| Subject: Ficlet (Spoilers) Cinderella (Storm Front, Part 1) |
Author:
Heather Long
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Date Posted: 05:46:40 03/16/02 Sat
(Okay, I couldn't wait for Monday, here's part 1)
Giles was waiting at the table, a cup of tea poised in his hand as Buffy returned. He was watching her studiously then moved his gaze to Spike as the young man returned as well. Spike gestured for Buffy to take a seat before joining the two of them. A cup of tea steamed next to his books and it seemed so unusual for him to pick it up and start sipping it.
He was so-so-Giles!
"All right, so there was a note here about a rat," William was saying, but Buffy barely heard Giles' reply. Amy. Where was Amy? How'd she know about Rack anyway, when Buffy last knew her, she wasn't an out of control powerhouse. Well, except for the entire thing with Xander's love spell, but after all the spells Buffy'd seen go awry, it didn't seem all that odd that that one did.
"She's upstairs, we know Willow was using her as a power source," Giles explained while Buffy slowly ate the now cold pancakes. "I honestly don't believe Willow was aware of it, but when she took charge of the rat, which housed the admittedly powerful form of another witch, something about the proximity and the spells, linked them."
"So it's her familiar. How are you keeping her away from it?" William was writing diligently in a journal, noting everything that Giles was saying.
"Magic." Giles looked sheepish. "I may not be a powerful spell caster, but I do know a thing or two. A cloak keeps her from being able to pinpoint the rat's- -"
"Amy." Buffy supplied. "The rat has a name Giles."
"Of course she does, Buffy." Giles sighed. "But right now the less we mention it the better."
"Why?"
"Word disassociation." Spike explained. Was it possible for his tone to become more British? "Powerful creatures that employ the use of the magical arts often rely on the power in a word, in this instance a name. The more powerful the implication and supplications, the more power the word has. In this instance, I would hazard a guess that without the power source your witch friend is desperate and will be doing invocations to learn the location. Such spells would be attracted to a name and --" He trailed off at Buffy's blank look. "Just don't say the name."
"Oooookay."
Both men nodded at her and Buffy passed a hand over her eyes. One thing about this reality, research was still boring and over her head. At least Dawn was still here. Dawn and her mother.
Buffy frowned to herself. What happened with Glory and the monks? If they were still here, had she still -- as if summoned by the question, memories began to leak into her mind. Memories that she didn't possess. They were alien, yet possessed form and shape. Feelings that she could scarcely place a name on crept in as well.
Glory was hunting for the key, the realization that Dawn was the key sent them all struggling to deal the ramfications. Having a hell god on the warpath didn't help at all. They'd sent Dawn and Joyce away, to England. The Watchers provided a safe haven while Buffy lead the hell god a merry chase. The world around her slowed as Buffy watched these memories scroll through her mind.
Riley was consorting with vamp-hos, something to do with her residual feelings for Angel. He was convinced that she was never going to stop using him to punish Angel, the way she'd used Xander before him. Xander discovered his dirty little secret and he showed Buffy what was going on. Riley tried to blame her for everything that happened, but Xander had got in his face. It wasn't until they'd started physically exchanging blows that she intervened.
She told Riley to get the hell out and after he did, she'd turned to Xander.
"Oh my god." Buffy blinked herself back into the kitchen and stared at Giles and Spike, both of whom were now staring at her.
"Are you all right, Slayer?" Spike frowned with concern.
"I think -- I think I need to go lay down."
"Good idea." Giles nodded before Spike could say anymore. "You've had a long night. Go get some sleep, we'll manage her."
Buffy nodded slowly then pushed up from the table, she managed to avoid Spike's gaze as she all but fled from the room. She waved to her mother as she darted up the stairs. Soon enough she was safe in her own room, she leaned back against the door as the grief that the memory carried slammed into her.
She turned to Xander, again. Just as she'd turned to him after discovering that Angel was a vampire. They'd made love, often enough, when Buffy knew Angel would find out. He would find out and suffer, knowing that she would rather be with a human than ever with him. He'd borne the abuse stoically, but Buffy had used Xander. She cared about him, but she'd never been in love with him.
Sliding down the door, Buffy wrapped her hands around her middle and tried to catch her breath. Xander never stopped loving her, never stopped letting her use him. Until the night that she'd gone into the desert. The night she'd gone to discover the source of the Slayer's power, the guide she needed to destroy the hell god.
Glory took Xander then. She took him, believing that he was the key.
She took him and she beat him so badly, but Xander never told her. Xander never told her who the key was or why.
Because Buffy never told him about the key.
When she'd come back from the desert, renewed, refreshed and ready to do battle. She'd found Xander, laying in her bed. Or she found what was left of him. Buffy stuffed a hand in her mouth as bile rose, burning and acrid in her throat.
Xander died in that bed waiting for her to get back from the desert. Giles told her repeatedly she couldn't blame herself, but who else could she blame? She'd used him, used him like she'd been using Spike. She used him to punish Angel. She'd used him to punish Riley. She used his love and devotion to punish the others who'd dared to love her.
What the hell kind of monster was she?
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