have to do all what he says, you know. He is gonna take care of you and den, when you is a hero, you can come back and see big old Mickey R and kick di crap outta me, yeah?"

Finally, she broke into a tragic smile. "I told you I is gonna be bigga an' stronga dan you." She poked him in the ribs. "Can we go for one more Coca cola before I has to go, Mickey R? Just you an' me?"

"Sure thing, little sista." Standing, his arms around her, he easily swung her onto his back, her arms wrapping around his neck.

* * *


Fingering the bracelet of braided leather, Kendra blinked back another wave of tears, making certain she kept her attention on the wide expanse of light blue sky above them and the drifts of thick, white cloud below them.

Mistah Zabuto was sitting alongside her, reading from a large book with wrinkled, crisp, yellow pages, his mouth moving silently through the foreign words.

Searching for a break in the clouds, the six year old sniffed softly. She wanted to be able to see her homeland once more, before she was far away, in a strange land with strange people who spoke with funny voices.

The textured surface of the hide bracelet rubbed against her fingertips, dark brown eyes gazing emptily out over the sea of deceptively fragile white.

Outwardly, she had pulled her emotionless mask up. To anyone who passed them, she looked like a sulky child, but inside, she felt like she was never going to be able to stop crying, her heart breaking.

Momma had cried. She had cried so much that she couldn't speak, hugging Kendra for so long that Mistah Zabuto had finally pulled her away. Poppa had cried too, his arms around momma and Kendra at the same time.

Only Danny R hadn't cried.

He had said he wouldn't. He said he would make her cry, if he had cried. Instead, he had kissed her nose and put one of his big friendship bands around her wrist, telling her that he would never forget her and – now – she wouldn't be able to forget him.

"How are you feeling, Kendra?" Mistah Zabuto patted her arm gently.

"I is tired." She said, her head bowed, voice quiet. She knew what she had to do now. She had to focus her all on the training she was going to receive. She had to do her very best and make her momma and poppa proud.

And she had to come back and find Mickey R, to tell him that she had never and would never ever forget him, not now, not never.

Apart from her parents, she knew she was going to miss him more than anyone else in the whole world, but she wouldn't let Mistah Zabuto see. She would do as she was told and behave as she was told, but she would never forget him.

If she became a Slayer, she would do it all for him.

* * *


~Ten Years Later~

Gazing out of the office at the small group gathered around the table, Kendra's expression was neutral, her teeth gritting together, slowly drawing her attention back to the blonde who sat nearby, sharpening a knife.

"And dose two, dey also know you are de Slayer?" Gesturing to the two brunettes who had arrived a short time before, Kendra arched an eyebrow at the other girl. She had friends, many friends. In all her years of training, Kendra had only ever seen Mistah Zabuto.

Not even looking up, the other Slayer continued to sharpen her blade. "Yep."

"Did anyone explain to you what 'secret identity' means?" How could she possibly make the girl see that being a Slayer meant complete dedication? She had missed years of training, she had friends, she did everything that the handbook was against, but she still had a reputation as one of the better Slayers.

She moved to the desk, looking over the array of weapons that the other Watcher – Mistah Giles – had accumulated. Some basic, others elaborate, all extremely functional, including a crossbow that looked rather interesting…

"Nope. Must be in the handbook." The blonde girl looked over as Kendra carefully picked up the deadly-looking weapon. "Right after the chapter on personality removal. Be careful with that thing!"

"Please." Kendra replied in clipped tones. Was it possible to feel this jealous of another person? The person who was meant to be like her, yet had everything, while she – Kendra – had nothing. "I am an expert in all weapons."

Her hand tightened in frustration, the bolt exploding from the weapon and smashing through a lamp on the desk, making both girls jump.

"Is everything alright?" The Watcher called anxiously.

"Yeah, it's okay." The other Slayer called through to the group in the other room. "Kendra killed the bad lamp."

Awkwardly looking at the rebellious weapon, trying to hide her embarrassment, Kendra tried to be civil. Anger wouldn't help in this scenario. After all, she had almost killed the blonde's boyfriend earlier.

"It has a different mechanism," She smiled faintly, balancing it carefully. "Perhaps..." She faltered for the best way to approach. It had been so long since she had talked to anyone aside from Mistah Zabuto. "After this is over, you can show me how to work it…"

"After this is over, I'm thinking teen movie video festWhen this is over I'm thinking pineapple pizza and teen video movie fest." The blonde girl gave her a genuine smile, her apparent ease at juggling both a normal life and her duties making the Jamaican girl feel even more lonely. Wasn't the life of a Slayer meant to be basic? "Possibly something from the Ringwald oeuvre."

Returning her gaze to the group outside, Kendra lifted a stake, twisting it between her hands pensively, remembering everything she had given up for her duty, trying to find something that the blonde could relate to.

"Your life is...very different dan mine." She finally volunteered, glancing down at her fellow Slayer, hoping she would be able to hold some kind of conversation.

Buffy gave her another weary smile. "You mean the part where I occasionally have one?" She nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is."

This was good. They were talking, making conversation, being civil. Two girls, with the same curse and the same destiny. "De tings you do and have, I was taught, distract from my calling." She started to explain. "Friends, school..." She paused, letting her finger run over the leather band that was still bound tightly around her wrist. "Even family."

That seemed to surprise the blonde. "Even family?"

"My parents, dey sent me to my Watcher when I was very young." Well, in a manner of speaking, she thought sadly. Gave me up is more the truth, let me be taken by my Destiny and now, they'll never know.

"How young?"

She shrugged. "I don't remember dem, actually." Not clearly anyway… only words, images, feelings. "I've seen pictures. But, uh, dat's how seriously de calling is taken by my people." They give up their infants to save the world. "My modder and fadder gave me to my Watcher because dey believed dat dey were doing de right ting for me, and for de world." The Jamaican Slayer laid down the stake she had been toying with, remembering her elder brother's words of wisdom with a small smile, then saw Buffy's eyes clouding with sympathy. "Please, I don't feel sorry for meself. Why should you?"

"I don't know, I..." She shrugged, frowning. "I guess it just sounds very lonely."

Kendra nodded. "Emotions are weakness, Buffy." She said, her voice calm. Quoting the handbook wouldn't be noticed by this Slayer, she realised. "You shouldn't entertain dem."

At least on this side of thing, she knew she had the advantage. She was the by-the-book Slayer, ready and willing to obey her Watcher or any other suitably-respected Watcher's orders, for the greater good of mankind.

Although, she still couldn't wait for the day she would be able to return to her family, to let them see what she had done with her life. In spite of all her protestations, she still loved them and missed them more than even Mistah Zabuto would ever know.

* * *


~Several months later~

Kneeling on the wispy, silvery grass, Mickey R leaned forward and brushed some sand from the raised letters of the gravestone, tears flowing silently from his eyes at the memories of the spunky little sister he had lost.

When the word came in, momma and poppa had disappeared into their room to silently mourn, leaving him to rave furiously down the phone at the Watcher who was to blame.

She had died nobley, he was told. She had fought hard and fast and had saved the lives of several people, including the previous Slayer. The Slayer who had died, only to come back, but not before Kendra was called.

Buffy.

She was the cause of his baby sister's death, but also the cause of her becoming a fighter, a Slayer, a person working for the good of humanity.

And she had done a good job, working as she had to for nigh a year, in places that the first Slayer didn't even know of, battling demons and vampires, yet going uncredited, as long as Buffy was fighting on a Hellmouth.

She had fulfilled her destiny and he – in turn – had lost one of his best and most trusted young friends, but he knew nothing would bring her back, nothing would change what had come to pass in the past few days.

All he had left were the memories and sorrow, for everything she had lost and sacrificed and done, despite her youth. He could never have loved her more, or have been more proud of his naughty little sister, Kendra Jones.

Slayers would come and Slayers would go, she definitely wouldn't be the first, or the last. There would always be at least one, somewhere, but to him, none of them mattered. Only she did.

The Chosen One.


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