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Quickened by P.H. Wise

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Quickened
by P.H. Wise
A Buffy crossover fanfic

Chapter 14: Love’s Labours...

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.

-------------------------------

“All right, Andrew,” Buffy said, looking supremely annoyed, “I’m listening.

They were in her office at the former Watcher’s Academy in Rome. Buffy sat in a comfortable chair behind her desk, with Xander sitting at her side. Andrew sat on the opposite side of the desk. He had just returned from his trip to the States.

“He’s, um, sort of like a cross between Ensign Ro with the Maquis and Londo in ‘The Fall of Centauri Prime.’”

Buffy’s eye twitched slightly. “And for those of us who don’t speak geek?”

Andrew looked confused.

Xander put a hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “I got it, Buff. He says that it looks to him like Angel is trying to infiltrate his way to the belly of the beast for a noble cause, but that he’s stuck his head in the lion’s mouth and its jaws are beginning to close around his neck.”

Buffy nodded. “OK. Right then. Did you have any trouble finding Dana?”

Andrew shook his head. “Nah. Spike helped.”

Both Xander and Buffy raised an eyebrow simultaneously.

“Say what?”

Andrew’s eyes lit up, and he got a really wistful expression on his face. “He was like Gandalf the White, resurrected from the pit of the Balrog, more beautiful than ever.”

Buffy and Xander exchanged glances.

“Xander, translation?”

Xander thought about that for a moment before shrugging helplessly. “He said, ‘Spike’s back.’”

“Oh.”

Xander nodded. “Yeah.”

--------------------------------

Clad in a white dress, Buffy raced across the field of sunlit flowers, her long blonde hair streaming behind her. “Oh, Spike!” she cried, flinging herself into the muscular arms of her bare-chested, tight-black-jean wearing lover.

He gathered her into a passionate kiss, and she swooned in his arms. “I’ll never let you go,” he whispered into her hair.

“How can this be?” she asked, her eyes wide, doe-like, and sparkling with unshed tears, “I saw you die!”

Spike lowered her gently onto a bed of flowers, smiling tenderly. “Death can’t stop true love, love.”

“Oh Spike! I never could resist you. Darn your sinister attraction.”

“Um... Andrew?”

---------------------------------

“Andrew?” Buffy asked a second time, growing (more) annoyed.

Andrew continued to stare wistfully off into space. “How can this be?” he mouthed silently, his eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I saw you die!”

Buffy snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hey! Andrew!”

He came out of his daydream with a slight jump. “What?”

“What’s the what? You’ve got a distinct lack of Cassieness.”

Andrew frowned. “Oh. Um... she didn’t want to come.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Xander blinked. This... actually didn’t happen that often. Thus far, only two girls had actually expressed any reluctance to come and receive training from the new Watcher’s Council... and none had ever actually outright refused. “Did you happen to catch her reasons?”

Andrew nodded. “She said that the dreams had already done the Comes the Inquisitor thing.”

Buffy glanced at Xander, and Andrew looked annoyed.

“He said that the dreams had tested her, and determined that she was the right person in the right place at the right time.”

Buffy looked thoughtful for a moment. “All right, then. If the PTB have something special in mind for her, we’ll have to let it be for now.”

“Maybe give her some backup once we can spare the manpower?” Xander asked, grinning good-naturedly

Buffy laughed and nodded.

Andrew didn’t get the joke.

------------------------------

Later, when she was alone in her room, Buffy sank slowly into bed, reeling from the news that Andrew had delivered.

Spike.

“Spike...”

Echoes of the past filled the room as she lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

“I mean it! I gotta do this.”

Buffy took Spike’s hand in her own, entwining her fingers with his. Their hands burst into flame, and yet Buffy ignored the fire as she held his gaze. “I love you.”

He smiled, a mixture of love and irony in his expression. “No you don’t. But thanks for saying it.”

The ground heaved beneath them, and chunks of stone slammed down all around them. Flames burned ever brighter.

“Now go!” he said.

She turned away.

He grinned sardonically, and murmured, half to himself, “I want to see how it ends.”

Fire.

Destruction.

Buffy shook her head. She didn’t know how to feel about Spike being back. For that matter, she didn’t really know how she felt about Spike, either. “Do you love him?” Angel had asked her. “He’s in my heart,” she had replied.

He still was.

And yet...

Did she love him?

She wasn’t sure. She knew that she felt close to him, but that wasn’t the same question. Not the same question at all.

Did she love Angel?

Always.

Could she be with him?

No.

Buffy rolled over and grimaced. Why did her love life have to be so complicated?

------------------------

Two days later...

Kennedy was smiling as she stepped off of the plane, with a fresh batch of Slayers in tow. The work that she and Willow (and then later she by herself) had done in Brazil had been a complete success. Not only had they found no small number of Slayers, they had also successfully set up their operation of Slayer gathering in the area such that their own direct presence was no longer required.

So here she was, fresh off the airplane at the Roman airport, peering eagerly about for any sign of Willow’s presence. She had been looking forward to seeing Willow for several weeks now, and her excitement at the prospect of finally being with her lover was almost palpable.

The redheaded Wicca was nowhere to be seen.

Kennedy’s smile faded.

----------------------

Half a world and several dimensions away, Methos sat with his son at the counter in the bright kitchen, every fiber of his being radiating domestic bliss. His wife made her rounds, tidying up the kitchen after their breakfast meal. A textbook lay open before the happy father and son.

“Hey, hon?” his wife began, “Oven light just went out. I need a bulb from the cellar.”

He looked at his wife, and a flicker of recognition intruded upon the torment of the hell dimension.

Alexa?

Methos looked away. “There should be some in the hall closet.”

“Just regular ones,” his wife replied, “Little ones are downstairs.”

Fear flashed in Methos’ eyes, and he looked at his son. “Zach’s about to tell me about the lithosphere,” he said, hoping to placate his wife.

His wife walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I kinda need it now,” she insisted.

He pushed his son out of his lap, and he turned towards his wife (Alexa, a distant part of his mind insisted), just looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I was just thinking,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. “Thinking about what?”

He smiled. “About how beautiful you are.”

She laughed. “You’re not getting out of getting me another bulb, Adam.”

The air thickened around the name like molasses. His name. The name of...

*FLASH*

"Excuse me, if I sat at a table would you be my waitress?"

She looked at Joe. "Is he a good tipper?"

"No," said Joe.

She smiled faintly. "Too bad. Makes up for it in cute, though."

Methos looked thoughtful. “Cute. I can do cute.”

*FLASH*

“Hey, hon?” Alexa began, “Oven light just went out. I need a bulb from the cellar.”

Confusion lit Methos’ eyes. He looked at his son, and for a moment, he was silent. “Zach’s about to tell me about the lithosphere,” he said at length, sounding uncertain.

Alexa walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I kinda need it now,” she insisted.

Methos nodded. “... Right.”

----------------------------------

She had found them in an abandoned warehouse, crouched around the freshly killed body of a four-year-old girl. She had been on patrol when she sensed their presence. She made a beeline for their position, the Slayer within guiding her ever onward to face them.

The first of them was almost too easy, turned to dust by her unexpected attack from behind. The second went down almost as fast, barely even having time to react before the stake went into his heart, and he too was reduced to a fine layer of dust.

The last vampire wasn’t so easy.

She fought as she always had. Fist for fist, blood for blood. This was her life. This was her nature: red in tooth and claw. They danced the dance of death together, vampire and Slayer, she full of grace and rage in equal measure, he little better than an animal, albeit a cunning one. Blocking, ducking, weaving, punching, kicking, jumping.

The vampire, with short black hair, baring pale fangs that gleamed in the moonlight, set within a mouth that had long ago been stained by the blood of his victims, leaped over her kick and landed behind her.

That final gasp. That look of peace. What's it like?
Where does it lead you?

The slightest of hesitation.

The Slayer didn’t turn quickly enough – she took a brutal hit to the back that sent her reeling. Her eyes widened. One misstep was all it took in a battle like this.

The vampire caught her by her long, dark hair and yanked her savagely into his arms. Almost effortlessly he twisted her right arm around behind her until it broke with a sickening snap. She screamed, though more out of rage than pain.

“I’ve always wanted to taste the blood of a Slayer,” he hissed.

And then he drank.

Faith gasped, her eyes going wide. Coldness began to spread through her body as the vampire drained her of blood. Comforting, cold, numbness... everywhere, covering everything... the final breath? The look of peace?

The vampire wiped his mouth, laughed, and walked away.

Faith’s cold body hit the floor. Where does it lead?

There was no release.

A moment later, she sat up, felt at the bite with her left hand, and frowned. He had torn open her jugular. The wound was still open, but the flow of blood had stopped.

Faith KNEW that she should be dead.

“What the hell?” she asked the empty warehouse, feeling a vague sense of disappointment.

The warehouse said nothing.

---------------------------

“Hey Will.”

Willow looked up in surprise as she stepped into her room. Kennedy sat on the bed, waiting for her.

“Kennedy!” she exclaimed. “When did you get in?”

Kennedy smiled. “A few hours ago. I called, remember?”

Willow’s face fell. “Oh. Oh, yeah.” Remorse flashed in her eyes, and she ducked her head. “I’m sorry, Kennedy. We’ve been way busy what with the apocalypse avoidance.”

“I brought in a new batch of Slayers.”

Willow’s expression brightened. “And hey, if you’re here, it means that the thing in Brazil doesn’t need either of us to baby sit it anymore. Yay us!”

Kennedy took Willow’s hand and led her to the bed, leaning in close as she whispered, “Yay us.”

Their lips met, and Willow hesitated before kissing her lover back.

At that moment, the door burst open, and Dawn came rushing in. “Willow, you have to come see...” She trailed off. “Oh.”

Willow turned towards Dawn. “Hey Dawnie,” she said, smiling wryly. “Thanks for knocking.”

“Kennedy! When did you get here?”

Kennedy smiled. “A few hours ago. You holding the fort?”

Dawn nodded enthusiastically. “Consider the fort held. Can you spare Willow for a bit?”

Kennedy gave Willow a calculating look. “Maybe. Is it for a good cause?”

“Apocalypse avoidance?”

Kennedy laughed. “If the fate of the world hangs in the balance, I suppose I can give her up.”

An awkward silence fell for just a moment before the resident redheaded Wiccan filled the void with speech.

“What’s up, Dawnie?” Willow asked.

“We’ve got permission from the Vatican to look into their archives, and since you’re usually making with the research, I thought you could help me look through them.”

Willow and Dawn went out, leaving Kennedy where she sat on the edge of Willow’s bed. Neither of them noticed the Slayer’s look of disappointment, nor the pain that it concealed.

All was not well in the world of Willow.

--------------------------

When Faith staggered into Slayer Central, she was greeted by Rona, who stood guard at the entrance with one of the newbies.

“Damn, Faith,” she said, giving the dark Slayer a sympathetic look. “The only time I’ve ever seen anything near as bad as that was looking in the mirror just after Sunnydale collapsed.”

The other Slayer on guard smiled at that comment. “So which was it, Faith?” the new girl asked, “A pack of demons, or the 1989 Denver Broncos?”

Faith didn’t answer, and she didn’t have the energy to spare for a grin. She managed to take two more steps, and then she collapsed, utterly spent.

Rona and the newly found Slayer exchanged concerned glances, and when Faith didn’t rise, Rona left instructions for the newbie to stay and watch over Faith while she went for help before running off to find Giles.

He’d know what to do.

---------------------------

Lightning crackled in the darkness. A flicker of warmth, there and gone. With a roar of triumphant fury, the beast tore Methos’ heart from his chest.

His world dissolved in pain.

*FLASH*

"Your accent. You're not from around here."

Methos shook his head. “No, I've traveled a lot."

Alexa’s face lit up. "Really? Paris."

Methos shook his head. "No, Paris is too full of Parisians. Even the French don't like Paris."

"Venice?"

"Venice, the smell alone will kill you."

Alexa grew quiet. "You're a little young to be so cynical, aren't you?"

"If you say so."

"I just did."

*FLASH*

“Hey, hon?” Alexa began, “Oven light just went out. I need a bulb from the cellar.”

Methos gently pushed Zach out of his lap, rose to his feet, and then swept his wife into a romantic waltz. “Why then,” he said, kissing her gently, “We’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”

------------------------------

“He was here when he vanished?” Joe asked, leaning heavily on his cane.

Duncan nodded, gesturing to very obvious signs of struggle. “Doesn’t look like he wanted to leave.”

Joe sat down at a chair in front of the coffee table and opened up his laptop and plugged in the modem.

“Joe?”

“Hang on a minute, Mac.”

The old watcher’s hands flew across the keyboard for about thirty seconds before he nodded in a satisfied fashion.

“OK, I think I’ve got an audio of the time in between when you left and when you returned.”

Duncan blinked. “You’re recording me?”

“You’re not the only one I Watch, Mac.”

Duncan’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re Watching Methos!”

Joe grinned and nodded. “Hey, somebody needs to do it. It’s bugs, mostly. A GPS in the button of his favorite pair of pants to track his movements. I keep it out of the official Watcher archives. And of course, the ‘official’ Methos chronicles are still his jurisdiction.” His grin faded. “Not that there’s much of an official Watcher archives left after the explosion at the headquarters. Most of what was saved was what we had put onto the computers.”

Duncan shook his head, marveling at the sheer sneakiness of his friend. “Does he know about it?”

Joe shrugged. “If he does, he’s never said anything about it.”

Duncan found himself trying not to laugh.

“Anyways,” said Joe, “Let’s hear what we can hear.”

The recording began to play.

---------------------------

They had been working for several hours now, perusing the Vatican archives in search of the authoritative book on the Eater of Souls. As it turned out, Methos was partially right. There really was quite a bit of confiscated medieval pornographic material. Thankfully (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it), it only represented a very small portion of the archives. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it), the rest of the archives were quite extensive.

Which meant that their research was going nowhere fast.

“Demons, demons, demons,” Dawn read from the cover of one of the book. She flipped a few pages. “Slime demons. Ichor demons. Vaguely-angry punkish metal band demons?” She frowned. “Why can’t there be fluffy, cute, bunny demons?”

Willow didn’t look up from her own book.

“It’s always nasty, stinky, and icky. Never cute and cuddly.”

Willow said nothing.

Dawn frowned. “What’s with the overly talkative today, Willow?”

“What?”

“I’m noticing a distinct lack of Willowness. Your body’s here. Where’s the rest of you?”

Willow shook her head and sighed. “Sorry, Dawnie. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She thought for a moment, and then looked back at the younger Summers girl, looking faintly annoyed. “And stop channeling Buffy.”

Dawn grinned. “Well, just between us, I think you should talk to her.”

Willow raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Kennedy, Willow.”

Willow frowned. “Hey! You’re not supposed to give relationship advice. You’re supposed to be making with the, cute, extra-whiney little sister in danger routine.”

Dawn shrugged. “Everyone grows up eventually.”

Willow nodded.

Silence fell.

“... So, you find anything yet?”

“Nope. You?”

“Nope.”

“This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

---------------------------

Duncan and Joe sat in silence as the implications of what they had heard sank in.

Death.

“It all comes back to that with him, doesn’t it?”

Joe shrugged. “On the plus side, we can assume that he’s still alive. Sounds like they, whoever they are, want him for something to do with his old job.”

Duncan gave Joe a weary look. “I’m not worried about him dying. Methos has always been a survivor.”

“You’re worried about him giving in, and agreeing to whatever they want him to do.” It wasn’t a question.

Duncan nodded.

“And I suppose it’s up to us to find him before that happens.”

Duncan nodded.

Joe typed in a few commands on the keyboard. “Alright, Mac. Let’s just hope the tracker wasn’t damaged.”

A few seconds later, Joe frowned.

“What?”

“That’s odd. I should be able to find him anywhere on Earth with this. Unless it’s broken.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Can you look over the logs? See where he was just before it lost the signal?”

Joe typed in a few more commands, and a moment later, a red dot appeared superimposed on the map of the Earth that graced his monitor.

Directly over Los Angeles.

Duncan and Joe exchanged glances.

“I hear L.A. is nice this time of year,” Joe said.

---------------------------------------------

“Oh dear.”

Faith lay in bed, her arm in a cast, and a bandage on her neck. She was very pale, and her breathing was shallow, but she was alive.

Giles stared at Faith, looking quite thoroughly shocked.

“What’s the verdict, Giles?”

“Not dead,” Giles replied, albeit distantly. He took off his glasses and cleaned them.

“Yeah, I got that. But what I’m itchin’ to know is WHY I’m not dead.”

He replaced his glasses. “Have any of the other girls experienced anything like this?”

Faith nodded. “Yeah. One.”

Silence fell for a moment as the implications of that sank in.

“Oh, again, dear.”

“I thought Immortals were supposed to heal quickly.” Faith looked down at herself. “I’m healing at regular Slayer speed.”

“Which could not in any way be interpreted as ‘quickly?’”

Faith laughed, and then winced. “Ow. Hurts to laugh.”

Giles shook his head. “I wish I had answers for you, Faith, but this is completely unprecedented. How do you feel?”

“Aside from a broken arm and a full body painful tingly ‘hand fell asleep’ sort of feeling?”

“Yes, aside from that.”

“Five by five.”

------------------------------

“... Willow...” Dawn began, her voice weak, and her eyes wide in horror. “I think you need to look at this...”

They had been researching for several hours now, and only now had they finally found anything relevant to what they were looking for. And from the sound of it, it wasn’t good.

Willow set her book down and walked over to Dawn. “What is it?” she asked.

Dawn pointed wordlessly to the open book in front of her.

“And in the final days, the Children of Osiris shall do battle one with another, each death bringing their father one step closer to resurrection. In the end, there can be only one. In the end, there will be only Osiris. His children’s souls are the fuel for the flames of his rebirth. And the world shall burn at his touch.

A great darkness shall arise in the Holy City, and it shall be laid to waste. In the final days, on the Walpurgis nacht, the Eater of Souls shall rise. The one girl in all the world stands to face him, and in her victory shall she be undone. Osiris, the Old One, shall rise, and the world shall burn. God have mercy on us all.”

“Hey guys,” Buffy said as she walked in through the door, passing a very surly monk on her way in. “How’s it going?” When neither Dawn nor Willow responded, she moved to look at the book that they were staring at. “What’cha lookin’ at?”

Dawn pointed at the text.

No one said a word as Buffy read the fateful words.

Willow felt that sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Buffy turned towards her, and her eyes were full of horror.

“You linked me... to THAT?” Buffy asked in a near whisper.

Willow stood there before the twin horrified gazes of the Summers sisters for a long moment... and then turned and fled, leaving the Slayer and the Key to sit in silence.

-------------------------------

Kennedy found her in their room, her makeup streaked with tear-lines. Willow looked up as her lover came in, but said nothing.

Kennedy sat down at her side and put an arm around her shoulder. Willow put her head on Kennedy’s shoulder.

“I heard.”

Willow nodded. “... I thought you might have.”

They sat there in silence for a while.

At length, Kennedy spoke. “Willow, talk to me, please?”

Willow tried to meet Kennedy’s gaze, but she couldn’t hold it. “There’s nothing I can say.”

“Please, baby.”

The Wiccan struggled to suppress a sob. “It just... never stops. What I did... I can’t ever pay enough. There’s always some new revelation – some new horror, and I’m to blame!”

Kennedy remained silent, simply holding Willow, letting her speak.

“If I’d just been smarter... I should have seen it coming.” She fought back tears. “If I’d been faster... if I’d been the one standing in front of the window...” Willow broke down and began to weep. “Oh goddess...”

Kennedy let her cry for a few minutes, just holding her. When her girlfriend’s tears finally subsided, the Slayer spoke. “This thing with Buffy, and Dawn, the Eater of Souls, and the Immortals? I won’t pretend to understand it, but we’ll deal. We always do, don’t we?”

Willow nodded faintly.

There was a brief silence, and then Kennedy spoke again. “I’m not Tara, you know,” she said gently. “I can never be Tara, and I’m not trying to replace her.”

Willow met Kennedy’s gaze, and this time, she held it. Both sets of eyes filled with pain, each the mirror of the other. “I know.”

Kennedy smiled sadly. “I know that you’ll love Tara for the rest of your life. But Tara’s gone, Will. I wish I could have known her – she sounds like she was wonderful. I’m sorry, and I know it hurts, but she’s gone.”

Willow began to weep once more, and the weight of her visible grief turned Kennedy’s heart in knots.

“I’m sorry, and I know it hurts, but she’s gone. I love you, Willow. But I can’t compete with the dead. Baby, you have to let her go.”

Willow looked at Kennedy, thoroughly miserable. “I can’t...” she said, and the sheer longing that filled the redhead’s voice nearly broke the Slayer’s heart.

A long silence fell once more, until it was once again broken by Kennedy’s voice.

“You’re not a monster, Willow.”

Willow hesitated before replying, but emotion still cracked her voice. “What am I, then?”

Kennedy wrapped both of her arms around Willow’s shoulders. “You’re the woman I love.”

Willow smiled a sad smile.

--------------------------

Buffy sat on her bed, totally numb. The implications of what she had read were well and truly sunk in. Tears leaked from her eyes as the full weight of her situation hit her with the force of a hammer.

The best she could hope for was to live forever on this earth.

Anya’s words from so long ago (it seemed), echoed in the silent room.

“So Buffy, do you want to be the Slayer forever? You know how you were in Heaven before Willow and the rest of us ripped you out? How do you feel about never seeing Heaven again, and spending the rest of eternity stuck here on earth with nothing but endless battle to look forward to? Well, that and the pain of seeing everyone you’ve ever loved grow old and die. I guess you could make new friends after your current friends die, but then they’d grow old and die too. Well, unless someone takes your head, that is. In which case they take your soul and your quickening into them, absorbing all that you are and were, forever.”

She would never see Heaven again.

If there are joys in Hell, surely they are of the kind that, if we understood them, would send us flying to our prayers in a fit of terror. If there are pains in Heaven, surely they are of the kind that, if we understood them, we would desire them.

Buffy was in Hell.

----------------------------

Methos smiled at he led Alexa upstairs to their room.

“What about Zach?” she asked, stifling a giggle.

“Long since asleep,” he replied and then traced the line of her neck with his kisses.

“You should be asleep, too. You’ve got a long day, tomorrow.”

Methos shook his head. “Nonsense. We’ve got all the time in the world. Just you, and I.”

The power of the Quickening flashed in the darkness like lightning.

As he led her to their bed, the demon in his lover’s form shook her head wonderingly. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. What was this feeling that she felt? Was this love?

“Is this Heaven?” she asked.

Neither one of them noticed the amulet that lay discarded at their bedside.

END CHAPTER 14

-----------------------------

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