A ceiling tile slid aside, then a black garbed figure slid out, dropping
heavily to the white tile floor of the Sunnydale Natural History Museum. No
alarms sounded, and no guards threatened to stop the intruder. After all, it was
only a history museum; it had never occurred to anyone that someone might want
to steal the ancient contents of the wood and glass cabinets. (though a guard
did walk a route through the building three times a night, it was more to
prevent vandalism-- since an incident where local college students had stolen
the life size figures in the homo-erectus exhibit and posed them in obscene
positions on the university mall--than to prevent the theft of any valuables).
The thief passed the dust-laden exhibits that had been there since the
present curator's grandfather had run the place, before finally coming to a halt
at the entrance to the largest exhibit hall. The normal displays had taken a
holiday, either pushed back against the wall or put into storage--depending on
their size--and a banner hung over the visiting exhibition. The thief allowed a
small smile to touch thin lips. It was all so very simple.
Someone had built a paper mache cavern and painted it to create some sort of
ambiance, but the intruder spared the construction little more than a glance. It
took only moments to pop the lock on the largest of the presentation cases, and
a gloved hand darted through the contents, taking a choice item or two, then
replacing them with their exact doubles. The fools would never even notice. Dark
eyes slid to a freestanding glass case, taking in the climate controlled
housing. That one would be trickier, but not impenetrable by any means. Long
fingers were just relatching the lock when the sound of footsteps on tile echoed
through the cavernous museum.
"Damn….damn…damn…" the thief hissed under a black ski mask
and darted into the shadows, hurrying to escape before the guard arrived. All it
would take was one unusual event to draw the wrong kind of attention. The shadow
exited as it had arrived, up through the ceiling tile, across a narrow lattice
of tile supports, then out into the gift shop through another ceiling tile, and
out the only emergency exit in the building that didn't have an alarm. The door
had already slammed shut in the intruder's wake before the realization that
something had been left behind hit with a solid thunk.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *
Sunnydale, CA.
Buffy Summers could barely keep her eyes open as she stumbled after her
class, up the stairs of the Sunnydale Natural History Museum. Dark sunglasses
hid her eye from view, and protected her from some small measure of the sun's
entirely too bright rays. God, some days I think *I'm* turning into a vampire,
she thought with no small degree of disgust. She'd had a late night fighting the
undead and the notion of looking at the relics of long dead Greeks held somewhat
less than no appeal. God, it would be nice to deal with something living for
a change.
"Late night?" an annoyingly cheerful voice asked as an arm slipped
through hers.
Buffy sighed. Willow Rosenberg, her very best friend in the whole world was
brilliant, funny, a bit naïve, and entirely too wide awake in the morning.
Buffy grunted something that passed for an affirmative response as they passed
under a banner proclaiming the wonders of ancient Greece.
"Cheer up," Willow prodded. "This collection is supposed to be
really cool."
"Great," Buffy mumbled without a trace of sincerity. She'd have
much preferred sitting in her nice rear corner seat in history, cheerfully
ignoring her teacher in favor of a few quick winks as per usual.
"Actually, you should relate. After all, Xena was considered the
greatest female warrior of her day," Willow pointed out helpfully.
Buffy yawned. Unless Xena had regularly done battle with pointy toothed punks
who didn't know enough to lie down when their hearts stopped beating, she wasn't
impressed.
"Yeah," Xander Harris added as he bounded up behind the two girls.
"But I bet she never had such bitchin' taste in clothes as the Buffster."
Buffy offered another yawn. Xander's attempts to impress were far too
commonplace for her to notice this early in the morning.
"Actually, she was considered one of the most beautiful women of her
day," Willow pointed out.
"Yeah, right," Xander said sarcastically. "Like the woman who
creamed Ghenghis Khan bare-fisted was a real feminine type. She probably had a
beard and more muscles than Schwartzenegger…probably chewed pre-Mycenean
steroids instead of Flintstones. " He stuck out his jaw and dropped his
arms in a mock monkey pose as he mimicked, "Me Xena….Warrior
Princess," he grunted and pounded his chest like some erstwhile gorilla.
Used to his antics, the girls looked on in mildly annoyed tandem, but let him
have his fun. They stepped inside the building, mindlessly following the slowly
moving line in proper high school fashion, while Buffy cocked one ear to
Willow's running monologue on ancient history (since she knew considerably more
than the teacher anyway) and ignored Xander's hooting chimpanzee, "Me-Xena,"
impression.
"Personally, I always thought Gabrielle was really cool," Willow
murmured as they moved under a banner that showed the legendary chakram on one
side and an artist's rendition of the Trojan Horse on the other. "If it
wasn't for her, we wouldn't know anything of substance about Xena. And the
poetry she wrote later in life is absolutely stunning.
Xander's eyes boggled and he forgot his monkey impression. "You
read--"
"Poetry?" Buffy finished for him, her expression equally shocked.
Willow flushed in embarrassment. Poetry reading, particularly the ancient
variety was beyond the pall, even for someone as thoroughly entrenched in the
ranks of geekerdom as she was. "Um…well…I mean--" she was saved
from the need for further admission by Xander's sudden explosive comment.
"Holy cow!" the sheer banality of which had to be much geekier than
reading ancient poetry Willow thought with some degree of satisfaction.
Their teacher's droning explanation broke in, "This painting is based on
the a statue commissioned by the famed Egyptian queen, Cleopatra, as well as
descriptions of the mythical character of Xena by the bard, Gabrielle of
Potedeia.
Xander could only stare wide-eyed at the painting of the wild eyed, blonde
haired woman hanging over the entrance into the exhibit. "I think I'm in
love," he exhaled in dazed appreciation of the figure's beauty, not to
mention the considerable display of cleavage revealed by her leather and bronze
armor.
"Down boy," Willow and Buffy said in perfect sync, then Buffy
added, "She's been dead for over two thousand years now."
"I don't care." Xander insisted. "I take it all back, she's
gorgeous," he added dreamily.
Buffy and Willow shared a knowing glance. "And that wouldn't have
anything to do with that armored D cup she's wearing, now would it?" Willow
demanded, while Buffy yawned again.
"Great," the slayer muttered through her hand. "Pamela
Anderson Grecco-Roman style."
"Hey, Baywatch 2000BC… it could work," Xander enthused.
Willow just shook her head. "Besides, I think they got her hair color
wrong. Gabrielle always described her as having black hair."
"What does she know?" Xander declared, still enamored of the
painting.
"Er….she was Xena's best friend?"
"Who cares," Buffy muttered with characteristic sensitivity.
"She's dead."
"And if she really looked like that, she's still a hottie,"
Xander decided cheerfully. He wasn't one to let a little problem like death
interfere with good old fashioned lust. "Man, I can see why she and that
Joxer the Mighty guy were always banging each other's brains out."
Willow sniffed her disapproval. "The Joxer scrolls have been completely
discredited. He was nothing but a fourth rate braggart who took credit for the
work of others and tried to enhance his name through family connections."
"Hey, Joxer's cool," Xander disagreed, sounding insulted.
"And they're all dead," Buffy pointed out helpfully.
Both Willow and Xander looked at Buffy this time. "Whoa, guess somebody
woke up on the wrong side of the crypt this morning," Xander muttered at
last.
Buffy lifted an eyebrow. "Pardon me for being tired after I spent the
night protecting the world from the legions of the undead…God knows I should
be cheerful after every punk vampire looking to make a name for himself by
killing the slayer, decided to come screaming after me."
"Well, yes, it is understandable that you'd feel that way," Willow
stammered. "But…well, it's day now." The last few months had been
trying at best; starting with Angel's return to the vampiric fold when he lost
his soul and ending with Buffy running away after saving the world by sending
him to hell. Willow did an internal mental shake as she remembered those awful
months without her best friend, not even knowing if she was alive or dead. That
had been so awful. She'd never felt so alone, or scared for anyone before in her
life. Buffy's return had been hard--with a lot of issues and angers to deal
with--but they'd all finally come to some measure of peace with each other, even
if it sometimes seemed a little tenuous, particularly when Angel had somehow
returned, only as the vampire they'd all once trusted and not the monster who'd
killed Jenny Calender…who'd tried to kill her. She held onto Buffy's arm a
little tighter. "Er…maybe you could get some rest," she added, the
suggestion sounding lame even to her own ears.
Buffy tipped her sunglasses down on her nose to peer over them at her best
friend before looking around them. "Do you see someplace I can rest?"
she mumbled. She really was feeling the pressures of job related exhaustion this
morning.
Xander suddenly noted something that appealed to his male hormones, and
bounded off enthusing, "Whoa, what a hottie."
Willow watched him go with a fond smile--long past was the time when his
flighty lust for everything in a skirt bothered her--then looked back at Buffy,
noting the slightly wan cast to her complexion with a worried frown. "I'm
sorry, I just…." Sometimes it was easy to forget that Buffy was hardly
the average teenager, that when she was tired of a morning, it wasn't from
watching horror movies too late into the night, it was from living them. "I
just wish I could help," Willow offered at last. "Was it bad last
night?"
Buffy offered a limp smile, guilt showing in her eyes. "Aw God, Willow,
I'm sorry I'm being such a bitch." She leaned her head against Willow's
shoulder. "It's just been a lousy couple of weeks," she exhaled
heavily, then added. "Well…actually, I think that's months…bordering on
years…."
"I know," Willow whispered. "I just wish…I wish I could help
somehow." Despite everything, or perhaps because of it, they were actually
closer now than they’d ever been. Angelus’ betrayal had not destroyed them.
Buffy straightened and offered her friend a smile, albeit with effort, and
relinked their arms. "Come on," she said with false enthusiasm.
"Let's take a look at this woman warrior of yours…while you give me a
history lecture," she offered a charming smile. "Maybe I can even pass
a test this time." Her humor started forced, but Willow was a good enough
storyteller that Buffy soon forgot about her grumpiness, if not her exhaustion,
as she listened to tales of ancient daring.
Willow stopped in front of a display cabinet full of corroded weapons and
ancient leather. Only one item gleamed as though new, though it hung in two
distinct pieces. "The chakra," the redhead exhaled as she stared at
the ancient weapon with an expression of awe.
Buffy glanced at her friend. "The whozeewhatsits?"
"Chakra," Willow explained her eyes still glued to the ancient
weapon. Odd, somehow she had expected more. In pictures, it had always made her
shiver with a kind of awareness of what it must have been like to wield the
weapon. In person, it was strangely disappointing. Willow shook off the thought
as she concentrated on her lecture. "It's an Indian weapon originally, but
it was Xena's trademark. They say it was shattered in her final confrontation
with Ares. It was found in a cave just before World War II…along with several
of the scrolls. Except for that little section," she pointed to a tiny
piece of ancient papyrus encased in a glass cube, "they're still in a
climate controlled facility in Washington. They were all that was originally
removed from the site…it was a later team of archaeologists that found the
original tomb and retrieved the chakra…."
Noting Buffy's obvious lack of interest (she didn't hide these things well),
Willow, made a fast subject change, aiming for something Buffy would have more
appreciation for…namely weaponry. "Supposedly, when Xena threw the chakra,
the sharp edge could fell a man at a thousand paces, before it returned to her
hand."
Buffy glanced at her friend, then gestured to the silver and gold halves of
the circlet. "So you're saying her big weapon was the frisbee of
death?" she questioned doubtfully.
Willow turned an uncertain, almost hurt looking gaze on her friend.
"According to the myth, it would do almost anything she wanted…in fact,
according to one legend, if the halves are ever joined together, she'll return
to the world."
"Oooo, think there's any way we could arrange for that to happen?"
Xander questioned as he rejoined the girls.
"No luck with the objet de lust, huh?" Buffy questioned
sympathetically.
Xander shrugged. "Well, I think she was interested, but just couldn't
handle my manly prowess."
The girls shared a doubtful look. "Turned you down cold, huh?"
Buffy said what they were both thinking.
"I thought you were trying to get back into Cordelia's good
graces," Willow reminded him mildly. "Somehow, that doesn't seem like
the right technique.
He looked terrorized, and flung an arm in the direction he'd come from.
"She went cold…very cold…marble cold, if you know what I mean."
They followed his gesture to note a marble statue of a very well built and very
naked woman on the opposite end of the room. "Now will you hold off on
tattling to Cordy?" he begged. Xander loved his ex-girlfriend, he really
did, even though he had once been a founding member of the I Hate Coredelia
Club. He was still hopeful that at some point, she'd decide that she'd
gathered enough pounds of flesh and forgive him. But, he was still a teenager, a
roving eye was to be expected--in fact, a roving eye, not to mention lips was
what had gotten him into trouble, because Cordy didn't agree, not a bit. She
thought a roving eye was a thing to be punished. Hoping to change the subject,
he offered Willow his best puppy dog look, the one that had always gotten her to
do what he wanted in the past.
These days she only looked at him with an expression of indulgent humor. For
some reason she couldn't quite explain, getting caught kissing Xander had
completely cured her of her childhood crush on her friend. "I don't know. I
might be able to get back into Cordy's good graces. After all, we were friends
there for awhile…" she drawled.
Buffy's eyebrows rose. Hmmm, friends, not quite the term she would have used.
"Come on, Will," Xander pleaded. "I'll listen to all of your
stories and even the….poetry," he offered, struggling to contain an
expression of distaste.
Willow grinned, linked her free arm in his, and went back to her history
lecture. Somehow, though only with the utmost self-control, Xander managed not
to make any sarcastic remarks when she quoted some of Gabrielle of Potedeia's
poetry. In fact he even looked a bit impressed, though it might have had as much
to do with an artist's impression of the famed bard as it did the actual poetry.
"Wow," the teenager murmured. "Who knew the ancient Greeks
invented the aberciser."
By the time they had finished it was almost time to board the bus back to
school, but Xander wanted to hit the gift shop. "Hey, I want to see if they
have that painting on a keychain," he commented with a gesture toward the
entry banner.
"But you don't carry any keys," Willow called after him. "No
car and your mom never locks the doors to your house."
He glanced back. "Well, I can dream can't I?"
"That she'll lock you out?" Willow offered.
Xander just glared.
"Look guys," Buffy interrupted. "I really think we should
hurry. The bus is almost ready to leave."
"I'll just be a moment," Xander threw over one shoulder as he
continued on his way.
The girls shared a worried look, then hurried after him.
The museum gift shop had obviously gotten in a load of merchandise to go with
the traveling exhibition, and it had been thoroughly pawed through by every
teenager at Sunnydale High. Havoc barely began to describe the situation. Xander
immediately disappeared into a stack of things that looked promising and began
digging through with teenage abandon, flinging items left and right in his quest
for the perfect merchandising item to fuel his lust.
"Ooo, look," he said a moment later. "A Xena dolly," he
fumbled with the tiny figure for a moment, "and her armor comes off…hey,
she's naked under there!"
Buffy looked at Willow, who looked back. "I don't know him," the
slayer announced to no one in particular. "Do you?"
"Not me, nosiree," Willow agreed loudly for the benefit of the
bored looking clerk behind the counter. They sidled over to a table of somewhat
classier (and more expensive) looking items, while Xander proclaimed for one and
all to hear, "A guy could have some fun with this."
Buffy rolled her eyes, but Willow abruptly forgot her friend as her eyes
touched on a row of gleaming silver circlets laid out below a beautifully
crafted sword on a table covered in black velvet. "What I wouldn't give for
one of those," she exhaled.
Buffy reached out and dinged a fingernail against the metal surface of one.
"Sorry, not much use in my line of work."
Willow glanced back. "They're for display, not real combat," she
said, somewhat scandalized by the way Buffy had dismissed the workmanship. She
leaned closer, taking in the attention to detail. "They're perfect…absolutely
perfect reproductions."
"'Cept for the little in two pieces part of the equation," Buffy
noted. "But then I guess that would ruin some of the romance, huh?"
Willow didn't even bother to look back at her friend as she continued to
study the copies of the ancient weapon. She was still studying them when a
gently accented voice murmured, "Beautiful, aren't they?"
The teenager's head jerked up, and she glanced around, momentarily panicked
as she hunted for Buffy. Buffy was the confident one who always knew what to say
to total strangers, even ones who were trying to kill her. Unfortunately, Buffy
was also eyeing some jewelry made to look like tiny swords and knives. Willow
let out a mental sigh. Trust Buffy. She looked up, and found herself peering
into a pair of fathomless dark eyes. "Ummmm, yes?" she exhaled as she
straightened. The woman looking at her was stunningly beautiful, willowy and
graceful. And, though she wore a superbly tailored western suit, she was
intensely exotic with her dark hair, skin, and eyes, and the soft, lilting
accent. "You…you're Indian, aren't you?" Willow questioned
uncertainly. "I mean…like…from India…Indian…right?"
The woman dipped her head in acknowledgment. "My husband makes
these," she explained as she lifted one of the chakra off the table.
Willow's eyes widened faintly as she glimpsed dark red henna tattoos circling
each narrow wrist in intricate designs. Her eyes lifted again. "The
workmanship…it's incredible," she exhaled.
A dark eyebrow lifted, and the woman lazily turned the weapon in her hand,
leaving Willow with the sense that she knew exactly how to use it--which was
silly of course, they were for display, not combat. Her gaze lifted to find
black eyes studying her with wry humor.
"They are very real…not toys," the woman chided gently and spun
the weapon in her hand, revealing the price sticker to the enthralled teen.
"Did you know that Xena always called it a chakram?" she murmured
conversationally, as though she had heard the mythological warrior utter the
words herself. "A bit of a Greek bastardization of the proper term, don't
you think?"
Silence hung between them for a long moment, until Willow suddenly understood
that the strange woman actually expected an answer. "Um…I guess…maybe…I
mean…I-I've never heard that."
Full lips turned up in an indulgent smile. "And will you buy a chakram
for yourself, Willow Rosenberg?"
Willow swallowed hard, her attention completely focused on the price sticker,
and its impending doom for any thought of owning one of the beautiful weapons.
She never even noticed that the woman had used her name. "I…uh…I'm
sorry if I wasted your time," she whispered. "But there's no way I can
afford one of those." She shook her head regretfully. Odd, she'd never been
one to be terribly fascinated by weaponry in the past, but for some reason, her
fingers fairly itched to hold one of the gold and silver circlets.
The woman's smile twitched with lazy grace. "Perhaps I have something
that will suit you."
"Not unless you have a five dollar model," Willow sighed sadly.
The woman reached under the table and retrieved two halves of a broken
circle. "The cleaning crew turned this in earlier." She made a moue of
irritation. "They insist they did not break it, but who knows?" She
handed the pieces to Willow. "Take it…otherwise, it would simply be
thrown out. Too expensive to ship it back to India to melt down." Her eyes
seemed to glitter with something akin to satisfaction as slender fingers closed
on the two halves. "You might as well have it…perhaps you can reattach
the pieces."
Momentarily stunned, Willow stared at the metal pieces in her hands, startled
to find them far warmer than she expected. She couldn't take her eyes away,
could only stare at her own reflection in the polished surface of the metal.
Finally, she managed to drag her head up. "What is it…" she started
to ask, only to abruptly realize the woman was gone. She was still staring
around in confusion when Buffy caught her upper arm in a strong hold.
"Come on," her friend growled. "The bus is leaving. We gotta
run…or wind up walking."
In a daze, Willow followed after her friend, still clutching the two pieces
of gleaming metal in her hands. They ran through the museum, Xander in the lead,
a Xena doll in one hand, a Gabrielle in the other, shouting for the bus to wait.
Breathing hard, the three teens skidded onto the bus at the very last moment,
each grabbing an open seat. Since they were last on, only a few singles were
left, and they wound up sitting several rows apart.
Willow barely noticed. She silently studied the halves of the chakram--while
she rolled the word over in her mind, finding that somehow it fit better than
the proper term--holding them up, noting the clean lines of the break. It was
funny, but it seemed to her that they matched the ones on the real weapon
perfectly. It seemed an odd coincidence, but she didn't question it. Suddenly,
the bus pulled up in front of the high school, and she shoved them in her
backpack, consciously trying to forget their presence as she concentrated on the
remainder of the school day.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *
As classes ended, Xander Harris peered skyward, noting the cloudless blue
from horizon to horizon, and wondered how it was that when night fell there'd be
just enough cloud cover to artfully float in front of a full moon. Sometimes it
seemed like the moon was perpetually full in Sunnydale. He frowned as he noted
Oz. Not quite perpetually enough for his tastes suddenly. He'd have preferred it
if wolf-boy stayed permanently out of the picture. It wasn't that Xander wanted
Willow for himself, he just didn't want Oz to have her--scratch that; he didn't
want anyone to have her. Yep, it was thoroughly piggish and he knew it, but it
was just that simple. All women, at least the attractive ones--should be kept in
reserve should he ever decide it was time to make his move. It occurred to him
that Buffy would have threatened to break his arm for that thought, but
thankfully, she was a slayer, not a mind reader. He was still considering his
good luck on that score--Buffy would have seriously injured him for a whole lot
more than just his attitude toward Willow if she could read minds--when Buffy
and Willow arrived. They glanced at him, then Willow waved to Oz.
"Scuse me," the redhead murmured. "I'm gonna go see if maybe
Oz is talking to me yet." She'd screwed up big, gotten caught kissing
Xander in a seriously stupid moment of hormonal overload and now Xander wasn't
the only one in the doghouse.
Xander watched her go, and sincerely tried to hold his tongue. Sincerely, but
unsuccessfully. "Make sure to give him a doggie biscuit from me…Ow!"
he yelped a brief second later as Buffy punched his arm. "Hey, why'dya do
that?"
"Because you're behaving like a creep and you deserve it," Buffy
answered sharply, though her attention was focused on Willow as she walked away
from them.
Xander rubbed his arm slowly. "But you're the slayer…you're too strong
to go around punching innocent young boys."
Buffy looked at him archly. "Oh puh-lease, I barely tapped you, and I
repeat, you deserved it."
"Just because I think she's better off without him?"
"Haven't you already done enough damage?" Buffy demanded. Willow
was hurting over this whole mess, as was Xander, but somehow Xander just
couldn't back off with the wisecracks. "Do you really think that every
attractive woman should just be sitting around waiting to see if you decide to
notice her."
Xander continued rubbing. He rather liked that image actually. "Well,
yeah," he admitted. "But I only mean that in the very best way."
Buffy hit his other arm.
"Stop that," Xander complained, but Buffy wasn't paying any
attention. Instead, she was watching Willow thoughtfully.
"Does Willow seem a little odd to you this afternoon?" the slayer
questioned her friend.
Xander shrugged and peered after Willow. "I dunno…maybe a little
quiet." He shrugged again.
Buffy was still watching Willow when Rupert Giles joined them. The school
librarian was also Buffy's Watcher, her mentor and trainer in the art of vampire
slaying. He was carrying a considerable pile of books and looking vaguely
flummoxed. Of course, vaguely flummoxed often seemed like Giles' natural state--Buffy
had long since concluded it was a British thing--so they paid his mood little
heed.
"In for some heavy reading this weekend?" Xander asked and reached
out to catch a book before it could tumble to the ground. He neatly replaced it
on the stack.
"Oh…thank you." Giles nodded, peering over the top edge of the
books. "Well, yes, actually. I'm doing some research on a small clique of
vampires who've recently moved into town." He suddenly seemed to notice
that Buffy was more or less ignoring him and followed the line of her gaze to
the slender redheaded figure talking to Oz. "Oh…Willow…is it just me or
did she seem a bit…" he paused, hunting for the right word before
settling on, "subdued this afternoon? She didn't even notice that we got in
a new book on transformation spells."
"Mmm," Buffy grunted in agreement, and watched as Oz broke away
from her friend and went back inside, leaving Willow looking very bereft and
alone. "I'll talk to you later," she muttered to Xander and Giles and
took off, not waiting to hear their goodbyes.
"You okay," Buffy questioned Willow as she caught up with her.
The other girl offered a watery smile. "Decidedly so-so," Willow
admitted.
Buffy looked back the way Oz had disappeared. "Still not talking to you,
huh?"
Willow's shoulders dipped in a tiny shrug. "I can't blame him. I broke a
trust." She exhaled sadly. "I just keep hoping…." A warm hand
landed on her shoulder as Buffy offered a comforting squeeze.
"I'm sorry," she whispered honestly. She knew how much rejection
could hurt. She waited a beat, uncertain whether to pursue the subject or not.
Finally, she opted for the relatively mild question, " Are your parents
still visiting your aunt in Bakersfield for the next several days?"
Willow nodded. "They left this morning," she sighed, not wanting to
admit how lonely that knowledge made her feel. In the past when her parents were
out of town, Oz had come over to keep her company. It had made her feel a little
safer when the weirdness of Sunnydale at night closed in on her. Knowing the
secrets of vampires and slayers wasn't always a good thing.
Buffy nodded, mentally reminding herself to check by Willow's place during
her patrols. The cleansing ceremony they'd done to replace the wards on Willow's
place should keep her safe as long as she stayed inside, but Buffy had no
intention of taking chances…not since Angelus had killed Jenny Calendar and
made known his intent to kill Willow and her Mom as well. It had made her all to
aware of just how vulnerable the people she loved could be. It shook her to
realize that as grateful as she was that Angel was no longer dead, it also made
the night a more dangerous place. She might not be able to hate him the way she
often thought she should, but she couldn't not fear him the way she might have
wished. "So…um…do you have some spare time this aff…I could use some
tutoring." She held out a math test with a large D+ written on the upper
right hand corner for Willow to see. "As you can see, I…um…well, am not
doing so great this week, and with finals coming…" she trailed off
hopefully.
Willow forced a smile and nodded, knowing she was being diverted from her
troubles and grateful for the effort. "Sure." She glanced back toward
Giles, noting the stacks of books in his arms. "But don't you have training
with Giles?"
Buffy glanced back over her shoulder. "Nah, actually, I kind of have the
afternoon off. He's doing a bunch of research on that new vampire clique in the
area."
Willow looked doubtful "Cliquish vamps?"
"Mmmm," Buffy confirmed. "I haven't run into them yet, but
apparently they're big on the whole Steinem trip…."
Willow still looked doubtful, so Buffy felt the need to clarify herself,
"They're on some sort of rad-fem, anti-guy trip. They're all women, and the
victims all male…it's like some weird Rush Limbaugh nightmare brought to
life." Buffy snorted softly. "Of course, despite that fact," she
commented with a wicked grin. "We still have to stop them."
Willow blinked, then smiled as she got her friend's joke. "Well, I guess
even vampires can have a silver lining," she laughed softly.
"Imagine how wide it could be if they actually ate him."
Willow giggled softly, then mock-frowned. "But imagine all those poor
vampires with high cholesterol problems," she joked, sounding more like
herself than she had in ages. "Come on, you've got a date with some
quadratic equations." She slipped an arm with Buffy's.
Buffy groaned audibly. "Couldn't I just kill a few hundred vamps
instead. It seems like it'd be a whole lot easier."
"Now, now, they're actually kind of fun if you just relax with it…."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *
Patrol. The word conjured images of camouflage clad soldiers, sneaking
through enemy ground on foreign shore--preferably, while being led by John Wayne
or Gary Cooper--defending truth, justice, and the American way. Well, the human
American way, anyway, Buffy mentally amended. The reality was far less exciting
as far as she was concerned. Mostly, it meant basic black attire, wandering the
backstreets and alleyways of Sunnydale, with the odd vampire-staking thrown in
to enliven things when they got too dull to be borne. Sometimes, Giles went with
her, but that was mostly to critique her technique, usually when she was getting
ripped into by the latest group of bloodsuckers. No, that was unfair, she
mentally corrected herself. He was just trying to help her survive, something
she knew wasn't exactly on high on the list of probabilities. Las Vegas was
already making book on her imminent doom, and she was definitely the long shot
in the survival sweepstakes.
She passed the Sunnydale cemetery, sighing softly. Definitely the long shot,
she thought as she remembered long breaks from serious slayage with Angel.
They'd often met in the cemetery when things were quiet, necking behind on the
crypts, leaning together, bodies painfully excited--
Whoa, girl, stop right there, she chastised herself. That was over. For a
time Angel had been gone, dead, poof, sent to hell to contain the demon Angelus
had been in the process of summoning. Acathla wouldn't be bothering anyone, and
if she felt like she'd personally murdered her lover, well, she'd had no choice.
Not if she wanted to save the world.
But that didn't mean it didn't still hurt. She'd nearly gone insane with that
pain.
Buffy took a deep breath and let it out on a ten count, calming herself. She
was okay now and so was Angel…sort of. He'd survived hell and returned, but he
was different and they could never…be…. She just had to forgive herself…for
everything….the way her friends had. She'd screwed up in running away, but
they were back on her side now.
That thought reminded her of Willow. She glanced at her watch, noting the
hour. Time for another waltz past the Rosenberg home. She'd already checked on
Will twice that night and was determined to make sure nothing happened to anyone
else in her life. She'd already lost Angel and Jenny Calendar and come close to
losing a whole lot more. She'd learned just how quickly things could change, how
fast people could disappear from a person's life.
So she damn well was going to make sure nothing else happened.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *
Willow Rosenberg was halfway through her English homework when she remembered
the chakram. She'd thought of nothing else for hours after the museum, but
somewhere during tutoring Buffy, it had just completely slipped her mind
(perhaps because tutoring Buffy tended to be on the…challenging…side).
She hooked her backpack with one hand, sliding the zipper on the smaller pen
pouch on the front open and catching the broken circlet as it tumbled out into
her hands. Once again she was struck by the warmth of the metal against her
skin. She caressed a scarlet gem with the pad of her thumb, trying the envision
the woman who'd owned the original. Eyes as blue as the clearest sky burned in
her head, set in a perfect face framed by chestnut strands of gleaming hair.
For a moment, Willow could almost hear her voice, warm, low, smoky. She
blinked suddenly as she realized her body had been responding to the mental
image; her heart pumping hard in her chest, breath coming in fast, shallow
pants, muscles flexing just beneath the surface. She shook her head slowly,
startled by the sense of power that had momentarily fired her veins.
Was that what it was like for Buffy, a sense of confidence and power that
nothing could dent.
Another slow head shake as Willow reminded herself that she was just Willow
Rosenberg, the computer geek of the slayerette team; definitely a Thelma in
Scooby-speak. Sighing softly, she laid the two halves of the circlet aside and
began rifling through her desk in search of something to stick it back together.
"Maybe some super glue," she muttered to herself. "It's supposed
to work on anything." She found a tube at the back of a drawer and set it
aside, then picked up the two halves, studying the break carefully. The metal
appeared perfect to her naked eye, but she concluded there must have been a flaw
somewhere in the casting…after all, how else could it have broken so perfectly
in half with no sign of a bend or stress in the metal. Holding the two sides up,
she eyeballed the match on the shattered ends…
Then carefully eased them together.
Just testing the fit, of course….
Though, perhaps some part of her entertained some fantasy of the legend that
joining the halves would bring the warrior princess back. Ridiculous, of course,
she was long dead and gone. And after all, this was only a copy. It was pure
coincidence that the break so closely matched the original.
Then Willow Rosenberg threw her head back and screamed; a horrifying wail
that surged up through her chest to explode into the world. Blue fire arced from
the points where the two halves of the chakram met, then flowed everywhere,
dancing over delicate flesh before spraying away from her body to touch
everything in the small room with bright glowing fingers.
Light bulbs exploded, while every electrical appliance in the room smoked,
and singe marks decorated the walls.
But Willow neither heard nor saw any of it.
Slightly over a half a block a way, Buffy did.
"Oh, Jeezus," the blond exhaled in raw shock. She broke into a hard
run, panting with every stride, "Ohshitohshitohshit." Buffy had never
moved so fast in her entire life. She reached the walk in front of Willow's
house just as the blue lightning was fading away, didn't even spare a moment
debating the fastest way to Willow's room, just launched herself into the air,
catching the edge of the roof to swing up, before letting her momentum carry her
right through Willow's window. Buffy barely felt the glass shatter on impact.
She was all business as she shoulder rolled into her friend's bedroom and came
up ready to rumble.
Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the tall shadow crouched over
something on the other side of Willow's bed. Despite the near total darkness,
sharp eyes took in the shape of small feet and familiar bunny slipper-socks.
Willow.
"NO!!!!" Buffy screamed and reached for her stakes, only to find
she'd lost them somewhere in the mad dash.
The figure rose to reveal a very tall woman, light glinting off what appeared
to be breastplates. She turned toward Buffy; a large, imposing silhouette.
Buffy swallowed down the sick terror, refusing to contemplate what she might
have to do if she'd arrived too late and Willow was no longer Willow. She
couldn't leave her friend's body in the possession of some hellborne demon--she
loved her too much for that--but she was far from certain she could actually do
it if she had to. "Get the hell away from her," she growled and
slapped a hand into Willow headboard, snapping off one of the turned wooden
spires that flanked rounded center. Sometimes, a slayer just has to make do with
whatever's at hand.
Willow's attacker said nothing, but Buffy had a sense of her assessing gaze.
"Willow," she called out, hoping against hope to hear her friend's
cheery voice answer.
Nothing.
"You're dead," the slayer whispered and lunged, body flying
gracefully through the air as she moved the block out Willow's attacker and
thrust the wood spike right through the evil bitch's heart.
Except it didn't quite work that way.
A long arm thrust out, blocking Buffy's blow, then an elbow snapped up into
her jaw. It was like getting hit by solid cement and the slayer's head rocked
back on her neck, while her feet skidded out from under her. She hit the floor
hard, momentarily losing her bearings, before she scrambled back to her feet,
still seeing stars. Blinking to clear her head, Buffy planted her feet solidly
as she noted that somewhere during her little tumble, her adversary had drawn
the very large sword strapped to her back. The blade gleamed in the thin light
floating in through Willow's shattered window, reflecting an edge sharp enough
to make even the slayer's pulse jump. That thing would cut through her pathetic
little weapon like a hot knife through butter. Instinctively, she backed up a
half step, balancing lightly on the balls of her feet, ready to move fast when
she had to. She heard and saw the blade start to move at the same time.
Ducking, she leapt and rolled, hyperaware of the razor sharp blade that
skimmed just over her left shoulder. It thunked into wall, embedding deeply into
plasterboard and wood, as she scrambled to Willow's side. A quick look revealed
no sign of bite marks, but a very quick look was all she had time for, because
company was definitely coming. She bounded to her feet, completely missing
Willow's low groan and fluttery eyelids as she faced down the sword-chick.
"You are so toasted," Buffy muttered under her breath, though it
was as much to convince herself as her attacker. Her forearm was still throbbing
where she'd hit the witch.
The sword cut intricate arcs and spins through the air of the small room,
catching and playing with the slivers of light sneaking through torn lace
curtains. Buffy calmed herself, straightening as she drew her hands into a
fighting stance. A sword gave the other woman the advantage, but not an
insurmountable one. "Alright, Bitch," she whispered. "Let's
rumble."
Willow's attacker settled her feet as she brought her weapon up into a
straight arm position.
Their eyes locked and each warrior offered the faintest of smiles. Buffy saw
the sword start to lift and readied herself.
"NO!!"
Both women froze, distracted by Willow who was scrambling groggily for her
feet.
Buffy flashed a glance in her friend's direction, wondering if she really
still was her friend. "Stay out of this, Will," she warned, her voice
little more than a feral growl, tracking the sword as it lifted another notch.
God, if Willow was a vamp, she was in serious trouble. She just didn't know if
she really could stake her.
"No!" Willow repeated forcefully and stumbled between the two would
be combatants, throwing her arms wide as if to protect Buffy, while she stared
at the sword-bearing woman.
"Willow," Buffy whispered tightly, only to have her friend spin
around and tug her collar away from her throat, revealing perfect, undamaged
flesh.
"It's me, Buffy. She didn't hurt me…it was…." She
shook her head uncertainly and reached up to massage her temple. "It was…weird."
She pivoted back to face the stranger, staring at her uncertainly. "Put it
down," she murmured soothingly. "Xena." She blinked, momentarily
uncertain where the name had come from, yet knowing it had to be right. Yes, now
she remembered; the chakram, the two halves linked together, pain…no…agony…then
the blackness that wasn't blackness...the realization that she wasn't alone.
Willow swallowed hard and repeated the name, "Xena."
The faintest of frowns creased the female warrior's brow, and her sword
tipped down a notch.
Xena blinked, trying to understand her surroundings without much luck. Sounds
and noises pulsed in her ears, echoing and pounding as they tried to rearrange
themselves into something approaching meaning. Once before--since her
imprisonment--something like this had happened, but then she'd found herself in
another's body and with another's understanding of the world underlying her own.
Now, she was on her own and it wasn't making for the most incredible amount of
sense. The redhead who'd been unconscious when she'd entered this world was
obviously arguing with the small, combative blond. Xena resisted the urge to
massage her temple where a Tartarus of a headache was throbbing with
singleminded vehemence; fine by her, let them argue all night. She had her own
problems to work out, like exactly where she was and just how she'd gotten here,
and just how big a head start Ares had on her. Gods, she wished she knew more
about the enchantment that had locked her soul in the chakram.
Suddenly, sharp ears pricked as she picked out her own name, followed by the
word, "Chakram." Her eyes lifted, taking note of the slender redhead's
gesture to the weapon slung on her hip. Xena dropped a hand to rest it there,
feeling enormously comforted by the feel of warm metal against her palm. A few
more sounds formed themselves into words then, though they were garbled, as
though spoken in a high wind, or down a long tunnel.
"…put them together…consciousness…Xena…" The redhead
sounded uncertain, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was saying and
judging by the blond's expression, she wasn't buying it either.
"Oh, puh-lease, Willow…kidding…dead…."
Xena sighed softly. By the look they weren't much more than children.
Wonderful. Unfortunately, her presence here meant there was something nasty
going on…something very nasty. Hardly the ideal time for her to be playing
with children. She needed more capable allies, but they were the only ones she
had for the moment. She wet her lips, hunting for the knowledge she needed to
communicate. The slow trickle of knowledge and understanding was steadily
increasing, but not fast enough for her tastes, or maybe for the world's safety.
She tried to form the words, failed, then suddenly became aware that both young
women were watching her now.
The redhead took a cautious step forward, ignoring her friend's grabbing hand
and warning, "Will…"
"No… it's okay…"
Xena tensed, peering down into rich green eyes as she watched the girl
advance. Her lips pulled back from clenched teeth in a warning growl. The
redhead--no, Xena mentally corrected, Willow--tensed, but didn't retreat, just
carefully extended a single finger and pointed at her. "Xena?" she
questioned hesitantly.
Pale blue eyes lifted to find the smaller one tensed and on the verge of
attacking, obviously scared for her friend. Yes, Xena realized in a flash, they
were friends. That had been the reason for the attack. The blond had thought
she'd harmed Willow. She looked back down into green eyes again, swallowing to
ease the dryness in her throat. Something about the young woman, perhaps her
innocence, reminded her of someone she'd known a very long time ago.
"Yes," Xena rasped at last, feeling every one of the years she'd
been locked away from the real world and her own body. "I…am…Xena…."
She was suddenly aware of an exhaustion so intense, her knees threatened to
buckle with it. "I won't…" she looked back and forth between the two
girls, still struggling with their language. "Hurt…you…" She
lifted her sword and saw the blond start to respond, but she relaxed
fractionally as Xena only resheathed the weapon.
Willow pointed at the chakram on Xena's hip. "It was…" she mimed
snapping it in half, "…broken…."
Xena drew the weapon, studying the smooth surface, a frown creasing her brow
as she struggled to remember. "Yes…broken…" She ran her thumb
along the edge of the weapon and exhaled a single word, "Ares." Then
one knee did buckle and she stumbled. She was amazed to feel slender hands catch
her upper arm supportively, momentarily halting her imminent collapse to the
floor.
Willow sounded panicked as she called out to her friend, "Buffy…help…she's…"
but the words were still too garbled for Xena to understand much. A second set
of hands, these stronger than the first, caught her other arm to drag it across
a supportive shoulder, taking more than a fair share of her weight. The world
spun violently around the warrior princess as she sensed the floor coming up
quickly. The last thing she heard before she lost consciousness was actually
somewhat gratifying, because it was the first complete sentence she'd understood
since awaking in this new world.
"My God, she weighs a ton."
Xena was unconscious too quickly to even feel insulted.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *
"Get her feet, Willow," Buffy grunted as she strained to lift the
warrior princess, armor and all, onto Willow's parents' bed.
"I am," the redhead insisted, flushing with effort, though it was
impossible to tell by any actual movement of the warrior's feet.
When Xena went limp, they'd managed between them to manhandle her the half a
dozen yards down the hallway and into Willow's parent's bedroom, but once there,
Buffy had momentarily lost her grip and the warrior had slipped to the floor in
their grasp, a limp dead weight.
"God," Buffy exhaled. "What is she made of…lead?"
Willow shook her head. "It must have something to do with muscle density…"
She was panting hard and sweating. "According to the legends, she could do
some phenomenal things…and her father was Ares, the God of war…maybe…I
dunno, but maybe it makes her heavier somehow."
"You don't actually believe any of that?" the slayer demanded
between gasps.
Willow shrugged. "Dunno…I didn't used to believe in vampires."
Another shrug as she readied herself to try again. "On three," she
panted.
"One," Buffy muttered, letting her own muscles relax for a brief
moment.
"Two," Willow counted off a second later.
"Three," Buffy finished, then they lifted together, muscles pulling
taut at the same moment. Between them, they managed to lever her up, then
finally push and shove her onto the mattress.
When they finally finished, Buffy sat back on her heels, winded; a true
rarity for the slayer. "Next time you decide to summon a two thousand year
old warrior princess, would you do me a favor and get one who weighs under four
hundred pounds."
"Sure…no problem…anything you say," Willow said with more than
usual sarcasm. She straightened, staring down at the unmoving woman, or at least
what little she could see in the darkened room. A quick flick of the bedside
lamp confirmed what she'd feared, that the little electrical display had thrown
every circuit breaker in the house. God, her neighbors must be starting to hate
her. She just hoped it hadn't blown the whole block this time.
"Great," Buffy muttered. "The power's out."
Willow shook her head. "Hopefully it's just the breakers. I'll go check…"
she continued staring down at the unconscious woman, "in a sec…do you
think she really is…um…you know…her?"
"You mean the flinger of the frisbee of death?" Buffy shrugged.
"How should I know? You're the one who invited her to the party. Don't
blame me if you didn't get a name first."
Willow flashed a disappointed look at her friend. "Buffy, I'm
serious."
The slayer sighed softly. "Yeah, I know," she admitted grimly, not
really comfortable with the conversation or the current turn of events. If Xena
was real and Willow had somehow summoned her, it definitely meant something,
undoubtedly something bad (in Buffy's experience, such thing always meant
something bad--there just weren't any other options). She just wasn't certain
what.
Suddenly, Willow straightened. "I should definitely go get those circuit
breakers now," she decided out loud.
Buffy glanced up and nodded. That should be safe enough. She'd stay here and
keep an eye on the 'warrior princess' since she still wasn't certain if she
believed that particular story, though somehow it seemed well past even Angelus'
twisted imagination, not that Angelus was around anymore to cause a problem.
"Go on," she urged gently when Willow still hadn't moved. "I'll
call Giles while you're gone. I think this merits his attention."
Willow nodded in agreement, then disappeared into the dark hallway.
Buffy leaned close to the unconscious woman, sharp eyes intent. "So who…or
what are you?" she wondered aloud, then reached for the phone.
