The Visitor and the Buffybot Adventures Present:
Season Two - Episode ZeroThe SPARK
“This bites.”
Doyle frowned, gazing out through the dimensional veil to the Earthly realm that used to be his home. He looked at an empty lot, empty but for a few fires and piles of debris, left over from a chaotic night of demon carnage and riot.
And in the lot there was one other remnant of the rampage, left alone in the dying hours of the night. Several pieces of her, in fact.
Doyle stared hard, looking into the lifeless eyes of the machine called Buffybot, eyes he had seen sparkle with...was it really life? Over the last few weeks and months as he’d kept watch over her. Preparing. But for what?
“I mean it,” he said, turning when he couldn’t stand the sight any longer and facing the Guardian behind him, “...this really sucks.”
The Guardian remained unflappable and calm, even in the face of the emotional bluster that was Alan Francis Doyle. He smiled calmly. “We appreciate your feelings, spirit. Indeed, there is much to be concerned about here.”
“Concerned?? I’m more than...”
Doyle paused, looking into that serene, divine face, and reining his feelings back in once again. It was like arguing with his Mum, sometimes.
“I just mean...I’m glad the Slayer’s back and all. Met her a few times up here. Real sweetheart...whipped me at cards more’n once, too. Mind, I don’t know how happy SHE’LL be, least at first...I hear the transition from here to there can be mighty rough. Like many a hangover I’ve had.”
“There will be much suffering from this,” the Guardian concurred, a hint of the ominous in his tones, “...consequences. It defies the order. But it is done.”
“I know. I know, it’s just...the doll, she was goin’ along so great and everything, and now this...”
Doyle spared a second to glance back, the Buffybot’s shattered carcass lying inert in the flickering firelight, and he felt a terrible pang of sorrow. He turned back.
“She deserved better, is all I’m sayin’. Not this. Not this...”
The Guardian remained stoic. “You may be correct, spirit. We shall see. That is, after all, why we chose you.”
“How could somethin’ like this happen?”
Curious, the Guardian gave Doyle a soothing look. “You witnessed the end yourself, spirit. She fought as valiantly as she was capable, but...”
“No....no, I don’t mean...” Doyle shook his head. “I mean...how did it happen? Her being...alive? A Champion? Or at least, potential Champion? Not that I’m doubtin’ or anything.”
The Guardian nodded thoughtfully. Doyle continued. “But...well, I’ve seen plenty of crazy things, no question. Not the least crazy was findin’ out I happened to be half demon. But a robot? Alive? That’s a bit of a far-fetched notion, even for an open-minded gent like myself, y’know?”
The Guardian smiled. “You have questions. Understandable. And, perhaps, some further knowledge of all that has happened would help you in your mission. Certainly you’ve earned the right. Come,”
Turning, the Guardian motioned for Doyle to follow him, through the halls of eternity.
“...I will show you what you seek.”
Walking slowly away, Doyle moved to follow the Guardian, his curiosity more than aroused. He hadn’t expected to get answers this quickly.
He paused, briefly, before leaving, and turned one last time towards the rend in the veil, and took one last, long look at Buffybot. Her wrecked frame, lying silent and helpless in an angry night. All alone. Doyle frowned.
“She deserved better, is all...” He muttered, before hastily turning and dashing after the Guardian.
Doyle passed through a shimmering gateway, taking a moment to blink several golden particles of light out of his eyes as he did so, sniffling slightly. Heaven could be Hell on your sinuses, though he’d never say that out loud up here.
When he could see clear again, he saw he was in a vast circular chamber of impressive proportions. There was no floor visible, but Doyle had long since stopped asking the ‘what are we walkin’ on?’ question up here. At the center of the chamber the Guardian waited patiently, aside a brilliant blue sphere of soft light. Doyle made his way towards them.
“Pretty,” he said, idly poking at the sphere with a cautious finger. The surface rippled dreamily, echoing inside his head like a childhood memory. The Guardian gestured impressively.
“The Orb of All,” he announced, “...within it’s wall rests the time of men. It will show you what you seek.”
Doyle looked the sphere over, impressed. “Time of men, eh? Y’mean, it’ll show the future, like?”
“That is forbidden,” the Guardian replied flatly, “...as you well know, spirit. Only that which has already transpired, by the limited perceptions of your kind, may be recalled on this orb.”
Doyle shrank guiltily back. “So, no chance of gettin’ some tips for the track then?”
Smiling mischievously, Doyle quickly noted that the Guardian didn’t share his joy. “Kidding!” he said, putting his palms up in defeat. Time to get back into work mode.
“So what’re we seein’?” He asked, sliding his hands into his pockets, “...I caught most of the doll’s shenanigans already, didn’t I?”
“There are things seen and things unseen,” the Guardian said in typically cryptic fashion, “...But it would do well for you to know the whole tale. From the beginning...or as close as we need come.”
“The beginning...hang on.” Doyle reached up and scratched his head. “That Spike dunce had ‘er built, ain’ t that right? As a sexbot? And he went to that scumbag Warren to do it. I tell ya, how somethin’ like her came outta a meeting between those two screwups I’ll never...”
“You will never know,” The Guardian interrupted, “...unless you stop talking and let the Orb tell it’s tale. Should that be acceptable to you, of course.”
Doyle lowered his head bashfully. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He really, really had to learn to hold his tongue sometimes.
The Guardian smiled, raising one flawless hand up to the Orb’s shimmering surface. “We appreciate your enthusiasm for your task, spirit. It will serve you well in the days to come.”
The Orb hummed with sudden life, and Doyle could see images beginning to form in it’s depth as it’s singular wall expanded all around him. He could smell the smells, and feel the textures, too. The Guardians didn’t cheap out on special FX.
“But now,” the Guardian said, weaving the past together with the Orb for Doyle to see, “...watch, and see the truth of what happened in the first, crucial days. The start of it all...when a man and a demon crossed paths to create...something entirely other...”
And at that, Doyle’s senses were overcome with those of the past, a house somewhere in Sunnydale. There was cursing, and shouting...and a work most definitely in progress.
“OW! DAMMIT!”
Warren dropped the welding torch and jammed his aching finger into his mouth, nursing the burn he’d just delivered to himself trying to attach the robot’s backup hard drive to it’s main memory cluster. It was trickier going than he’d prefer. He had already been at the robot for longer than he’d taken with April...but could he help it if he was a perfectionist?
“Warren?”
Warren cringed slightly as his Mother’s voice echoed down the stairs. “Honey? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mom! Just...stubbed my toe. It’s nothing!”
Warren waited for a moment, then heard the inevitable. “Would you like me to bring down some Snapple for you? Or some Crispers?”
“No thanks, Mom! I’m fine!”
“All righty then,” his Mother said pleasantly, “...don’t work too hard, now.”
Yeah, right, Warren thought sullenly as he returned to doing just that. Easy for her to say...she didn’t have a horny vampire needling him for results all the time.
At least he’d been useful, scrounging up scrap metal at night for Warren to build with. Even managed to scare up some extra cash (Warren hadn’t asked how) so he could afford some of the microcircuitry he’d need. Including a few...optional extras, Warren was installing all on his own. For a rainy day.
But the construction had taken time. Ducking his Mom was tough enough, but this beauty...the ’Buffy-Bot’, was Warren’s crowning achievement. She was vastly improved over April.
Stronger, better equipped for creative thought and adaptive integration. She’d be a beauty of a fighter, assuming the Vampire’s programming requirements didn’t muck her combat routines up too much.
And the programs. Boy oh boy, would she ever be a star in the sack! Whoever this Spike loser was, he sure had a mile-long yen for that bitch Slayer. It had been all Warren could do not to burst out laughing when the Vampire related all the specifics to him of what he wanted his new toy to do for him. Talk about whipped.
Warren tried to return to his work, but the pain in his finger was urging him to avoid the heat of the torch for at least a few more minutes, so he turned back to his computer. Still had some last minute tweaking to do here and there on her interface programs anyways. He’d been putting it off...this part sorta bored him. He much preferred the actual building, the programming...dialogue wasn’t his strong suit. Still...perfectionist.
“Willow,” he read aloud, transcribing the vampire’s notes into the Buffybot’s main memory, “...’Best friend, good with computers, witch, gay as of 1999'...hmmph. A dyke witch. Some best friend.”
Warren paused, glancing at the file information again. Buffy’s best friend was gay? Would that mean that Buffy was..?
Oh no. Here’s the witch’s squeeze now...’Tara MaClay’. Warren sneered at the accompanying picture.
“What a dog,” he grumbled derisively, entering Spike’s skimpy notes on Tara into the Buffybot’s drive. He should automate this data-entry junk somehow, Warren brainstormed, free up his valuable time. Pedestrian crap like this was a waste of what Vincent had taught him. He should be retooling her intuition generators, or refining her motor control. Not that those weren’t beyond perfect already.
Warren’s self-flattery put a smile on his face as he entered the information into Buffybot’s still-dormant personality files, and Doyle strode around him with a distasteful sneer. The Guardian, also along on this sojourn through the memories of what came before, held his ground.
“So aside from bein’ a general mad scientist whiz kid,” Doyle began, totally unnoticed by Warren as he peered over the boy’s shoulder to look at the file photo of Tara on his desk, “...and havin’ terrible taste in women to boot....you should BE so lucky, you chucklehead!”
Doyle tried to lay a smack upside Warren’s temple, forgetting for a moment he was only walking through a replay of the past, and his hand passed straight through with no effect. He was suitably disappointed. The Guardian revealed no emotion either way.
“You were saying, spirit?”
“Yeah, right...” Doyle straightened up and walked back over to the Guardian. “I mean, okay, so he’s got the skills when it comes to the robotic stuff, I’ll give the punk that...but are you saying that HE gave her...whatever it is she’s got? Made her alive?”
The Guardian shook his head regally. “No. Warren’s talent extends nowhere near that far, despite his arrogant imaginings. The robot remains simply that...a robot... during his time with her here.”
Doyle looked confused. “Then why’re we here? I thought...”
“We are witnessing the beginning,” the Guardian replied calmly, “...only the beginning. This is but the first step on the journey. Here, the shell is crafted...”
Waving a hand, the Guardian drew Doyle’s attention back to the half-assembled robotic shell, sitting lifelessly on a stack of crates in the basement of some suburban hidey-hole. The face was nothing but an exposed mass of wires and microchips, and other similar things that had given Doyle headaches back when he was alive. It seemed impossible that this was, or would be, anyways, the perky little thing that he would observe for several months very shortly.
“...and that is all. It is important, though, even this seemingly mundane aspect of it.”
Doyle cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Simply this. Warren’s skills are considerable in his field of science. You know from whence his talents derive, do you not?”
Doyle nodded. “Yeah...that Vincent character. He’s the guy who you pegged to...”
“The very same,” the Guardian interjected, continuing his narrative, “...he taught the whelp well. Although Warren lacks Vincent’s superior genius, he still possesses talents enough. The robot will be crafted magnificently. That is vital.”
“I don’t get it,” Doyle said, shaking his head and casting a glance towards Warren and the robot, “...this is all just...mechanics, ain’t it? Science?”
“One of the surprising failings of man in your era,” the Guardian said wistfully, “...is it’s inability to recognize how closely related are magic and science. Make no mistake, spirit...were the robot crafted with any lesser precision than she was, her later evolution would be quite impossible.”
Doyle chuckled. “Thought it was impossible anyhow,” he said, watching as Warren went back to work on Buffybot’s innards, stray sparks flying out and onto the dusty floor. The Guardian only smirked.
“Impossible is relative,” he said plainly, “...shall we move on?”
“Yeah,” Doyle agreed quickly. It felt somehow disturbing to see the robot like this...half finished, and in the hands of this pervy creep. If he remembered, he told himself to ask the Guardian to let him revisit the memory of her scaring the crap out of him when they were done.
At a thought, Doyle and the Guardian faded out of the scene, leaving Warren and his creation alone once again. When he was finally done attaching the backup drive he tilted his safety visor up and smiled, admiring his handiwork. She was perfect, all right. He made sure of that. Because if that vampire didn’t trash her inside a few weeks...
Warren grinned, glancing over to the remote unit he’d cooked up, to access the hidden programs he’d buried deep in her systems. Even is someone was looking, they’d be hard pressed to find them. And Spike seemed like he had...other things on his mind.
Someday, Warren thought, narrowing his eyes and caressing the unfinished side of the robot’s skull, someday. Old Warren’s gonna get his taste. Just a little taste.
“Oh, Spike! You make me alive with desire! Riley and Angel could NEVER satisfy me like YOU can!”
Rolling off of Buffybot and onto his feet, Spike started yanking his pants back on, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Damn right, baby,” he muttered, cigarette still dangling from his lips. He cast a sideways glance back at the robot, drawing a sheet over her body.
“...Who’s your daddy?” He asked, only slightly embarrassed at asking the question. Buffybot’s eyes lit up as the pre-programmed response flashed in her active display.
“Spike’s my daddy! You’re my sexy vampire sugar daddy FOREVER!” She exclaimed brightly, sitting up and dangling her legs over the bedside. Spike took a moment admiring them...the boy’d done good work, all right. Idly, he considered the thought of commissioning a Willowbot for the occasional threesome...
Nah. Red wasn’t as cute to him as she used to be, he mused. Besides...Buffy was all he wanted now.
“Spike?” Buffybot asked, still staring at him from the bed, “...would you like me to pleasure you now? I’m still kind of weak in the knees from my earth-shattering explosion of ecstasy,”
Buffybot smiled widely, fanning herself in an exaggeration of exhaustion, “...but I could still do naughty things to YOU. Please let me?”
Spike snickered to himself. “‘Fraid you’ll have to give a bloke a moment to catch his breath, pet. It’s been a while since I’ve been this...active, you know.”
Buffybot looked confused. “Vampires don’t need to breath,” she pointed out, “...why do you need to catch any?”
“That’s an excellent point,” Spike noted, “...my mistake. Gather my strength, how about that? You do tax a man so, my sweet.”
That seemed to suit Buffybot just fine and she smiled again, hopping off the bed and letting the sheet drop off of her. Spike didn’t even try and avert his eyes as she marched about, gathering her clothes up and getting dressed. This, he told himself with a devilish grin, was truly the best idea he’d EVER had.
As Buffybot fastened her skirt, Spike dropped himself down into a nearby chair, where he immediately made an uncomfortable grunt. Groping about under his butt, he quickly came up with the problem...namely, the set of handcuffs he’d just sat upon. A nostalgic grin crossed his face, before he tossed the cuffs onto the floor.
Where, of course, Buffybot immediately ran to retrieve them, fascinated.
“Oh! Pretty!”
Buffybot poked about at the cuffs, playing with them in her hands. Internally, she flicked through the numerous sado-masochistic/bondage scenarios she had yet to engage in with Spike. She smiled.
“Have I been a bad Slayer, Spike?” she asked, automatically accessing one of said scenarios, but Spike remained slumped.
“In a MINUTE, love, in a minute,” he ordered, sounding annoyed but hardly able to get TOO angry over the bot’s enthusiasm, “...and be careful playin’ with those. I lost the key ages ago.”
Pausing in her fascination, Buffybot frowned. “What good are they if you don’t have the key?”
“Oh, I can pick ‘em quick enough,” Spike said, sitting up, and Buffybot’s eyes went wide. He grinned. “Come here...I’ll show you.”
Grinning excitedly, Buffybot bounded across the crypt and handed Spike the handcuffs, which he promptly locked. Then he glanced about for a second or two, before coming across a stray safety pin that he snatched up. He motioned for Buffybot to lean in closer.
“Now watch this,” he said, poking the pin inside the lock and concentrating, “...it’s got a spring lock, see? Tough, but not too tough to get past. Just gotta work it a bit...and...”
In a second, the cuff sprang open, and Buffybot gaped in awe.
“Nothin’ to it,” Spike said boastfully, twirling the cuffs for a second before locking them back up again and handing them back to Buffybot. “Here...give it a try.”
Buffybot stared at Spike adoringly. “Really? Do you think I could?”
“You’re my girl, aren’t you? Wouldn’t want you gettin’ stuck to the bedpost in an emergency or what not. Go on, give it a go!”
Spike smiled peaceably as Buffybot took the cuffs in her hands and started repeating his lockpicking demonstration with mechanical efficiency, popping the cuffs in almost less time than he’d taken. She squealed with delight at her success.
“I did it! I did it!”
“Better’n Houdini,” Spike said flatteringly, “...and you’re certainly better company than that prat ever was...”
“Oh, thank you Spike!” Buffybot said, wrapping the Vampire in a huge hug, “...you’re my BEST boyfriend!”
Spike chuckled, easing the robot’s powerful hug into a more comfortable embrace. “I’ll show you combination locks next,” he said, getting into the spirit, “...they’re a cinch for me, Vampire hearing and all. And you with the robot...”
Buffybot cast a confused look at Spike, who immediately corrected his error.
“...I mean, Slayer hearing...well, they’ll be no sweat off your perfect little blonde brow, now will they?”
Buffybot beamed. “I love you, Spike,” she cooed, leaning over and kissing Spike passionately. Doyle turned away, revolted.
“Oh, I REALLY didn’t need to see this,” he swore, turning towards the Guardian, “...first he’s teachin’ her B&E 101, and now...ugh.”
“Certainly, the Vampire’s uses for the robot are...unimaginative,” the Guardian offered politely, prompting Doyle to throw his arms wide in frustration.
“Who builds a robot to have sex with?” He demanded, “...I ask you!”
Before the Guardian could respond, Doyle spun back towards Spike, who was happily bouncing Buffybot on his knee and playing with her blouse.
“I mean, come ON!” Doyle sputtered, “...couldn’t you just have called up an escort like any other self-respecting demon??”
Spike, of course, didn’t hear Doyle’s question and carried on as before. Doyle still reddened slightly, however, when he realized who HAD heard him. He turned slowly.
“Not that I would EVER...I mean, I don’t approve of things like that, and...”
The Guardian raised an eyebrow, and Doyle grinned sheepishly. “...and, you bein’ one of the Powers That Be and all, would know everything I’ve ever done just by lookin’ at me, right?”
The Guardian nodded slowly, grinning. Doyle took a breath.
“Do we need to be here?” he asked bluntly, trying not to focus on the slurping noises now emanating from behind him.
“I thought it important, for completion’s sake,” The Guardian explained, “...this was, after all, the reason for her Earthly construction. If you would rather not...”
“Hey, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture,” Doyle quickly replied, “...it’s just that my appreciation is taking a sharp turn towards nausea. Can we just...you know, fast forward to the good parts?”
“As you wish,” the Guardian said plainly, and the images faded around them once again, leaving Spike and the Buffybot alone to their minglings. Spike, oblivious of anything but his robotic companion, ran his fingers through her hair and stared at her reverently.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, almost forgetting that this wasn’t the real Slayer on his lap, “...Buffy...God, I love you...”
“Oh Spike,” Buffybot said with a smile, shifting expertly on the Vampire’s lap, “...you’re the ONLY one for me!”
“Spike! Spike’s in there!”
Buffybot darted past Giles across the hotel lobby to the elevator, where Spike lay broken and bloodied in a rather gruesome heap. Her friends were busy waging battle with the nasty minions of Glory, the renegade Hellgod who had been so mean as to kidnap her fluffy Spike-bear away from her. Pat of her program was urging her to enter the fray herself...she WAS the Slayer, after all...but she just loved Spike so much! She had to go to him, and make sure he was all right.
She arrived in a flash, and stared down at her honeybunny, quickly cataloguing his numerous lacerations, bruises, and other infirmities, resolving to kiss each and every one of them better in due time. Spike, for his part, could barely muster the energy to look up at her from where he lay.
“Buffy!”
Buffybot turned, recognizing the voice of Mister Giles (whose proper name pronunciation had now been updated in her files), her Watcher. One of Glory’s demons had him in mortal peril!
With some effort, Buffybot managed to override, at least temporarily, her Spike-obsessed programming and engage her life-preservation/Slaying subroutines, launching herself at the creature. It wasn’t easy, though...a good deal of her processor core was imploring her to rescue poor Spike instead! Even as Buffybot hauled the creature off of Giles, her circuitry was beginning to overheat from the conflict.
The ugly monster proved to be stronger than Buffybot had anticipated, and spun about, hammering her hard with it’s axe. Buffybot reeled, impacting with a nearby wall and faltering. Her already overtaxed neural relay circuitry was now experiencing a sudden short from the impact, that quickly cascaded into a full-blown overload. Her motor control systems froze up, and as she sank down to the ground Buffybot could see sparks of electrical power flashing before her eyes. Error messages were flashing in her active array as system after system went offline. A strange thought passed through her mechanical brain before her hard-drive crashed under the strain.
Gosh, she thought with a curious gleam, maybe I AM a robot, after all..!
With a sombre countenance, Doyle circled warily overtop the robot’s inert form, even as the real Buffy and her friends routed the remaining demons, who fled up the stairs. Glory would be waiting there, Buffy knew. They couldn’t stay.
“Xander!” Buffy shouted, helping Giles to his feet and making sure he was all right, “...you and Giles collect Spike and get him out of here! Feel free not to cover him up in the sunlight.”
Running over and dragging the vampire, now unconscious, to his feet, Xander hooked one limp arm over his shoulder. “What’re you gonna do?”
Buffy glanced over towards the other fallen member of their group. “I’ll grab the robot,” she said, moving towards Buffybot. Giles looked worried.
“Buffy, Glory’s minions could return at any moment...with Glory herself, even. I think it would be best to just abandon the...”
“Giles, it might know who the key is!” Buffy argued, scooping her metallic doppelganger up in a carry, “...we CANT leave it for Glory to find. Now go! If you see Will and Anya, tell them we’ll meet up at the shop!”
Pausing just the barest of moments to see that they understood, Buffy started moving again soon, hefting the surprisingly lightweight Buffybot out of the hotel and into the open air. After a brief discussion, Giles and Xander opted to cover Spike up awkwardly with Giles’ coat, following Buffy out the door ASAP. Only Doyle and the Guardian remained now in the empty memory, Doyle staring somewhat unsatisfied at the departing Scoobies.
“That seemed a little...anticlimactic.”
The Guardian cast Doyle a curious look. “Something troubles you, spirit?”
“It’s just...” Doyle paused, trying to decide if this was worth mentioning or not. He eventually figured, what the hell.
“I mean, I’ve seen the ‘bot take hits five times as hard as the one the little scab in drag laid on her just now, and come away grinnin’! You’re tellin’ me THAT was enough to take her out? It don’t make any sense.”
“Your curiosity is understandable,” the Guardian noted, “...but we are early on in the robot’s development yet. There were conflicts within, stemming from the limited visions that programmed her, that were factors in this, her ‘first death’. Forces are at play, however, that will conspire to revive her soon enough...for however brief a time.”
Doyle nodded, not quite understanding. He cast a last look out the hotel doors. So it was Buffy who had hauled to robot out of here...otherwise Glory probably would have crumpled her like a tin can. He smiled.
“Thanks, Summers,” he muttered under his breath, “...I owe ya one.”
“Yes,” Anya said, rather weakly, before gathering her strength to make her intentions a little plainer, “...I mean, YES.”
Xander broke out into a winning smile, the ring trembling slightly in his hands there in the basement of the Magic Box. Anya fluttered her hands, and Xander made a move to slip the ring onto her finger. He found it just a little bit odd that his happiest moment should come on this of all days...but then again, he reasoned, what’s another end-of-the-world?
“No!” Anya suddenly blurted, and Xander pulled the ring back. The emotional roller-coaster was getting a bit much.
“No,” He repeated, desperately confused by his intended. This happened often.
“After,” she said with a giddy smile, calming herself with great concentration, “...give it to me when the world doesn’t end.”
That sounded reasonable to Xander...all he had to do to marry his girl was beat holy hell out of a crazy God and save the world? He could do that. He smiled back at Anya, who wrapped him in a huge hug, kissing him passionately.
When they broke off a minute later, Xander eyed his grinning fiancé warily. “You sure you want to wait? Tempting fate by postponing the joy until after the battle can be construed as a classic Top Gun sidekick move.”
“Don’t be silly,” Anya argued, “...this will give me a reason to live THROUGH the battle! The Powers that be would never kill me at an ironic moment like this...they like me, I’m sure of it!”
Xander grinned. “Secret it is, then,” he said proudly, glancing down and to his right, into the eyes of the only witness to his and Anya’s engagement. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
Buffybot said nothing in reply, her inert eyes staring straight forward like the broken doll she essentially was. Xander and Anya both paused, staring at the curious little machine, until Anya’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s that?”
Xander shook his head, confused again. “We just went over this, honey...sexbot, remember? Willow with the science, me with the non-perversion...”
“No,” Anya said, nudging past Xander single-mindedly, “...what’s THAT?”
Anya hunched over, eyes drawn to a yellow glimmer she’d noticed on the robot’s skirt. Slowly, she closed in and reached around behind Buffybot’s bottom, rustling about. Xander watched with concern.
“Okay...and I’M the pervert..?”
Ignoring Xander, Anya continued digging into the shelf behind Buffybot a moment longer, until finally she pulled out and spun about, triumphantly holding the Dagon Sphere aloft. She beamed, and Xander’s confusion turned to pride.
“She shoots, she scores!” Xander leaned forward, and he and Anya high-fived one another. “Good eye, sweetie! Who would’a thought Spike’s toy would be useful after all?”
“You see?” Anya said smartly, “...I told you the universe wouldn’t let me die now. Someone up there must really...really...what did you say?”
Xander shook his head. “Honestly? I usually don’t remember from one minute to the next. Kinda making it up as I go over here...”
“About the robot,” she muttered, turning back towards Buffybot, “...being useful...”
Xander stared a moment longer. “Anya..?”
“I’m having an idea!” Anya shouted, turning about in a tizzy, “...ohmiGod! I’m a genius!” Anya smiled wildly at Xander. “You’re marrying a genius! You lucky, lucky man you!”
Xander looked wary. “Okay, you’re talking about YOU, right?”
“We’ve got to talk to Buffy! Hurry!”
Anya grabbed Xander by the arm and started hauling him up the stairs. Behind them Doyle, after pausing briefly to stare into Buffybot’s still-silent eyes, followed them along as they reached the main floor where Giles was waiting. Anya was almost bouncing with satisfaction.
“Ah, you found it!” Giles noted, spying the Dagon Sphere in Anya’s hands with a modicum of relief, “...well done. One more weapon in the arsenal.”
Anya nodded enthusiastically. “And we’ve had an idea!”
Xander glanced over at her questioningly. “We have?”
Without looking, Anya motioned for Xander to hush up, handing Giles the Sphere. “Where’s Buffy? She’ll want to hear this!”
“I think she’s with Willow...yes,” Giles turned, spotting Buffy talking with Willow. “Buffy!”
The Slayer turned, and Giles motioned for her to join them. After a moment, she did just that, looking anxious.
Giles stood patiently. “Anya?”
“Okay,” Anya began, excited, “...we were downstairs, looking for the Dagon Sphere? And Xander found Spike’s Buffy-Bot, all stored away. And I started thinking, Willow said she would be able to fix it pretty easily, right?”
The others looked uneasy. Buffy especially. “Uh-huh,” she said dubiously, “...but why would...”
“Think about it!” Anya exclaimed, even as beside her, Xander finally started catching up to her particular train of thought, “...we need distractions for the fight with Glory, don’t we? Well, what would be more distracting than another you?”
“Right,” Xander said, “...right! I mean, it can fight well enough, Buffy, you said so yourself. And if Will can bypass the sex-programming, we’ve got ourselves a hyper-peppy robot that thinks it’s the Slayer. If we send it in, maybe soften Glory up a bit...”
“Hold on,” Giles said, his mind racing now, “...are we certain the robot CAN be revived in time? It has...power, or circuits, or something?”
Anya nodded. “It’ll need a change of clothes, though,” she said seriously, “...Glory would never believe that Buffy would wear THAT outfit to an apocalypse.”
“Will’s gonna have to set a new speed record for reprogramming,” Xander added, “...maybe give it some snappy anti-hellgod banter. But...”
“No,” Buffy finally said, cutting Xander off, “...no. No, that could be crucial.” She looked from person to person, the first few rays of hope in days creeping onto her face, “...Thank you guys.”
Standing aside, Doyle and the Guardian continued to observe as Buffy eventually headed out for weapons (and a robotic outfit change) with Spike, while the others corralled Willow for some speed-rebooting. Doyle seemed intrigued.
“Guess it’s a good thing the kept the robot in the same place as the Sphere. She might’a missed the action otherwise.”
“Indeed,” the Guardian said, “...the robot’s path is riddled with such interventions by destiny. Fascinating, really.”
Doyle peered towards the counter. “What is that thing, anyway?”
He was looking at the glowing orb Giles had just set down. The Guardian looked at it sombrely. “That is the Dagon Sphere,” he said, “...so called for it’s creator, the ancient demon wizard Dagon. Dagon originally crafted hundreds of the spheres, millennia ago, for one single purpose...the battle against Glorificus.”
“Industrious fella,” Doyle noted, “...so what’s it do? I mean, is it important?”
“You will likely have noticed by his time, spirit,” The Guardian said with a slight grin, “...that very little in this matter is NOT important. One way or another.”
“It’s strange,” Buffybot said, staring Glory down with a cocky swagger, “...you’re not as blurry with speed as usual either.”
Glory stumbled momentarily, seeming very disoriented. Buffybot resisted the urge to smile, as Willow had instructed her (‘You have to be intimidating’ the witch had commanded in no uncertain terms, ‘Glory has to believe you’re Buffy. The other Buffy...you remember what she was like?’
‘Oh yes,” Buffybot had replied, ‘... I won’t let you down, Willow. You just watch!’).
“The witch...” Glory muttered, clutching her head, so recently sundered by Willow’s mental magicks. Buffybot readied her act.
“It’s not her,” she said plainly, before whipping the Dagon Sphere out from behind her back. Glory seemed distressed to see it.
“Might be this,” she said, the urge to smile now almost overwhelming, but she held fast. Doyle, staring intently at the showdown from the side, became suddenly agitated.
“Waitaminnit,” he shouted, and the memory did indeed freeze as he requested. He took a step closer, pointing at the Sphere in Buffybot’s hands.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” He asked, to the interest of the Guardian, “...the Dagon watchamacallit! It’s all magical and ancient and makin’ with the god-power...that’s what does it, am I right? It somehow brings her t’life! I get it! It’s so simple!”
“That it is,” the Guardian agreed, “...it is also incorrect.”
Doyle blinked. “It is?”
Nodding, the Guardian peered closer at the Sphere. “The Sphere has specific powers against the God,” he said, “...ones that the Slayer and her band only dimly understand. If they knew more, their plans might have altered considerably.”
Doyle turned half towards the Guardian. “So what DOES it do?”
“In contact with the God, the Sphere causes her great pain,” the Guardian pointed out, stalking slowly about the frozen image of Buffybot, “...but in the hands of an opponent, as it is now, the Sphere has a twofold purpose in battle. It weakens and disorients Glory...”
Pausing, the Guardian waited until Doyle caught on. He snapped his fingers. “And strengthens her enemy!”
“Correct,” the Guardian said, smiling approvingly, “...Every moment the robot holds the sphere in Glory’s presence, she is reinforced with ever-so-slight a fraction of the God’s power. It does not grant her life,” he explained, “...but it does make her stronger. Strong enough to do herself proud in single combat against Glory...no small feat, I assure you.”
“That’s my girl,” Doyle remarked warmly, “...but it’s not enough, hey? I mean, Glory wins in the end.”
“On this plane, Glorificus is possessed of nearly infinite strength, spirit. There were none who could last forever against her power. The robot’s second death is inevitable...but fought well. And her exposure to the Sphere has a binding quality as well...it will ensure a minimal loss of memory and data following her defeat. We...do not have to witness the end, if you prefer.”
Doyle thought that was mighty charitable...he’d seen the doll die plenty enough times already. “Could we watch the scrap, though? He asked eagerly, “...just the good parts? You can skip the sudden stop at the end.”
The Guardian smiled and restarted the memory, and Buffybot tossed Glory the Sphere. Glory reeled before shattering the orb, and managed to fire off half a taunt before Buffybot waded into her, pummelling the God with a flurry of punches and kicks, much to Doyle’s demonstrable delight.
“Oh yeah....give’er a left...a right...OH! Nice kick, sister! That’s my GIRL! Show that bit’o stuff what you’re made of! Go! Go! Yeah!”
Behind him, the Guardian couldn’t help but smile as Doyle narrated the battle, tossing phantom punches in time with Buffybot’s real blows. They had, he decided, chosen well.
“We buried her.”
Xander leaned heavily forward, resting his head in sweaty palms. Anya draped herself comfortingly over him. Across from him in the Summers living room was Giles, Willow and Tara. Dawn was upstairs, hopefully asleep.
“I can’t believe we buried her...” Xander repeated softly, terribly recalling the expedition that morning to a remote spot in the woods, where they had, in fact, laid the remains of Buffy Summers to rest. Willow and Tara had used their magic to create a headstone. Spike donated the coffin. No one asked where he got it.
It had been two days now since she died.
“I feel...” Willow started to say, twining her fingers with Tara’s almost desperately, “...God, I don’t know what I feel. It doesn’t feel real, any of it.”
“Mortality is stupid,” Anya said bleakly, rubbing Xander’s back, “...I hate it.”
“For once, Anya, we agree,” Giles noted, leaning awkwardly back in his chair. He looked as if he had not slept in a long, long time.
“What...” Tara started, before squinting her eyes shut in sudden pain. Willow’s face filled with worry.
“Tara? Are you all right, sweetie?”
Tara smiled shyly, warding off Willow’s fussing. “It’s okay,” she said weakly, “...just another little headache. Th-they’re getting better, though.”
Willow wrapped her arm around Tara and hugged her softly. “Poor baby...” The headaches had been plaguing Tara ever since Willow had used her power to restore her mind from Glory. Tara considered them an awfully small price to pay, however.
“I was going to ask,” she began again, “...what do we do, now?”
A profound round of silence met the question. At length, Anya spoke up uncertainly.
“Shouldn’t we call Buffy’s Father?” she asked, glancing about, “...I mean, he’d want to know...right?”
Xander seemed about to reply when Giles slumped forward and beat him to it. “Buffy’s Father is a fool,” he said bitterly, to everyone’s surprise, “...a blind, selfish fool. He’s ignored Buffy and Dawn for years now. Two remarkable, beautiful daughters like them, and he...”
Giles paused, seeming to choke up for a moment, before clearing his throat and leaning back again.
“He’s a fool,” he said again, weary, “...leave the man to his ignorance.”
“We can’t tell anyone anyways,” Willow added, eager to shift the focus of the conversation, “...not until we figure out some plan. We can’t let the demon world know the Slayer’s gone. The Hellmouth...”
“...needs a Slayer,” Xander finished, “...big time. But...shouldn’t there be a new one, now? I mean...Buffy...”
Xander breathed heavily, telling himself over and over that it was okay to say it out loud. It had to be said.
“Buffy’s dead,” he finally managed, hating himself anyways for saying the words, “...a new Slayer gets called, or switched on now, right? Isn’t that the drill?”
“I’m afraid not,” Giles said, “...not this time.”
Willow looked nervously towards Giles. “What? But that’s...that’s impossible! The Slayer line...”
“Has long since been splintered,” Giles said with a heartfelt glance, “...unfortunately. When Kendra was called after Buffy’s brief death against the Master years ago, that managed to take her ‘out of the loop’, so to speak, of the Slayer lineage. I’ve already been in contact with the council, and they’ve confirmed what I suspected. There is no new Slayer.”
“So that’s it?” Xander asked with sudden anger, “...Buffy dies to save the world, and that doesn’t even merit a blip on the Slayer radar? Like she didn’t even matter?”
“Xander, calm down,” Willow said, though she was having trouble enough keeping her own emotions in some kind of check, “...we’ll find another way. We’ll figure it out.”
“How?” Xander fired back, “...when vampires come roaming the streets en masse, do we just tell them ‘oh, the Slayer? She was here a minute ago, you must have JUST missed her! Honest injun!”
Willow glared sternly at her childhood friend. “Xander, I seriously can’t deal with sass from you right now. We need to think of something...something real!”
“Well, I did all the idea work before we fought Glory,” Anya said pointedly, “...it’s someone else’s turn. Grief impedes my creativity.”
“Um...”
Tara raised an unsteady hand, drawing attention onto her. She looked almost embarrassed.
“What is it, sweetie?” Willow asked, concerned. Tara shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s just...and this may be the residual craziness talking here, but I was thinking...what about the robot?”
An interested, if bewildered current went through the group. “The Buffybot?” Xander asked, intrigued, “...I salvaged it yesterday. Both pieces. She took one for the team..in an ‘off with your head’ kinda way.”
“What are you thinking, Tara?” Giles asked, leaning forward. He seemed interested.
“Well...I mean, if we’re serious about trying to make people think Buffy’s still...you know, around...and if we could fix her...wouldn’t a Buffy robot be pretty much exactly what we need right now?”
Everyone took a moment to run that thought around their tired brains. More than one of them started to get a distinct sense of ‘why didn’t I think of that?’
“That’s not bad,” Anya said first, furrowing her brow, “...creepy, but not bad.”
“It certainly has merit,” Giles said approvingly, eliciting a proud grin from Tara, “...but it’s quite a daunting task. Is the machine even salvageable?”
Everyone’s eyes suddenly shifted towards Willow, who squirmed under the attention. “Hey, I’m computer-gal!” she said defensively, “...reattaching heads is WAY new territory.”
“Seemed like a pretty clean break,” Xander said, recalling his journey yesterday to retrieve the robot’s remains, “...as mechanical decapitations go, anyways. Could have been worse.”
“I could give it a shot,” Willow offered, the idea gathering steam in her head. She did love a challenge. “It’s a good idea...but she’ll need a TON of reprogramming. It’ll take some time.”
“We’ll have to hurry as best we can,” Giles said, “...the longer we let it go, the greater chance the truth will be discovered. Whatever you need, Willow, let us know.”
Willow thought about that. “Some tools, mostly...welding stuff, maybe some materials to patch up whatever it uses for skin...”
“I’m your man,” Xander said quickly, “...I’ve got whatever you need at the site. Just give me a list.”
“It’s going to be weird,” Anya said sharply, “...especially for Dawn. A Buffy robot walking around, so soon after..?”
“We’ll have to ease her into the idea, obviously,” Giles said, “...but barring any other inspiration, I think this is our only option at the moment. Good work, Tara.”
Beside Giles, Doyle crossed his arms and smiled. “I’ll second that,” he said, looking at the blond girl fondly.
Tara flushed at the compliment (the one she had heard), then started trying to envision the results of her idea. Buffybot, a member of the gang?
She ducked her head. If it worked...
Despite herself, Tara almost laughed. It sure wouldn’t be boring. Of that she was quite positive.
“Willow! Hi there! How are...”
A second after it started talking, the robot fell limp again, powering down. Willow fumed, reaching around and rebooting her main systems yet again. It took a few minutes, and she rechecked her system scan results a twelfth time as she waited. She couldn’t figure out what she was doing wrong.
Finally, the robot was ready to go again. Willow switched it on and crossed her fingers. She’d been at this for two weeks now, and getting the head reattached hadn’t been as tricky as she’d anticipated. But her internals were more complex than Willow had initially given them credit for, and for some reason she didn’t understand, she just couldn’t get the blasted thing to work!
Suddenly, the robot sprang to life again, her face contorting into a terrific smile and beaming at Willow.
“Willow!” Buffybot said cheerily, “...hi there! How are you?”
Willow exhaled a huge sigh of relief. Finally, a complete sentence! Now she was getting somewhere.
“Better now,” she said honestly, taking a glance at her system scan results as they came in, “...how are YOU?”
Buffybot pondered that for a second. “I was fighting Glory,” she recalled, “...but I think I got broken. Did I get broken, Willow?”
Willow smiled. “Sure did,” she told the robot, “...got your head knocked right off! But it’s okay...you’re as good as new now!”
Buffybot smiled deliriously. “Thank you, Willow! I...”
Before she could finish, Buffybot powered down again, settling into a motionless stare. Willow glared, looking down at her scans...the robot was offline again.
“Oh, come ON!” she shouted, exasperated, “...I had it! That isn’t fair! Son of a...”
The door to the bedroom where Willow was working suddenly flung open, and Willow managed to restrain herself mid-curse as Tara cast a concerned eye on her. With a little effort, she managed to calm herself down. For the moment.
“Not going well?” Tara asked, already knowing the answer. Almost immediately, Willow could feel herself getting worked up again.
“I can’t figure it out! She won’t stay on. I mean, I knew it’d be a lot of work, but this is...I’m gonna start pulling my hair out soon! You’re going to have a bald girlfriend! Will you still love me when I’m bald?”
Grinning, Tara made her way over to Willow’s side. “I’ll love every inch of your beautiful, shiny head,” she told her coyly, “...but you shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”
“But I don’t know what’s wrong!” Willow said, a little louder than she needed to, “...It’s driving me crazy! I mean, I knew she was complex and all that, but my God, there’s just SO much going on in there! So many different programs and directives, I really don’t know how Warren did it. It took me ages just to get my computer synched right with her data streams, and I THINK I’ve updated her software pretty good, but...I’m just missing something, and I have no idea what. It could take me YEARS to understand everything inside of her. I...Tara, I’m not sure if I can do this. I’m really not.”
Shifting to serious mode, Tara stood in front of Willow and put her hands on her cheeks, staring intently into Willow’s eyes. “Will...you brought me back from the darkest place I’ve ever been,” she told her, prompting a loving smile, “...I have faith in you.”
Tara leaned in and gave Willow a short kiss before breaking away. “You should take a break,” she said earnestly, “...Dawnie and I are making lunch. Why don’t you come down?”
Tara leaned back, trying to ease Willow towards the door. Doyle sidestepped to avoid her, moving over towards the Guardian, who was watching with what the Irishman noticed was considerably more interest than earlier.
“In a few minutes,” Willow promised, “...I want to try one more time.”
Tara smiled. “That’s my little trooper,” she said, waving shyly and scooting back out the door. Willow stood motionless for another few seconds before turning and taking a seat in front of the lifeless Buffybot once again. She sighed.
“Don’t give me that look,” she said to the robot, stern, “...I’m gonna crack you. I’m not kidding! Willow Rosenberg doesn’t back down from a challenge. By hook or by crook, I’m gonna...”
Willow broke off, a curious gleam arising in her eye. Doyle thought it only of mild interest, until the Guardian actually stepped forward to watch more closely. Something was about to happen, Doyle realized. Something important.
Despite being certain she was alone in the room (Doyle and the Guardian’s ethereal presence an understandable oversight), Willow instinctively glanced from side to side, just to be sure. Because what she was planning...well, she was pretty sure it qualified as cheating. Not that anyone was likely to mind in this case, of course...just a matter of pride, is all.
She looked forward, fixing Buffybot’s dull eyes with a keen stare. It really did look just like her, she thought wistfully.
With quiet deliberation, Willow raised her hands and gently placed her fingertips over Buffybot’s face and neck. She left them there for a moment, gathering her will. She swallowed hard, and took a deep breath.
What the heck, she thought with conviction. It worked for the pay phone.
Summoning mystic energy from within, Willow channelled her considerable power forward, and spoke the simple incantation that served as the focus for the spell. Only four little words. The Guardian looked in something almost akin, Doyle thought, to admiration...maybe even awe. He’d never seen one of the Powers look like that before.
“Discharge..and give life,” the witch said, and as she did so a brilliant light started to issue forth from inside the Buffybot’s form. She stiffened, and her face contorted from the blank stare she had just worn to a look of notable surprise. Her eyes glowed, and the scene froze. Doyle looked at the Guardian, who was surveying the scene with amazing interest...Doyle thought he was actually excited.
“This is it,” he said reverently, and Doyle looked back at Buffybot, overflowing now with the most beautiful white light. She looked radiant.
“...the Spark,” the Guardian continued, “...that will give unsuspecting birth to the fires of life inside this machine. A life unlike any other in the history of your great green world. Unique. It began right here...”
“‘Discharge and give life’,” Doyle repeated slowly, moving in closer to Buffybot, reaching out a ghostly hand to brush through the streams of light leaking from her eyes, “...don’t get much less subtle than that, does it? How come the witch didn’t realize..?”
“The spell is normally not so...exotic,” the Guardian replied, “...simply a magical tool used to empower the odd appliance. But Buffybot is, as we’ve seen, no ordinary appliance.”
“Sure,” Doyle agreed, the import of the moment sinking in, “...high-tech super-robot, strengthened by the Dagon sphere...holy God...”
“Indeed,” the Guardian agreed, “...on something like the Buffybot, the witch’s spell was far more effective than she ever would have dreamed. Magic and science...”
“Wait a minute,” Doyle said, a sudden realization coming over him. He stood back, shifting his gaze onto the redheaded witch. “...it...it was HER. Willow...she did it. She gave Buffybot...life?”
The Guardian nodded, and Doyle reeled. “Sweet Mary an’ Joseph...she’s almost like...her Mother, or...something!”
“I would find that an overly poetic interpretation,” The Guardian pointed out, “...but viable nonetheless.”
“But...a few months from here,” Doyle continued, dread creeping into his voice, “...she’ll be the one who...who...”
The Guardian nodded gravely. “As irony, it is not inconsiderable. She doesn’t realize what it is she has done here today,” he said, gesturing towards Willow, “...nor will she in the months to come.”
Doyle looked forlorn at that pronouncement. “Will she ever..?”
“That is not for me to say,” the Guardian admitted plainly, “...but perhaps. It is an uncertain place, the future. One can never tell exactly WHAT will come to pass. Not even me.”
Doyle laughed humourlessly. That was small comfort indeed, he thought, as the Guardian unfroze the moment. The glow inside Buffybot died down in a second, and Willow retracted her hands cautiously. Buffybot was staring straight at her. A smile started to play on her lips.
“Hi Willow!” she said, pausing as she scanned through her programs and directives. “You’ve updated my programs,” she noted, fascinated. Willow let loose a sigh and grinned.
“Here and there, yeah. Welcome back,” she offered, though Buffybot seemed distracted.
“I’m a robot,” she said concisely, accessing the new self-awareness imperatives Willow had installed, “...I never knew that before!” She beamed, looking at Willow. “That was silly of me, wasn’t it?”
“Just a little,” she admitted, “...but you’re all better now. Right?”
“Oh goodness yes!” Buffybot declared, ‘’...thank you SO much for fixing me, Willow! You’re the best friend a robot could have!”
“That’s me,” Willow said, “...Doctor Doolittle for androids. Listen...I’ve added a lot of information to your files...including why we fixed you up. Do you...understand it all? About Buffy..?”
“I think so,” Buffybot said, examining her new mass of data, “...Buffy died. It’s sad. I have to be the Slayer now. Is that right?”
“Bingo. If you have any, you know, questions...we’re here to help, okay? We’ve got plenty of time.”
“Thank you, Willow...there’s so much to learn! It’s VERY Exciting!”
Buffybot paused in her enthusiasm, checking her clock. “Hmm. It’s almost noon,” she pointed out, “...would you like me to make lunch now?”
Willow smirked. Tara would be SO proud of her. “We’re way ahead of you, Buffybot. Let’s go.”
Two Days Later...
Tara hopped down the stairs and into the living room, where Xander was sitting facing Buffybot. Doyle and the Guardian were in the center of the room, observing the goings on with, for Doyle at least, a sort of mental exhaustion. It had been quite the bumpy road along memory lane.
“Guess this is where I came in,” Doyle noted, watching as Xander leaned over, lecturing the ‘Bot on some thing or another. Buffybot was positively rapt.
“The first rule about being a robot impersonating the Slayer,” Xander told her in mock seriousness, “...is you do NOT talk about being a robot impersonating the Slayer. The SECOND rule...”
“Scuse me,” Tara said, politely interrupting. Buffybot looked over at her, smiling brightly.
“Tara!” She announced smartly, “...Xander’s been telling me all about how to fight super-villains! And how to be a proper Slayer...Xander is very smart! I can’t wait to start fighting evil full time. I hope I can be a good Slayer.”
Tara grinned. “You’ll do just fine, Botty. I have a feeling.”
Buffybot’s smile faded, and she glanced from side to side before fixing Tara with a confused stare. “Are you still talking to me?”
It took Tara a moment to understand the source of Buffybot’s confusion. “Oh! Oh, right...’Botty’. Sorry, it’s just...something that’s been kicking around my head...y’know, ‘Buffybot’...kind of a mouthful. This is just sort of a nickname I thought up. Unless that confuses you...?”
Buffybot shook her head. “No...I understand about nicknames,” she said, brightening, “...I just never had one of my very own before! ‘Botty’...”
Buffybot seemed to be pondering most heavily on this new nickname, before a huge smile crossed her face. “I guess that’s okay...if people call me that sometimes! Thank you, Tara!”
Before Tara could respond, Buffybot jumped off the couch and gave her a huge hug, mindful of tempering her robotic strength. Xander watched, amused.
“I’m gonna have to come up with some nicknames for her too,” he thought out loud.
Doyle smiled briefly at the sight of Buffybot, back to her old perky self...even if it was just a memory. Then a grim look passed over him, despite the happy scene.
“She never had a chance,” he said, and the Guardian looked down on him intently. Doyle stared forward.
“And I’m not talkin’ about the whole ‘fated to die’ crap, neither. I mean...she never got a chance to just...live. You know? Her whole life, someone was usin’ her. Spike, Warren...even the Slayerettes here are just usin’ her to do a Buffy impression, keep the streets clean.”
The Guardian nodded, bemused. “She did much good in that capacity, spirit...”
“I know, but...when’s it her time? This lot never really treated her like she was a real person...not til it was too late. She never got the chance to just...be. Whatever. To live.”
“It is not an easy thing, to live,” The guardian said, a small smile breaking that Doyle couldn’t see, “...perhaps you will be able to help her do just that. But the road will not be a smooth one, you know.”
“It never is,” Doyle replied, even as Buffybot finally released Tara from her hug, “...that’s what makes it worth the trip”.
Doyle and the Guardian faded from the memory, unseen by those they had been observing. Tara, quite unaware of any intrusion, smiled appreciatively at Buffybot’s enthusiasm.
“Willow’s waiting with your next batch of upgrades,” she said, motioning towards the stairs, “...are you ready?”
Smiling from ear to ear, Buffybot nodded excitedly. “You bet, Tara...” she declared, eyes wide with childlike wonder, “...I’m ready for ANYTHING!”
ADDENDUM
Dialogue excerpts from INTERVENTION and THE GIFT written by Jane Espenson and Joss Whedon.
Willow used the ‘discharge and give life’ spell on a pay phone in SPIRAL, during BTVS Season 5. It is unknown as of this writing whether the phone in question has evolved dramatically since then.
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