Two Slayers, One Dead


TITLE: Two Slayers, One Dead.
AUTHOR: Fyre.
RATING: PG-16.
CLASSIFICATION: Definitely Riley/Buffy, but I'm not saying anything more ;)
SUMMARY: An old friend is brought back in the guise of a new enemy.
SPOILERS: Any of Season 5 (which I haven't seen - ironic, n'est pas?) but Riley never left and Spike is opnly sticking around the Slayer to save his sorry arse - no love there :)
DISTRIBUTION: Ask and you shall receive :)
DISCLAIMER: Not mine...kinda explains why I'm a poor student and Joss dude isn't.
FEEDBACK: Just lemme know what ya think!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Response to Liz's challenge #118 at YGTS. It started out okay, then somethink went kablooey and I kinda had to twist the challenge to fit. It does follow a sensible train of thought...honest.
DEDICATION: To Liz - cos I seem to always take her challenges ;)


Curled – foetal-like – in the darkness, splinters and shards of wood prickled against her bare skin, chilly sweat and warm blood mingling in an insepperable blend on her bruised and throbbing flesh.

Skewers of light glinted through the cracks in the panels, the planks squeaking and creaking with every jolt of the vehicle, bumping the inhabitant of the crate violently back and forth, her body limp and boneless.

Distantly, voices drifted into her awareness, faint and bemusing. The scent of diesel fumes and the rumbling of the truck – or whatever her prison was in – blotted out most everything else.

Raising one trembling hand from the wooden floor, she touched the open tear on her forehead, the snake of scarlet gumming to the tips of her fingers, a low moan of pain escaping her lips.

Her head had smacked off the side of her wooden prison when she had been thrown into it, the pounding of nails being driven home sealing her in. Weak, disorientated and scared, she had let unconsciousness take her.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours that she had been floating in the darkness. She couldn't tell and wasn't sure if she would have woken up if she had known what she would be waking up in.

Curling up into as small and tight a ball as she could, she let her eyes sink closed, trying to focus beyond the smell and sound of the transport, trying to find some clue where she was and what she was doing back.

Without warning, the tyres screeched on the road, the lorry chugging to a slow halt, leaving the girl slammed painfully up against the side of her prison.

Immediately, the scent of nature reached her, carried on the light breeze that cleared the thickest waves of petroleum fumes away, her head still throbbing from them.

Crickets chirped softly, in the distance, but the majority of sounds that reached her were those of her captors, as they climbed up to unload the solid, wooden entity that had become her cell.

Bracing hands and feet against the walls, she whimpered painfully as the crate dropped, tipping on its side, leaving her slumped against what had been the lid, a wave of dizzying pain washing over her.

Perhaps unconsciousness came again, but the first thing she became aware of were voices, nearby. Talking in soft, angry tones, she strained to pick up the words, catching mentions of. "Complete… delivery made…transaction complete…Slayer to destroy the key…one solution…"

A crash made her jump, cowering back against the side of the crate, the shocked silence outside the dark box unnerving.

"Hello, boys." A feminine voice spoke, clear and commanding. "Do you mind telling me what you're doing here?"

"It's her!"

"My God!"

The female voice chuckled wickedly. "I prefer Goddess." Whomever `her' was said, politely. "And mind the suit – Gucci is so expensive to dry clean."

The screams that issued from the wide outside made the prisoner shiver in pure terror. Whatever was out there would probably come after her next, if she didn't get out of here soon.

Waiting until she could hear nothing, the girl probed the sides of the crate, searching for some way out, finding the traces of the strength that had made her such a formidable fighter.

After what seemed like hours of pushing and hitting the panels, one of the planks finally gave way, half-broken, allowing her to see just where she was and – after a great deal of struggling and wriggling – to push herself through the narrow opening.

Jagged splinters and shards pulled curls of her throbbing skin away from her bones, more blood mingling with that which was already staining her taut flesh, but the pain was ignored.

Crawling out on the dirt-coated ground with a groan, she pulled her legs free of the crate, struggling weakly to her feet, her matted, tattered dark hair falling heavily over her exhausted, pain-filled eyes.

Only when she was upright, did she finally take in her surroundings, swallowing a bitter bile as she saw three bodies, sprawled on the floor, either dead or very close to it, bodies contorted in pain.

Stepping around a shattered glass on the dusty floor, her arms crossed over her bare chest, she stumbled across the room to a table, where a large carpet bag sat, several items of clothing hanging over the sides.

Tugging free a pair of sweatpants, she pulled them on, tying the cords with fumbling hand. Hands that had never been expected to tie knots again.

Adding a hooded sweater to the ensemble, she still felt the cold seeping through her, searching for some way to escape, raking through the bag for shoes of some kind, any kind, to help her.

Her hands settled on some kinds of forms, encased in a large folder, covered in all kinds of legal-looking print.

Frowning, her fear replaced with momentary curiousity, she opened the folder, examining the contents: A picture of herself being the main subject for several pages, with notes detailing her mission, to destroy the Key, before it was too late.

Bundling as many of the pages as she could into the front pocket of the sweater, for later attention, she staggered to the three bodies and uncaringly pulled the sneakers off the smallest of the men, reasoning that he wouldn't need them if he was dead.

Then, prepared as much as she could be, she moved towards the shattered door, ready to make her escape.

***


Propping himself against the slime-coated wall of the alleyway carelessly, Spike let a soft ribbon of smoke curl into his undead lungs, his eyes focused on the glowing tip of his cigarette.

It was more interesting than watching Captain Cardboard and his shag bunny going at it again, right on the Watcher's couch. It was practically pornographic, the way those two were all over each other.

Tilting his head, the blonde vampire heard a shrill shriek. A feminine scream, that much was clear, and whoever it was that was doing the screaming, she was terrified and she wasn't too far away.

Flicking his cigarette but onto the road, he ground it out with his heel, turning in the direction of the scream. Maybe he wasn't a nice guy, be staying in the Slayer's good book and getting protection from her when need be was definitely a good thing.

As he neared, a overwhelming stench reached him, telling him just what he was up against: a mingla demon, if not a group. A combination of the scent of rotting fish and burning rubber was never easily forgotten.

Keeping to the shadows, he slipped into the passage where the scent and sounds were emanating from, immediately spotting a pair of the demons, towering over a crouching figure on the ground.

"Hey, mates." He remarked, when he stood barely inches behind them. Minglas were very large and terrifying to look at, but they were also shit-scared of vampires for some unknown reason. He let his demon come forth and almost broke into a fit a schoolgirly giggles.

But only almost.

The shivering figure on the ground had his attention now, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her legs and she was rocking back and forward, sobbing softly.

"Hey, kid? You all right?" Whoever she was, she smelt young, but there was something odd about her scent. Something that he couldn't quite put his finger on and even her presence sent an unnerved tingle up his spine.

Slowly, she raised her bowed, hooded face to him and – if it had been possible – the vampire would have fainted away. "Jus' do it." She whispered, her voice breaking, strained and raw. "Jus' kill me."

Unable to speak, he stared at her in astonishment, her obvious frailty and complete lack of fire coming close to convincing him that he was wrong, but all of his vampiric senses screamed that she was who he thought.

Squatting down beside her, he cupped her chin in his hand, lifting her face up to his and staring at her intently. "Slayer?"

Her liquid brown eyes rolled back in her head, her body slumping limply at the confused vampire's feet.

Well, he mused, bending and carefully scooping her up in his arms, if there was ever a way to get into Fluffy's good books, bringing another Slayer along for her might just do the trick.

***


"They made the delivery to the warehouses on the far side of town." Angel sketched a quick map of the warehouse involved. "I never got close enough to see what it was, but I'm assuming it was a demon or human of some kind."

Buffy was sitting in Riley's lap, drumming her stake on her knees, a frown on her face. "So these lawyers...why would they send anything to Sunnydale? I thought they just worked with people in L.A."

"As long as they get paid, they work anywhere and for anyone." The vampire didn't even look at his former love. Ever since he'd left, they'd grown apart, but – at least – now she was happy. "I heard rumours going around about a warrior returned from the dark to destroy a key."

"A Key?" The blonde was on her feet in an instant, brow furrowed in concern. "Are you sure?" She glanced from his face to Giles, biting her lower lip.

"That's only the rumours, but I couldn't make any sense of..."

"My sister." Buffy interrupted, her hands tightly gripping the back of one of the chairs, her jaw tight. "My sister is the Key."

Angel managed to hide his confusion behind the brooding mask, but couldn't resist pointing out. "But you don't have a sister."

"I'm afraid it's all r-rather complicated." Giles was immediately wiping his glasses on his sweater. "Some ancient sect of monks d- decided that to protect a powerful energy source – the-the-the key – from an equally powerful goddess of some kind, it ought to be protected by the most powerful human."

"So they transformed it into human form and sent it to you." Angel directed his comment quietly up at Buffy. "As a sister?"

The Slayer nodded wearily. "And now, this law firm of yours has brought some warrior to kill her." He gave her a quizzical look. "She may not be my real, flesh and blood sister, but I have to look after her."

A banging at the door interrupted the meeting, the panel of wood swinging inwards, one large and muddy bootprint left on the surface as Spike barreled in, a limp body cradled in his arms.

"You might want to take a look at this." He growled, depositing her on the couch roughly and straightening up, only to notice Angel on his feet behind him, snarling at younger vampire. "Bloody hell!" His face lit up in a mockery of a jovial grin. "All we need now is the Order of Teraka, Dru, a falling organ and a burning church and we have the bloody 1997 class reunion!" He paused, thinking. "Also, no chip."

"Buffy...what's he doing here?" In full demon visage, Angel's golden eyes glowed with malice.

"He's harmless." The Slayer said calmly, Moving to the couch and leaning over the back to see just what was going on. Her face paled immediately, eyes flitting to the bleached vampire. "Where did you find her?"

"She was being beaten up by a couple of Mingla demons." He replied, his eyes fixed on the unconscious girl on the couch. "There's no doubt that it's her though. Same smell, same look, everything." He paused to scratch his jaw. "Apart from the fact that last I heard, she had kicked the bucket."

Buffy nodded weakly. "She did. Dru killed her."

"What's going on?" Giles joined the Slayer, his glasses finding their way from his nose to his hand in record time. "Good Lord! How is this possible?"

The blonde Slayer looked down at her dark counterpart. "I don't know, Research Man, but I think its safe to say we've found our Warrior brought back from the darkness. Who better to fight the Slayer for the Key, than another Slayer?"

"Who is it?" Angel rose from the table. A tingle shot through him as he approached the couch, a frown of confusion etched on his features. "The only other Slayer I know of is Faith and she's still in jail."

Buffy and Giles stepped back, revealing the girl who – several years previously – left him to burn in the sun in the backroom of Willie's Bar.

"Who is she?" Riley looked bemused, as ever, the battered girl on the couch looking more dead than alive to the young commando. He looked over at Buffy, then Giles who was moving around in the kitchen.

The blonde Slayer moved to sit on the edge of the couch, pushing the hood back from the other girl's motionless face, her expression darkening as she took in the bruises, cuts and swelling that covered the dark-haired Slayer's face.

"She's called Kendra." Her voice was rough with emotion. "She was my first replacement, when I died in 1996. Looks like they assumed I wouldn't be able to fight her, doesn't it? I bet they tried to get to Faith too."

"So now there's three living Slayers?" Riley enquired. "Is she really back or is it temporary kinda like a zombie thing?"

Both Angel and Spike had bewildered expressions on their faces. "There's something not right about her." Spike remarked. "I know she was dead and what have you, but something about her feels wrong. Smells wrong."

"She doesn't have the scent of the living." Angel agreed. "There's no way she's a normal human, or even just a normal Slayer anymore."

Giles handed his Slayer a bowl of warm water and a soft cloth, watching in apparent consternation as she started wiping away the crusted blood and dirt from the other Slayer's emotionless features.

"So this law firm brought her back and kept her in a crate, like an animal?" The blonde's Slayer's expression was chilling. Giles comfortingly squeezed her shoulder, sensing her building fury that one of her own kind could be treated so brutally.

"Buffy, maybe you and Riley out to-to-to go and see this warehouse." He suggested softly, wishing he had the supernatural strength to kick the lily arse of anyone who dared to do such a thing to any Slayer. "Perhaps find out who it is who-who was requiring Kendra's presence."

Her hazel eyes registered confusion. "But Angel knows the way..."

"But Angel has a thing against becoming a crispy critter, pet." Spike noted dryly. He paused, frowned. "At least, as far as I know." He gestured to the small window halfway up the stairs, the beam of sunlight squinting through the lacy curtains. "I barely got here in time, but now, I'll take my blanket and leave."

As soon as the door clanked shut behind the blonde vampire, the Slayer turned back to Giles, a look of concern in her eyes. "Shouldn't someone be watching out for Dawn? In case this gang decide they don't need a Slayer after all?"

"I'll go...that is..." He gave Angel a pointed look. "Since Xander, Willow, Anya and Tara may be otherwise...er...engaged..."

"I'll stay. I don't know Dawn, so I couldn't be any help there." Angel nodded with a resigned sigh. "Although I don't know how she'll reacte to seeing me, considering the last time she saw you, you were all planning to kill me and my at-the-time girlfriend killed her."

Buffy paused, having forgotten that fact. "If she remembers," She said quietly. "Just explain that the curse worked. That's what the others were doing in the library when I was fighting you – Angelus – in the cemetary."

Angel allowed a small smile to escape. "You guys take care." He cautioned them, slipping his jacket off and settling in the place that Buffy vacated on the couch, lifting the cloth in one of his large hands and carefully starting to sponge her clean. "I'll take care of her."

***


Kneeling on the floor, Angel's hand moved rapidly over the sheet of paper, deft strokes of the lead creating a near-perfect image of the dark-haired, tawny-skinned girl who lay on the couch before him, her eyes still closed.

He still remembered fighting her at Willie's bar. She had been incredible to battle and his demon had been exulting at having some kind of competition at last, her speed, skill and agility far surpassing his blonde Slayer.

Of course, he had never told Buffy that. Fighting a skilled Slayer was one thing, fighting off a pissed off, jealous Slayer was another.

It was true that Buffy had a special quality, when fighting, but reducing yourself to punning at your foes to prove you aren't afraid really was a bit of a childish way to fight. Her technique was based on survival, while Kendra's had been through training and pain- staking focus.

Focus that Buffy never had.

"What is about me and Slayers?" He asked himself softly, shifting his weight on his knees, as he turned to deposit the sheet of paper on the coffee table.

First, there had been his almost fatal attraction to Buffy, even though he knew, he just *knew* never to trust a blonde who told him to close his eyes. Bad things always seemed to happen whenever he did that.

Then there was Kendra who had impressed him so much, he had had his ass well and truly kicked for underestimating what a Slayer really could do with the right training and upbringing. Of course, she had lacked the emotions to fight for what *she* believed until she met his former love interest.

Add Faith to the combination and he realised he had faced every aspect of Slayer - the professional one who followed the code; the independant, happy-go-lucky one with friends and allies; the lost one.

And every damn one of them had tried to kill him at least once: one because he turned evil and tried to destroy the world: one because she thought he was evil and deserved to die: one because it was fun.

So far, he'd managed to achieve closure with two out of the three, leaving the first to endup with an idiotic soldier boy, the other safely rehabilitating in jail. Only Kendra had never been given any kind of apology or explanation.

It didn't help that all the Slayers were cute little creatures, all tough and strong with that look that just screamed helplessness and vulnerability. The one on the couch in front of him was definitely no exception.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting, just watching her, when the dark smudge of her lashes fluttered, opening to reveal pain- filled liquid brown eyes that turned to him, terror diffusing into her agonised expression.

"You're awake." He picked his brains for something nice, simple, non-threatening and friendly to say. Even after two hundred years of living, he had to admit that his social skills weren't exactly anything special.

Her dark eyes narrowed suspciosly, staring at him fearfully. "A- Angelus?"

He shook his head once, in dissent, gave her a weak smile. "The curse worked." He replied, spreading his hands. "I'm just a Soulman again."

"I...I died." Shakily sitting up, she pulled the blanket that had been draped over her, up to her chin. "Didden I?"

Angel nodded. "We all do, once in a while." He sat up beside her on the couch, trying to keep his manner as unthreatening as possible. "How did you come back? Who did it to you?"

The dark Slayer shook her head wordlessly, pulling her knees up to her chest, burying her face in her slender, scored hands. "I don't know." She whispered. "I…I found some papers…dey were about me…"

"What did they say?"

She quickly rooted about under the blankets, shakily producing a wad of papers bound together with a large rubber band, photographs and receipts sticking out from all sides of it.

"I don' know how it happened." She said, her voice low, trembling. "I can't explain, but I was somewhere…den I was somewhere else…somewhere dark and dey were waiting for me and laughing…" Twin tears broken from her swollen eyes, trickling down her scabbed cheeks. "Why did dey bring me back for?"

Her tears got to the dark vampire and he moved closer, gently gathering her slight body in his arms, pulling her against his broad chest. "There has to be a purpose for everything." He murmured, stroking her thick hair gently.

"But I was dead. Drusilla…she killed me…" She argued softly, clinging to him in desperation, her shoulders shaking fitfully. "I don't even know how long dey left me dead for."

Angel nodded sympathetically. "I was killed the day after you." He felt her stiffen, heard her unasked questions and let a sad reminiscent smile creep onto his face. "To seal Acathala, Buffy sent me to Hell, just after I got my soul back. It was the end of our relationship, really."

"Dey brought you back too?"

"No. The Powers That Be kicked me out of Hell after years. Hundreds… maybe even thousands of years." A shiver ran through his body, remembering just what had happened there. "It's not somewhere I would recommend for a vacation. A bit too hot for my tastes."

Much to his surprise, the girl in his arms laughed softly at his cynical remark. "I tink it was better to just be dead an' buried." She decided. There was a moment silence, then she shifted, looking up at him. "How long was I dead for?"

"Nearly three years." Angel replied, after a minute's thought.

She raised her hand, touched her cheeks. "I must be a mess." She said quietly, running her fingers over the welts and scores on her once-smooth skin. "Do I look like I've been…"

"No." Angel hastened to reassure her, giving her his best, clumsy, debonair smile. "I don't know what they've done, but you look exactly how I remember you, as pretty now as you were then."

Her head tilted coquesttishly. "You tink I am pretty?" She asked. Her cheeks flushed a rosy brown beneath the bruises and scrapes, yet something was puzzling the dark vampire, one of his hands pressed against her back. "What?" His expression was one of bafflement. "What is it?"

"Your heart." He managed to say faintly. She raised her hand to her chest, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I don't feel anyting." She said. Her hand trembled. She turned it over, staring at it as if it had betrayed her. "I don't feel anyting." She repeated, a more hysterical note creeping into her voice. "Why don't I feel anyting?"

Angel shook his head, bemused. "I don't know." He could feel her body shivering against his, her fear and confusion radiating off her in waves. "Maybe the spell they used…maybe it's the kind of magick…"

"Am I still dead?" She asked sharply, staring at him with the fear he could only imagine had reflected his own after his return from hell. "Am I a zombie? De ones who did dis…do dey control me?"

"You're no zombie." Angel reassured her firmly, tilting her chin with his hand, her skin still surprisingly warm despite her lack of a pulse. Her fierce spirit still shone behind those scared eyes of a little girl. "Trust me, if you were, I wouldn't let you near me." He pulled a face. "I hate it when body parts starting falling off near me. Really puts me off my dinner."

Again, the resurrected Slayer managed to giggle weakly. If he recalled correctly, the vampire knew that this Slayer was thrown into her destiny in the same way as many passed Slayers, torn away from her family in early childhood, having no kind of normal life outwith her training.

Perhaps, in being brought back from death, this would give her a second chance at the life she had never had the chance to have: one with friends and families and everything that Buffy had been blessed with.

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