Quickened
by P.H. Wise
A Buffy crossover fanfic
Chapter 2: Rules of the Game
Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy. I don’t own Highlander. Please don’t sue me. I’m only a poor starving writer. I have no money.
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Giles’ car rounded the corner at the end of the block and vanished behind a row of houses. He was taking Willow to England for her magical twelve-step program, and had promised to send someone to help Buffy while he was gone. In the meantime, though... The two sisters watched the empty street for several minutes, standing side by side. Dusk had fallen, and Venus shone brightly just above the horizon.
At length, Dawn spoke. “Buffy, what are we going to do now?”
“Me? I’m going out to patrol. You? You’ve got homework.”
“School hasn’t started yet.” Dawn wasn’t particularly amused.
“I knew that.”
Dawn waited for Buffy to give her an answer. When the slayer remained silent, a look of annoyance flashed across Dawn’s face. “I meant about...”
“I know what you meant,” said Buffy, shaking her head as she glanced at her sister. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Can I come with? Patrolling, I mean.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow at that. “No. There’s been way too much vamp activity out there for you to come along.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you can,” said Buffy, using her best ‘older sister’ voice, “But if you want me to teach you, then you’re going to have to respect my judgement. Not tonight.”
Dawn clearly wasn’t pleased, but said nothing.
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About an half hour later, Buffy, having met up with Xander, was patrolling the streets of Sunnydale. Despite the increased vampire activity the previous few nights, it was a fairly slow night. The lights of the city gleamed cheerily in the darkness – a steady breeze throughout most of the day had carried the Los Angeles area’s ever-present haze of smog over the hills and into the desert, leaving it as lovely a night as one could ask for. Unfortunately, a lovely night plus slow generally meant boring: hence, the subject of their conversation.
“I dunno, Buffy, I’ve always preferred the original Kung Fu series. The Legend Continues just didn’t have the same impact. There’s just no substitute for the original Kwai Chang Caine.”
“Hmm,” said Buffy.
“You know, you could PRETEND that you were remotely interested in the conversation.”
“Hmm.”
Xander raised an eyebrow. “... Well, the biggest problem with Kung Fu: The Legend Continues, was of course the Daleks, what with their nefarious scheme to bring free tapioca pudding to children all across the world.”
The Slayer gave Xander a strange look. She hadn’t been paying attention, but that didn’t stop her from commenting. “Who? What? The evil force of tapioca daleks?”
Xander grinned sheepishly.
Buffy prepared to let loose with a bitingly sarcastic remark, but the words died on her lips. She stopped suddenly at the entrance to an alleyway with a confused look. There was a peculiar... squirming... kind of pressure in the back of her head.
“Buffy?” Xander asked. The Slayer didn’t answer.
She ducked into the alleyway without a word, and Xander followed with a shrug.
The shadows of the alleyway resolved themselves into four shapes as Buffy approached – a middle-aged man surrounded by three vampires. The man was unarmed. So was one of the vampires, while the other two wielded a baseball bat and a knife, respectively. Yet the man wasn’t watching the vampires. He was watching Buffy, and there was recognition in his eyes.
The vampires also recognized her, though for a different reason. “Slayer!” one of them hissed.
Buffy turned towards the vampires in an exaggeratedly mechanical fashion. “Exterminate!” she said in a near monotone, although she couldn’t keep the faintest of wry smiles from her lips. The vamps exchanged confused looks briefly before putting their game-faces on. And then the Slayer leaped into battle.
The middle-aged man stood and stared as Buffy easily sidestepped the punch of the unarmed vampire and kicked him into the wall of the alley. The other two fell upon her, then, but Slayer strength and speed made her more than a match for them. She traded blows for a few seconds before calling out, “Xander!”
Xander produced a wooden stake from his jacket pocket and tossed it to Buffy, who caught it and staked the unarmed vampire. As the vamp disintegrated into a pile of dust, Buffy ducked beneath the swing of the bat-wielder. The third lunged at her with his knife, and she caught the blade between the palms of her hands before snapping it off at the handle with a quick turn of her wrist. The vampire gazed stupidly at his broken knife for a split second, and that was all the opening that the Slayer needed. An instant later, he too had been dusted.
The final vampire, seeing that his allies had been easily dispatched, turned and ran the other way.
The middle-aged man’s jaw dropped open slightly.
“You know,” said Xander, “As often as I see that, it never gets old.”
Buffy nodded, smiling wryly. “The real classics never get stale. Kind of like Buster Keaton.”
“Who?”
“Bad example. Maybe more like freshly baked bread. Except without the getting stale thing that bread tends to do.”
“Right,” said Xander.
The middle-aged man interrupted their banter, his voice filled with unease, and his eyes wide. “Those were vampires?”
Buffy turned to regard the man. He was clean-shaven, with sandy-blonde hair, brown eyes, and clothing much better suited to a colder climate. “Yah-huh,” said Buffy, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.”
“Vampires exist!?”
“Wow, he’s two for two. What’s he win, Buff?”
Buffy started to respond, but cut off when the man produced a broadsword from somewhere in his duster. There was no WAY he could have been concealing such a weapon in his jacket, yet there it was nonetheless.
“Woah!” said Xander, backing away.
With both hands around the hilt, the man placed the point of the blade into the ground and bowed to Buffy. He spoke with grave formality. “I am James Moore.” He paused, watching Buffy expectantly.
Buffy said nothing, not immediately realizing that he expected her to introduce herself. At length, she said, “... Buffy Summers.”
“As a token of my gratitude for your assistance, Buffy Summers, I shall not seek your head this night.”
Buffy and Xander exchanged glances.
“Um... thanks,” said Buffy. “Not being attacked by an old guy with a sword, always a plus.”
James smiled thinly as he replaced his broadsword somewhere in the folds of his duster. There was a look of understanding in his eyes and a dark smile upon his lips as he turned and walked away, his coat billowing out dramatically behind him.
“OK,” said Xander, watching Mr. Moore’s departure, “Maybe next time we can rescue some of the sane...er residents of Sunnydale.
“Buff?
“Buffy?”
Buffy didn’t answer, instead staring off in the direction James had gone, a peculiar look on her face.
“Buffster?” asked Xander, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She blinked and turned towards him suddenly. “What? What is it?”
“You feeling ok? You’ve been acting kind of out of it all night....”
Buffy spoke with confidence, but her expression was doubtful. “I’m fine,” she said.
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Summer drew on, hot, sleepy days drifting into warm, star-speckled nights. The smog came and went, though Sunnydale was far enough away from the real smog-pits to escape the worst of it. A sleepy summer day not too long after the encounter with James Moore found Buffy and Dawn walking together down the bright streets of Sunnydale’s commercial district. People milled about, attending to whatever errands had brought them here, but the crowds were still thin, and would remain so until the evening, when the majority of the shoppers would emerge from their air conditioned havens to purchase whatever necessities (or vanities) they thought they needed.
“So then, he pulls a BROADSWORD out of his jacket.”
“A broadsword?” Dawn asked incredulously.
“A broadsword! Then he sticks it in the ground and says,” Buffy began speaking in her best ‘pretentious old guy’ voice, “As a token of my gratitude for your assistance, Buffy Summers, I shall not seek your head this night.”
“So he’ll seek your head some other night?”
Buffy frowned.
“Wait,” said Dawn, “Didn’t Anya say that the only way for someone with the quickie-whatsit to die is to lose their head?”
“Yes...” said Buffy, not much liking where this was going.
“Do you think this other guy was like you?”
Buffy shrugged. “It’s possible. The Hellmouth tends to draw all sorts of nasties. It’d make sense if it drew Immortals, too. But why would he want to kill me?”
“Anya said something about that, didn’t she?”
“Do you remember what it was?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither.”
They moved on their way, going into some stores, steering clear of the ones that Dawn had robbed during her whole ‘kleptomaniac phase,’ and slowly began to amass several bags of clothing and assorted miscellaneous objects.
As the morning drifted into the afternoon, and the summer heat grew stifling, Buffy and Dawn stopped in front of a 7-11.
“You thirsty?” Buffy asked.
Dawn looked at the 7-11 for a long moment and said nothing.
At length, Buffy spoke again. “I didn’t mean for that to be a stumper.”
“I can’t go in there.”
“Why not?”
“I stole some soap from there.”
Buffy grew incredulous. “Soap? As in plain old hand soap?”
“... It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“I suppose it could be worse. You COULD have stolen something REALLY stupid. Like a toothbrush.”
Dawn struggled to suppress a guilty look.
Buffy blinked. “You didn’t... did you?”
At that, Dawn turned completely red. “Dental hygiene is important!”
Buffy was nonplused. “Look, I’ll go on and grab some water. You wait here, ok?”
“OK.”
Buffy headed into the convenience store, and Dawn sat down on the curb to wait. As she waited for her sister, she noticed an old homeless man shuffling her way from down the street. Dawn turned to look at him.
“No, no,” he said, muttering to himself, “Ants. Ants are crawling all over. Musn’t let them crawl on me. No, no. No bugs on me. Bugs. Bugs... Kill the bugs. Too many ants. No...” He went on like that as he approached, and Dawn stood up and backed away from the curb (into the parking lot of the 7-11) to let him pass. Sunnydale was hard on the homeless, and few survived for long without going mad.
Buffy emerged from the store, holding two bottles of water. “Dawn!” she called.
The homeless man met Dawn’s gaze, and she saw madness in his gaze, as though he wasn’t really seeing her at all. And then the look of distant madness cleared. His eyes widened. “She’s not real!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. Several people turned and stared.
Dawn reacted as if she’d been slapped, quickly growing visibly upset.
“Not real!” the crazy old man went on, “Empty space! Nothing there!” And then he addressed Dawn directly. ”YOU DON’T BELONG! The key!”
Buffy put her hand on Dawn’s shoulder. “Come on,” she said.
They quickly left the screaming man behind them. Neither one of them were much in the mood for shopping after that, so they began the long walk home. As they went, Dawn glanced at Buffy.
“I’m NOT the key anymore,” she said, with doubt in her voice. “That’s all behind us now.”
Buffy nodded, and there was no doubt whatsoever in her voice when she spoke. “You’re not the key anymore. You’re my sister, and you always will be.”
Dawn smiled.
At that moment, just as they were passing in front of a familiar alleyway, Buffy stopped in her tracks. There it was again - that freaky crawling pressure on the back of her head. It was coming from something within the alleyway.
“Buffy?”
Buffy handed her shopping bags to Dawn. “Dawn, wait here.”
Buffy moved into the alley. Naturally, Dawn ignored her sister’s instructions to remain behind and followed her, doing her best to remain unseen.
Buffy followed the alley to the end, where it widened considerably. Trash speckled the ground, and an old rusted dumpster stood off to the side. And there, standing in front of the dead end wall at the end of the alley, was James Moore, broadsword in hand.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Miss Summers,” he said. “I knew that you would pass this way eventually.”
Buffy shrugged. “What do you want with me?”
“I think you know.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow.
“There can be only one.” With those words, James moved. Really though, to say that he moved was on the same level as saying that Shakespeare used words. With the sure skill of a thousand years study of the combat arts, James Moore rushed towards Buffy like a wraith, swinging his broadsword in a short arc meant to take her head off in one swift stroke.
Buffy ducked underneath his swing. James quickly followed up with a thrust. A broadsword was designed for slashing, but it was still a very heavy weapon, and even if the tip wouldn’t gut a person stabbed by it, it would still hurt considerably. Skilled as he was, James had never faced an opponent like the Slayer before. Buffy easily sidestepped the thrust, caught hold of the swordsman’s hands, and then crushed them, breaking nearly every bone in both of his hands.
James cried out in pain and dropped the sword. Before he had so much as a chance to do more than that, the Slayer struck him in the gut with a powerful blow that blasted the air from his lungs. He fell to the ground.
Buffy retrieved the broadsword and then stood over the fallen immortal.
“...Do it,” he hissed.
The Slayer blinked. “Do what? Listen, Jim. You’re going to explain to me EXACTLY why you tried to kill me just now.”
James shook his head. “There’s no way... with that kind of strength, you’d have to be the oldest of the old. You can drop the act, Miss Summers. Take my head and be done with it.”
Buffy was horrified at that. “You expect me to cut off your head!?”
“Those are the rules.”
“Look, Jim. I don’t have ANY idea what you’re talking about, so why don’t you explain it to me.”
James looked down at his hands. They were healing, but it would take time to fully regenerate the damage that had been done to them. “... Do you seriously expect me to believe that you’re a newborn immortal?”
“I don’t care what you believe. EXPLAIN.” Buffy pressed the blade of the sword against the man’s neck.
“... It’s always been this way. This is the Game. The Immortals have always fought, all throughout history. When one immortal takes the head of another, all of the power and knowledge of the defeated goes to the victor. Now is the time of the Gathering, when those of us who are left fight until the last for the Prize.”
Revulsion suffused Buffy’s mind. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. “What!?”
James smiled grimly. “In the end, there can be only one.”
“WHAT!?” Buffy took the broadsword and snapped it in half before throwing the pieces into the gutter. “Listen to me VERY carefully, Jim.”
James looked up at the enraged Slayer, just barely daring to hope that he might live through this.
“I have no interest in playing your... game,” she said the word as if it were a curse. “Now get the hell out of my town.”
She turned and walked back the way she had come. “DAWN!” she called. Dawn stood up from where she had been hiding behind the rusted dumpster.
“You can’t escape from the game, Miss Summers,” James said as he rose to his feet. “The Gathering is upon us. Even if I go, others will come. Some of them won’t be above using your friends and loved ones to get to you.”
Dawn headed back towards the street as Buffy turned back to face James. “I won’t allow that to happen.”
“You really think you can stop it?” James laughed. “You think you can stand against the Gathering? Who do you think you are?”
Buffy smiled grimly. “I’m the Slayer.” With that, she turned and followed Dawn back out into the light of day.
(END CHAPTER 2)
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Like it? Love it? Hate it? Want to conquer the universe and distribute free tapioca pudding to everyone? Tell me about it at stillwell_phw@hotmail.com
