Quickened
by P.H. Wise
A Buffy crossover fanfic
Chapter 9: When in Rome
Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy. I don’t own Angel. I don’t own Highlander. Please don’t sue me. I’m only a poor starving writer. I have no money.
Note: This chapter marks the beginning of the second story arc of Quickened. Note that this story arc will contain spoilers for season seven of Buffy, as well as season five of Angel.
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In the deep places of the world, where things have learned to walk that ought to crawl, a voice - a human voice – a young woman’s voice - rang out into the darkness, confident and strong. “So here’s the part where you make a choice.”
The Presence in the darkness shifted uneasily.
“What if you could have that power... now? In every generation one Slayer is born because a bunch of men who died thousands of years ago made up that rule.”
Eyes opened, glittering like jewels as, for the first time in millennia, light streamed down into the Hellmouth. Artificial light, but light nonetheless.
“I say we change the rule. I say my power should be our power. From now on, every girl in the world who might be a Slayer will be a Slayer.”
The Turok-Han grew agitated. The light from above pushed back the ever-present darkness of the Hellmouth, and a group of determined young women descended the stairs, followed by the vampire with a soul.
“Every girl who could have the power will have the power.”
Power. Good. Evil. Choices. What to choose?
“Can stand up, will stand up.”
The army of Turok-Han came at the newly empowered Slayers like a tidal wave, a fetid mass of rotting flesh bound by ancient power and the malevolent demon within.
“Slayers, every one of us.”
All across the world, they awakened. The little girl playing baseball. The abused daughter. The good hearted church girl. The bitter prostitute. The brainy college student. The teen mother. The hopeful singer. The troubled juvenile delinquent. The aspiring young actress. Girls and young women all across the world rose up as the power and the knowledge of the Slayer came rushing in. Completed them. Empowered them.
“Make your choice. Are you ready to be strong?”
They made their choice.
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Faith glanced down at the crater that had once been Sunnydale. “Looks like the Hellmouth is officially closed for business.”
“There’s another one in Cleveland,” said Giles. “Not to spoil the moment.”
Xander smiled. “We saved the world.”
Willow interjected. “We CHANGED the world. I can feel them, Buffy. All over. Slayers are awakening everywhere.”
“We’ll have to find them,” said Dawn.
“We will.”
“We have a lot of work ahead of us,” said Giles.
Willow nodded. “Yeah, the First is scrunched so... what do you think we should do, Buffy?”
“Yeah,” said Faith, “You’re not the one and only Chosen anymore. Just gotta live like a person. How’s that feel?”
“What are we going to do now?” Dawn asked.
Buffy looked down at what used to be the Hellmouth... and smiled.
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Funny thing about Final Battles and World Changing Events: life goes on. It seems wrong somehow. How can the world continue as it did before in light of what’s happened? What’s been lost? What’s been sacrificed? And what’s been gained? But carry on it does. So too did the Scoobies carry on. What they had done had changed everything. And it had changed nothing. Life went on. The weeds had been pulled from the garden. Tomorrow, there would be thunderstorms.
The task before the Scoobies was now threefold: rebuilding the Watcher’s Council (but better this time), finding and training the Slayers scattered across the world, and stopping the Apocalypse brewing in Rome. Willow and Kennedy had gone to Brazil in search of the Slayers in South America. Giles was sent to his homeland of England with a Slayer in tow to find any that had awakened there. Xander had gone to Africa with Robin and a few Slayers. Faith had originally intended to go with Robin, but Buffy had asked her to stay with her. Several other Slayers had been sent to various other parts of the world. Buffy, Dawn, Andrew, Faith, Vi, Rona, and Shannon, had gone to Rome.
They came out of the Fiumicino Airport at sunset like ducks all in a row, Buffy and Faith leading, and the others trailing close behind. Their rental car was waiting: an old, very narrow van of British make with just enough room to seat all of them. They all piled in, and the van pulled away from the curb. And went exactly nowhere. Hurrah for Roman airport traffic! Nearly an hour later, after receiving a “congratulation record for being correct and respectful of the traffic regulations” from the airport traffic wardens (it was too much work to hand out tickets to people who broke the traffic rules, so the traffic wardens had long since decided that they’d go the route of positive reinforcement instead, and theirs was the only one that had been given out so far that day), the gang finally made it out of the airport.
Rome was waiting for them.
Dawn decided very quickly that Rome was insane. Ancient monuments seemed to spring up like crab grass. All you had to do was turn your back for a second, and there was another monument of some sort. People were everywhere. Tourists mixed with natives all together in a mad press. Narrow streets filled with equally narrow vehicles, honking horns, screeching tires, bluster, and the ever-present murmur of the crowd. Gypsies, whores, schemers, tourists, a mother and her children, a man in a business suit, taxi drivers from hell (usually not literally, though).
“Rome,” said Andrew, filling his voice with as much of what he thought was an “important” sound that he could. Naturally, he only managed to sound silly. “City of contrasts.” He glanced at Faith and Buffy in the front two seats.
The others ignored him.
Dawn was content to stare out the window at the confusing, jumbled, maddening, beautiful mess that was Rome, while listening to Vi, Rona, and Shannon chatter – for a little while. At length, she asked, “So where are we going, anyways?”
“We got an old place on the outskirts,” said Faith, glancing back at Dawn over her shoulder. “Used to be an academy for the Watcher’s council.”
“And now a training ground for Slayers?” Dawn asked.
“Kinda poetic if you think about it,” said Faith.
It was a walled compound, and at least several hundred years old by the looks of it, though not so old that it didn’t have electricity. With its impressive pillared gateway and the tree-lined steps leading from the end of the driveway to the entrance to the main building, the compound had a distinguished air that seemed totally at odds with the motley crew of young women (and Andrew, Watcher in training) that climbed out of the van. The main building was in the center of the compound, with a dormitory in each of the four corners, and pillared hallways with roofs but no walls leading from each of the dormitories to the main building.
Standing in front of the van parked at the point where the driveway met the tree-lined steps leading up to the main building, Buffy gave the facilities a quick once-over and smiled.
“This’ll do.”
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Dawn wasn’t particularly happy to be assigned cleaning duty with Andrew, Vi, Rona, and Shannon. ‘Not particularly happy’ being a euphemism for extremely annoyed. Not that the place didn’t need cleaning. It had been a long time since the Watchers had actually used this place – the Watcher’s Academy in Rome hadn’t been used for nearly ten years, and quite a bit needed cleaning, fixing, and replacing. The priorities were to get at least one dormitory functional as soon as possible, after which they’d be expected to get the kitchens in working order, followed by the less vital areas.
Dawn turned towards Buffy. “So why exactly aren’t you helping with this?”
“Meeting with Duncan,” Buffy replied.
Dawn nodded faintly, and then turned to Faith. “How about you? What are you going to be doing while the rest of us are cleaning?”
“Watching,” Faith replied, grinning widely, “And laughing.”
Dawn glared.
She glared, yes. But she also got to work. There was a lot of work that needed doing if this place was going to serve as Slayer Central. They didn’t have much in the way of manpower now (or is that Slayer power?), but when the others started sending Slayers to them from around the world, it wouldn’t do to be unable to house them.
As the renovation of the Roman Watcher’s Academy began, a nondescript man in a business suit stopped at the front gate and peered within. He then produced a cell phone from his pocket and quickly dialed a number, exposing the tattoo on his wrist as he did so.
“Sir? She’s here.”
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It wasn’t Joe’s Blues Bar, but it was a bar. Dim lights, cigarette smoke filling the air, the bar stools full of drunks, the tables full of not quite as drunks. Not the classiest place in Rome, but it served a decent brew. Decent enough, at least, that Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan and Joe Dawson chose to frequent the place.
“So who’s this girl we’re waiting for again?” asked Richie as he set his empty mug down on the table next to the half filled pitcher of beer.
Duncan smiled a fake smile. “Maybe if you’d been listening the first twenty times I went over this, you’d know.”
Richie shrugged. “Maybe. I guess what I don’t get is how she tells you to go to Rome, and you go to Rome. Stories that involve beautiful women asking you to do them favors rarely end well, Mac.”
Duncan shrugged.
They felt it, then, Duncan and Richie: the familiar buzz that signaled the presence of another Immortal.
That’s when she walked in. Blonde. Green eyes. Slim. Athletic. Kinda short. DAMN sexy. And there was something else. Something in her eyes, and in the way she walked. This woman was a predator, and not so much the sexual kind, but more of the ‘I’m going to tear out your throat and then gorge myself on your entrails’ variety.
“... Is that her?” Richie asked.
“You’re drooling, Richie,” said Joe.
“Right,” said Richie, staring at Buffy Summers like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “You know when I asked about why you’d go to Rome just because she told you to? Forget it.”
“Buffy,” said Duncan as she arrived at the table. “Take a seat.”
Richie gave the girl an incredulous look. “Buffy?” he asked.
Annoyance flickered in Buffy’s eyes. “People always ask that.”
Richie was quick to remove the foot from his mouth. “I can’t imagine why,” he said, as casually as he was able.
Buffy favored him with a faintly amused almost-smile.
Joe rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Duncan indicated his friends. “This is Richie, and that’s Joe. They know.”
Joe shook Buffy’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Summers. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Buffy glanced at Joe’s wrist, and then met his gaze. “Watcher?” she asked.
He inclined his head. “Slayer,” he said in acknowledgement.
Richie raised an eyebrow. “Er... she’s a fan of dated thrash metal?”
Duncan pulled up a chair, and Buffy nodded her acknowledgement of the act as she sat down.
“Would you care for a glass?” Duncan asked, indicating the still half filled pitcher of beer on the table.
Buffy glanced at the pitcher, and her amused almost-smile returned full force. “Beer bad,” she said in her best ‘Cave Buffy’ voice. The almost-smile faded into seriousness, and she turned towards Duncan. “How about you just tell me what you’ve learned?”
Duncan shrugged. “Sure, right down to business, then. I’ve seen no sign of the vampire Alisoun. There’s been very little in the way of vampire activity in Rome at all, actually. There’ve been plenty of demons, though. Including a really nasty Zoroastrian demon.”
Richie and Joe exchanged glances at that.
Buffy frowned. “You’ve been in Rome for almost a year, and that’s all the intel you’ve gathered?”
“They serve really good beer at this place.”
Buffy’s expression darkened, and Duncan laughed.
“I’ve met with the Immortal. He knows something about what’s going on.”
Richie rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t he always?” he asked.
Duncan went on. “He won’t tell me what, but he might tell the Slayer. From what he tells me, you made quite the impression on him last time you met.”
Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Last time we met?”
Duncan smiled, and said nothing.
“Great. So when can I meet with this... Immortal?”
“I’ve already set up a meeting.” Duncan handed Buffy a small business card. “At that address, one week from today, 7:30 PM.”
“Thanks,” said Buffy. She turned to Joe. “Did you hear what happened in England?” she asked.
Joe gave her a speculative look. “What, the headquarters of the Watcher’s Council going up in flames, and the majority of our leadership dying in the explosion? Nah. Not a thing.”
Buffy smiled mirthlessly. “We should talk.”
“You ain’t kiddin’.”
“But not here.” She wrote down an address on Joe’s napkin. “Stop by sometime.”
Joe inclined his head.
With a quick nod to acknowledge the others at the table, followed by a, “See you around, MacLeod,” Buffy stood up and headed for the exit.
As the Slayer departed, Richie watched with a silly grin. “Think I’ve got a chance, Mac?”
“Nope.”
Richie frowned. “Couldn’t you at least have pretended to think about that before answering?”
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It was late, and most of the world had gone to bed. The stars shone brightly overhead, and the warmth of the Roman summer was only now retreating from the back alleys down which the Slayer walked as she wended her way from the bar towards the former Watcher’s Academy. She stalked through the darkness as a predator, and no vampire and no demon rose to challenge her. All too soon, she left the back alleys behind her.
As she passed the ruins of the Roman Forum, Buffy’s sense of present danger flared. Something was there, and it meant her harm.
She stepped to the side and held up her hand. Something passed directly through the space where her neck had been. She caught it as it passed.
It was a tranquilizer dart.
Without even thinking about it, she flung it back in the direction it came, and there was a soft thump as the sniper atop the Forum collapsed, unconscious.
A group of swordsmen emerged from behind the pillars of the Forum, masked and clothed all in black.
“OK,” said Buffy, as she dropped into a fighting stance. “We can either do this the hard way or...” she trailed off as they raised their swords. “Right. Hard way it is.”
They charged. They were skilled, every one of them. But they couldn’t compare to a Slayer.
The first of them went for a decapitating blow. Buffy caught him by the sword arm and twisted both arm and sword savagely behind his back. There was a sickening crack as his arm broke. That didn’t stop Buffy. She used his sword (still in his hand) to parry three slashes from her attacker’s companions before throwing the poor man at the man who was charging her from behind, and both went down heavily.
Another of them went low, aiming to hamstring the Slayer. To her, the attacker may as well have been moving through molasses. All she had to do to avoid the blow was shift her weight. The sword struck the ground, and sent up a flurry of sparks. Buffy quickly stomped on the flat of the blade, and it snapped. Overbalanced, the swordsman went tumbling forward. Buffy caught him easily with her left hand and threw him some twenty yards, where he landed in an undignified fashion.
A few seconds later, all five swordsmen were unconscious.
Buffy glanced down at their wrists.
Every single one of them bore the mark of the Watcher.
Half an hour later, Buffy stormed back into the bar where she had met with Duncan, Richie, and Joe, furious beyond words.
She stormed in, yes, but Duncan, Joe, and Richie were nowhere to be found.
With nowhere to direct her anger at this seeming betrayal, Buffy punched the concrete wall, leaving a significant dent, with cracks running all along it. As she departed, the disbelieving stares of the barkeeper and those few who still lingered here followed her.
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Days passed. Slowly, the old Watcher’s Academy was brought up and running. The dorms were cleaned, various fuses and lights were replaced, the water and electricity was turned back on, and various miscellaneous repairs were done. It was a lot of work, but with three Slayers, one former ‘guestage,’ and one very grumpy nineteen-year-old Key in human form on the job, it was getting done.
The efforts of the Scoobies around the world to find the newly awakened Slayers had met with some early success. Vi had found one while on patrol, and after discovering her situation (homeless, down on her luck), had brought her back to the Watcher’s Academy, which Dawn had dubbed “Slayer Central.” Andrew had wanted to call it ‘Central Dogma,’ but the only reaction he’d got from that was a general ‘huh?’
Willow and Kennedy had found two more Slayers over in Brazil, but Willow kind of had an unfair advantage there in that she had a Slayer-Sense that she could use to track them with. So that didn’t count. Giles had discovered another in England, but Xander and Robin had as of yet had no luck in Africa, and no word from any of the others sent to other parts of the world. The newly found Slayers were going to be sent to Slayer Central as soon as it could be arranged. In the meantime, those already present at the Academy were practicing to keep up their skills, and Dawn, being Dawn, had decided to practice right along with them.
It was fencing today, and Faith was doing the instructing. Or at least, she was TRYING to. The kind of formalized approach that fencing required wasn’t exactly Faith’s strong point.
They were in the courtyard of the single dormitory that they had gotten into working order, and they had partnered up for the purpose of the exercise. The trees that filled the courtyard provided an interesting arena for fencing, and despite the disadvantage of not being a Slayer, Dawn wasn’t doing badly. Then again, Faith was most likely holding back on her. Or maybe it was the whole ‘Faith’ and ‘fencing’ combination that gave Dawn the advantage. Footwork, sword work, shuffling back and forth through the soft turf, thrust, parry, capture, disarm. They went long into the evening, and by the end of it, Dawn was thoroughly exhausted (though the others, being Slayers... not so much with the exhaustion).
Sweat dripping from her brow, Dawn leaned against the trunk of one of the larger trees in the courtyard and rested there for a moment.
“Hey half-pint,” said Faith, “You still alive? ‘Cause B would kill me if I broke you.”
Dawn wiped the sweat from her face and put her hand on the place where branch met trunk... and frowned. There was something there. Something... plastic?
She grabbed it and pulled it under the Dorm’s porch light so as to get a better look at it. Some sort of funky... electronic device? She held it up for Faith’s inspection. “Faith,” she began, “What’s this?”
Faith glanced at the device in Dawn’s hands. Her eyes widened.
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“You’ve got some nerve coming here after what you pulled, Dawson,” said Buffy, her arms folded beneath her breasts as she leaned against one of the pillars of the Academy’s gate.
Joe looked up. “Slayer?” he asked, his tone making it clear that he had no idea what she was talking about.
“Don’t play dumb. Electronic surveillance? Assassination squads with Watcher tattoos? Any of this ringing a bell?”
Joe looked confused for a long moment before comprehension dawned in his eyes. His expression hardened. “... Oh.”
“Oh?” Buffy asked.
“It wasn’t me, Slayer.”
“And I should believe you because...?”
“Look, there are certain rogue elements within the Watchers.”
“As opposed to the normal generally unhelpful elements that seem to put me and my friends in danger on a regular basis?”
Joe almost smiled at that. “Yeah. As opposed to that.”
Buffy thought about that for a moment. “... All right. I’m listening.”
“In the End, there can be only One. You’ve heard it before, right?”
Buffy smirked. “Been there, done that. Nearly bored me to tears.”
“Right. Well this rogue element within the Watchers is of the opinion that no Immortal should be allowed to gain the Prize. That it’s too much of a risk that an evil Immortal could win it all, and then use that power to rule humanity forever.”
“So they kill them.”
Joe nodded. “They kill them, thus preventing another Immortal from taking their Quickening and growing stronger.”
“So what happens then?”
Joe blinked. “What do you mean?”
“When an Immortal kills another, he absorbs the soul of the defeated. And almost every Immortal has taken at least a few heads, right? So what happens to the souls of all of those Immortals when nobody takes the Quickening?”
Joe gave Buffy a strange look. “... Look. I don’t know the first thing about theology or mysticism. You want answers to that kind of question, you’ll need to look somewhere else.”
Buffy frowned. “You know, I hear that a lot. Nobody seems to have the answers.”
Joe shrugged. “That’s true of everything, not just of the questions that relate to Immortals.”
“Right. So why are they after me, then? Who told them I was Immortal?”
“Are you kidding? There has never been an Immortal Slayer before. Your status as an Immortal is the biggest news we’ve had... EVER. That’s not something that’s easily kept secret. And to them... well, let’s just say an Immortal with the abilities of a Slayer is most definitely not a good thing. Can you imagine what would happen if she went bad? There’d be no stopping her.”
Buffy sighed. “Great.”
Silence fell between them for a moment. It was Joe who broke it.
“So why don’t you tell me what you wanted to talk with me about?”
Buffy blinked. “What? ... Oh. Right.” She glanced towards Slayer Central. “We’re reforming the Watcher’s Council, Joe.”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we?’”
“Me. A few of my friends. The other slayers. You, if you’ll join us. Giles said you were trustworthy.”
Joe smiled. “I suppose that, more than any explanation I’ve offered, is why I’m still alive after that attack?”
“Yup.”
Joe thought for a moment. And then he frowned. “What do you mean, ‘the other Slayers?’ You mean that psycho Slayer they’ve got in prison over in California?”
Buffy laughed. “She’s a part of it. And she’s not in prison anymore, either. But she’s only part of it.” She looked closely at Joe. “What do you know about the battle with the First?”
Joe blinked. “The First?”
“Evil. The First Evil.”
“You took on the First Evil?”
“And won.”
Joe remained silent at that, giving Buffy a look that plainly said that he didn’t believe her.
“You know how in every generation one Slayer is born? One girl in all the world with the strength and skill to fight the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness?”
Joe nodded. “I’ve heard the story.”
Buffy smiled. “Well, the truth is, in every generation, one Slayer is born because a bunch of men who died thousands of years ago made up that rule.”
Joe remained silent.
“So we changed the rule.”
“What are you saying?”
“We changed it. All of those potential Slayers out there? Well, scratch the ‘potential.’ Every girl in the world who might be a Slayer... will be a Slayer.”
Joe paled. “...Every... girl?”
“Every last one.” Buffy smiled faintly. “So how about it. You in, Dawson?”
Joe thought about that for about a minute. “... Watchers aren’t supposed to interfere with the Immortals. We observe and record. We don’t take sides. We don’t intervene.”
“But Watchers ARE involved with the Slayers. The rules have changed, Dawson. You said it yourself – there has NEVER been an Immortal Slayer before. The people who wrote those rules could never have foreseen something like this.”
Another minute passed before Joe finally nodded. “... I’m in.” He paused a moment. “Although the headquarters was destroyed, we’ve still got plenty of chapter houses around the world. I can’t promise much, Slayer, but I’ll try and gather the people I can find.”
Buffy nodded. “That’s all I ask.”
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Later, in the hour just before dawn, the compound was silent. The last patrol was long since passed, and every good little Slayer was tucked in bed, safe and warm. Not a creature was stirring. Well, except for the Watcher assassination squad.
The doors to the main dormitory swung open, and a large canister was rolled in, spilling gas everywhere: a potent nerve gas, capable of killing anyone who breathed it in within minutes. It billowed over the beds, through the ventilation ducts, and slowly, seeped into every room of the dormitory.
It was only after it had spread throughout the dorm that the squad of soldiers came in through the front door. Clad all in black, each of them was equipped with both a gasmask and an assault rifle. Several bore swords as well. They went through the main dorm, past the still forms of Dawn, Vi, Rona, Shannon, and the newbie. Past Andrew’s room. Past Faith’s room.
They opened the door to Buffy’s room and went in, silent as death. The door clicked shut behind them. She lay face down on her pillow, her long, blonde hair spilling down around her face like a waterfall of purest gold.
The lead soldier drew his sword.
And that was when Buffy rolled over and sat up. “I think that’s far enough,” she said. With a crossbow in hand, pointed at the leader’s throat, even Buffy’s gasmask couldn’t conceal her feral grin.
The door swung open, and the other Slayers stepped into the room, all bearing crossbows, and all wearing masks. Then came Andrew. And Dawn. And finally, Joe Dawson stepped into the room, mask on his face, and pistol in hand.
The soldiers looked at Buffy, then at the others. Slowly, they lowered their weapons.
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“So do you think we should expect another attack?” Buffy asked.
Joe shook his head.
The police had already left, taking the squad of soldiers to whatever fate awaited them in the Roman courts. Dawn, Andrew and the other Slayers were staying in hotel rooms now. They’d be back in the morning to get another dormitory in working order. They were working with local officials to get the gas cleaned out of the dorm that they had been using, but it would take time.
“I don’t think they’d risk another attack so soon after two failures,” said Joe.
Buffy nodded. “So can I count on you to take care of this from here, or do we need to get the police involved in the hunt for the people who sent those squads?”
“I think I can handle it.”
Buffy nodded. “Don’t disappoint, Dawson.”
Joe smiled. “I never do.” And with those words, leading with his cane, Joe Dawson turned and walked away.
END CHAPTER 9
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