“You’re extraordinary.”
Then he rose and tenderly kissed her on the forehead, and stood to head out toward the front.
“Maybe that’s your power,” she called after him.
He paused and half-turned to her. “What?”
“Seeing,” she said. “Knowing.”
“Maybe it is.” Then quietly joking, he murmured, “Maybe I should get a cape.”
“Cape is good,” she replied steadily.
They regarded each other, the not-quites, those who didn’t have the power. Their smiles were as sad as they were strong.
Then Xander left the room, and Dawn, tearless, went back to the books on the desk.
Chapter Thirteen: “The Killer in Me”
It was much with the preparations in the Summers household as Giles prepared to take the Potentials into the desert on a vision quest. He was not pleased about leaving Buffy and Dawn behind, and not shy about saying so.
“Now, you’re sure you’ll be all right here?”
“You’ll only be gone for two days,” Dawn pointed out.
“I think we’ve managed without you for a bit longer than that,” Buffy reminded him.
“Right.” He gazed coolly at her. “Well, thank goodness I needn’t worry myself with the idea of bad things happening in my absence. You getting shot, for example. Or throwing everyone in the basement and trying to kill them. Or Willow turning evil.”
“Oooh, don’t forget,” Dawn piped up. “Anya turned evil, too.”
Buffy turned, stared at Dawn, not amused. She turned back to Giles.
“Okay, just leave.”
Giles glanced over and saw Vi’s notebook, said, “Dawn, Vi left her notebook next to the TV. Would you mind taking it out to her in the car?”
“Sure.” Dawn picked it up and headed for the front door.
“And maybe whack her in the head with it as a reminder not to leave it lying all about?” Giles added.
“On it,” Dawn sang.
She left, and Giles turned to Buffy.
“I’m just a bit twitchy about leaving you alone again with things in such a state of flux.”
“I know,” she said, but you should go. It’s important for the girls to understand the source of their power, and to know how to use it.”
“Do you think they understand the gravity of what we’re undertaking?” Giles asked Buffy. “It’s frightening, and it’s difficult. And apparently, someone told them that the vision quest consists of me driving them to the desert, doing the hokey poky until a spooky Rasta-mama Slayer arrives and speaks to them in riddles.” He gave Buffy his patented Giles Look.
Buffy went for wide innocent eyes as she prevaricated, “That’s not exactly how I put it.” Then, as Willow came into the room, “Hey, how’s Kennedy?”
“Still flue-y,” Willow told her. “Bummed about missing the field trip,” she added. Then, to Giles, she said, “She says you she wants you to meditate extra hard for her and to bring her back some s’mores.”
Giles looked martyred as he sighed, “Ah, yes, s’mores.” He looked at Buffy. “I’m going to end up singing campfire songs, aren’t I?”
Then Xander came in with a weather report from the car—the girls arguing over who got to drive first, since Giles had let his California license lapse: Molly jumped into the trunk; the car horn blaring. It was like the old days when Buffy was fifteen and Giles was already world-weary of parenting an impetuous young Slayer . . .
* * *
Buffy went down to the basement after Giles left, to visit with Spike. The vampire had insisted upon being chained up in his spot as before, and he sat on his cot, now, smiling as they talked about the glories of being free of the kids.
“Gives us all a chance for a breather, eh?” he observed. “From the constant pitterpatter of clomping teenage girly feet?”
Buffy shrugged and said, “No, I enjoy my responsibility as mentor, role model, life guide . . . oh my God, I cannot believe I have my bathroom all to myself for two whole days,” she finished, flopping down beside him. “Have you seen the kitchen since they’ve been here?”
“I’m just trying to stay out of their way.”
She regarded the chains. One hung across his back; he was manacled. It was not without some . . . allure. “I’ve noticed.”
“This is better,” he said. “Believe me, it’s safer.”
She shrugged. “Okay, but you’ve been fine.”
He looked at her hard. “With you by my side, yeah. And that’s the way it’s gonna be until we’re sure The First is done making me its bitch. Either we’re together, or I’m on the leash.”
“We just need to make sure the trigger’s deactivated then. We’ve got a couple of days, lack of pitter-patter and all.”
Spike leaned forward and gazed earnestly at her. “Buffy,” he said. “Ow.”
“Ow?” she echoed, puzzled.
His face contorted, twitching. “Ow, ow, ow!” He leaned back, thrashing against the wall.
“What’s wrong?” she cried, as Buffy pressed his hands to his head, clearly in pain. “Spike, what is going on?”
“The chip,” he groaned. “God. Why would . . .” And then he screamed and writhed in agony.
* * *
Upstairs, Willow was making tea for Kennedy, and she looked at Buffy as the Slayer came upstairs. Buffy was ragged.
“Hey,” Willow said by way of greeting. “How is he?”
Buffy sat wearily. “Oh, in the ‘goes’ part of ‘comes and goes.’ ”
“Well, there seems to be a definite lack of screaming,” Willow ventured. “That’s good.”
“You’d think.” She indicated the tea that Willow was brewing. “That for the other patient?
“Yeah.” Willow’s features softened. “Thought I’d bring her some tea, help her feel better.” At Buffy’s teasing smile, Willow murmured, “It’s just tea.”
Buffy chuckled. Then she said, “Will, how much do you know about Spike’s chip?”
“Spike’s chip?” Willow thought. “Well, I remember trying to dig up stuff back then but you know, turns out when a secret government agency studies vampires and puts chips in their brains that keeps them from hurting people, they don’t really build Web sites. Why?”
Buffy was concerned. “Even with the chip, Spike was able to hurt all those people when he was brainwashed.”
“Yeah, but he was under the control of The First,” Willow argued.
“Maybe something’s wrong with it,” Buffy said.
“The chip is misfiring all on its own, then,” Willow said slowly. “Well, this’ll be fun.”
Buffy looked at her wryly. “Remember when things used to be nice and boring?”
“No,” Willow deadpanned. Then she walked out of the kitchen with the cup in her hand.
“Have fun,” Buffy called after her. “Delivering tea.”
“Okay, not when you make it sound all dirty like that,” Willow mumbled as she went upstairs. “It’s just tea.”
But the not-so-English patient was not lying in bed retching with flu. She was getting dressed.
“Hey,” Willow began, “I figured the best thing for a cold is a nice hot cup of . . . boots?”
“Hey,” Kennedy said, not so embarrassed at being busted.
“For someone who’s sick,” Willow observed, “you look surprisingly dressy.” She was shocked. “You were never sick!”
“No,” Kennedy said, still without the contrition. “I was never sick.”
“Oh, you are so busted,” Willow said. “Xander’s going to have to drive you to the desert, and—”
“Willow, chill.” Boots laced, she stood. “There’s a reason I didn’t go. I have a thing. A separate thing.” She put on her coat. “Something’s coming down. I have my own mission. And I need your help.”
* * *
So Willow helped her . . . to the Bronze.
Band playing, boozy drinks with the little umbrellas and cherry garnishes . . .
it was almost like a date.
Which Willow finally got, and, sighing, got ready to go. She was not equipped for playing hooky during an apocalypse . . .
“Come on, come on,” Kennedy urged her. “Just hang out with me a little.”
Willow weakened, just a little.
“You’re sexy when you pout,” Kennedy told her.
“Why do you do that?” Willow asked, a little sharply.
With a sexy pout of her own, Kennedy said, “To get you to stay.”
Willow caved. “All right. I’ll stay for one drink. Then I’m going home.”
Brightening, Kennedy agreed to the terms of surrender. “Okay. One drink. I can work with that.” She settled in. “Let’s start with the easy stuff. How long have you known that you’re gay?”
Willow sputtered. “Wait, that’s easy? And you just assume that I’m—presume much?”
Kennedy smiled, amused. “Okay. How long have you enjoyed having sex with women?”
Willow was astonished. “Hey! Do you think you have some special lesbidar or something?”
“Okay, you know there’s a better word for that, right? You really haven’t been getting out there much, have you?” Kennedy asked her.
A bit ruffled, Willow said, “Well . . . can you always tell, just by looking at someone?”
“That wouldn’t be any fun,” Kennedy said coyly. “The fun part is the process of getting to know a girl. It’s like . . . flirting in code. It’s using body language and laughing at the right jokes and looking into her eyes and knowing she’s still whispering to you, even when she’s not saying a word. And that sense that if you can touch her just once, everything will be okay for both of you. That’s how you can tell. Or if she’s really hot . . . you just get her drunk.”
Willow flushed, pleased. “Three years ago,” she said. “That’s when I knew. And it wasn’t women. It was woman. Just one.”
“Lucky woman,” Kennedy said simply.
* * *
Buffy went back to check on Spike, who was lying on his cot with his head on a pillow. His nose was bleeding and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked awful.
“Popped another blood vessel, I think.”
She grabbed a towel and wiped blood from his nose, watching him soberly, as she said, “There’s got to be a reason why the chip is going all wonky. Maybe it’s related to the trigger or maybe it ahs something to do with the new soul . . .
“Or maybe it wasn’t meant to last this long.” He gazed at her. “One more thing you and I have in common, eh, pet?”
She gave him the small reaction he wanted, then said, “Well, we’ll fix it. We’ll hit serious research mode . . .”
“Good. Try ‘Behavioral Modification Software Throughout the Ages,’ ” he quipped.
She sighed. “Okay, you’re right. Not a book thing. It’s a phone thing.”
“Who you gonna call?” Spike asked her, then, “God, that phrase is never gonna be useable again, is it?”
“Doubt it,” she said.
They went upstairs and Spike sat on the stairs, listening as she dialed a number and started talking to some bloke about him.
“Tell him we’re having a problem with Spike’s chip. No, his chip. Spike.”
Spike shook his head. “Listen, pet . . .”
“No, no,” she said into the phone. “Finn is his last name. Yeah. Well, did he used to work there and then he got transferred? Is this actually a flower shop, or is this one of those things where I’m supposed to play along and show that I know it’s really secret ops? Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
Unbeknownst to her, the chip misfired again, sending Spike into paroxysm of pain.
“Okay well, I guess if some guy named Finn shows up to buy flowers . . . right. Thanks.”
She hung up. “Wrong number. Or a giant government conspiracy . . .”
She turned and saw the aftermath of another powerful spasm splashed across Spike’s face.
This one seemed easier than the others,” he told her. “See? Probably just gonna fade . . .” He screamed, holding his head.
* * *
Kennedy asked Willow, “Do your parents know?”
“Yeah. My mom was all proud like I was making some political statement. Then the statement mojo wore off and I was just gay. She hardly even met Tara. We’re private.” She paled. “Were.”
Kennedy reminisced. “It was Gone with the Wind. I saw that, and I knew I wanted to sweep Scarlet off her feet.”
“You were five,” Willow said, busting her.
Kennedy grinned. “Well, I’m not saying the sweeping would have been easy.” She smiled and popped her maraschino cherry into her mouth. “What?”
“I just . . . I still don’t get it.” She moved her shoulders. “Why you like me. I mean, you don’t even know me.”
Kennedy was incredulous. “Have you seen you?
Willow’s cheeks reddened.
“And we like the same things,” Kennedy continued. “Italian, skate punk, Robert Parker mysteries, fighting evil . . .”
“I don’t like any of that stuff,” Willow countered. “Except the fighting evil part. And even then, I’d prefer a nice foot massage.”
“Okay.” Kennedy got real. “I dig the way you always turn off the Moulin Rouge DVD so it has a happy ending. I like the way you speak. It’s interesting. And your freckles. Lickable. I’m not so into the magic stuff. It seems like fairy talk crap to me, but if it matters to you . . . you care about it, so it’s cool.”
Willow looked down, enjoying it all.
Enjoying it very much.
* * *
Okay, a couple more umbrellas, and then they were back in the homestead, roommates but not like that, and Willow was a little tipsy. As she turned into her room, she slurred a little, “Well, this is my stop.” She turned on the light and added, “So. Glad we talked.”
Kennedy boldly came in with her. “Yes. Kinda cleared the air.”
Willow nodded sagely. “Yeah. Totally. Air cleared. Check.”
Then Kennedy moved in slowly, gently . . . for a kiss. Her lips touched Willow’s slowly, passionately . . . and Willow was taken aback by Kennedy’s reaction to their kiss. “Are you okay?” She laughed anxiously. “I’m not used to literally knocking girls off their feet with just the power of my own lips.”
“What are you?” Kennedy demanded.
Perplexed, Willow crossed to her mirror . . . and saw Warren, the guy she’d flayed alive, staring back at her.
* * *
She rushed downstairs with Kennedy and raced into the living room, where Xander, Anya, and Dawn were seated. They jumped to their feet and Xander shouted, “Get Buffy! Tell her The First is back!”
“No, I’m not The First! I’m Willow!”
Then Andrew walked in, dropping his bowl of food. And as Willow protested that she was not Warren, he said firmly, “No more listening. I know who you are now. I know what you made me do. Your promises of happy fields and dancing schnauzers and being demigods won’t work on me any more.”
“Buffy!” Anya yelled. And when the Slayer came into the room, she punched Willow in the nose.
“Ow!” Willow cried.
“Wait,” Anya ordered. And everyone did . . . because Buffy should not have been able to hit The First. It could not assume solid form.
“You’re back!” Andrew said, smiling, and hugged Warren from behind, his hands touching Warren’s chest . . . which was, for Willow . . .
“Bad touching!” she cried. Then she said, “Everyone please stop it. I’m Willow.”
“Are you sure?” Xander asked suspiciously.
She walked slowly, head held up. “There are other stories from kindergarten. Non-yellow-crayon stories in which you don’t come out in such a good light. An incident involving Aquaman Underoos, for example. You want me to start talking?”
“Hey, Willow!” Xander said, smiling as he rushed up to her.
As everyone gathered around, Anya asked, “What
happened?”
“I don’t know,” Willow replied, “but I probably brought it on myself. I have a history with my witchy subconscious making things go kerfloopey.”
Everybody started touching her, which made her twitchy. Buffy said, “Okay, say you’re right, and you did do this to yourself. Why would your subconscious turn you into Warren?”
Willow raised her brows. “Obviously because I feel bad about killing him.”
Then Spike had another misfire, and as Buffy was distracted by his agony, Willow said, “I’ll handle it. I’ll fix it. I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone.”
She walked out the front door. As the others gathered around Spike, Kennedy slipped out after her.
Then she caught up with Willow and said, “Okay, safe to say no one will ever accuse you of being too butch.”
“Kennedy, go home,” Willow said firmly.
“If you take a step back, serious, there’s a certain element of humor here.” As Willow froze, turned, and stared at her, Kennedy said quickly. “Well, a really big step.”
“I killed him. It’s hard to see the chuckles,” Willow said.
“So, you got a plan?” she asked.
“Yeah, get some help reversing it,” Willow told her. “I’m going to see some old friends of mine. It’s been awhile, but maybe they can help.”
* * *
Old ghosts, Buffy thought, as she and Spike moved through the woods. This place is filled with them.
“Are you sure you want to go back in this place with me?” Spike asked her.
“Eh, nothing good on TV tonight,” Buffy ventured. She found the place they were seeking beneath the bushes and the dirt. “You think the stuff’s still good?”
He dug through the dirt with her. “Worked pretty good when the Initiative held me captive here. Every time I’d get a little . . . rambunctious, the chip would kick in. I’d feel like my head was going to explode. They’d dope me up, and everything would be all daffodils and teddy bears. For a couple of hours, anyway.”
“Maybe we should search for files and stuff,” Buffy said. “Find out everything we can about the chip. Shelf life.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get,” Spike said flatly, grabbing the chain to the grate.