"Uli, Vanessa, you'll go around back, cut off the basement door. There's
only one door, and five from San Francisco should already be there. Anyone that
comes out kill or turn as you please. Remember that some of them might be
Immortals, so if you snap their necks, they'll stay down longer."
Olivia wasn't concentrating on driving the enormous van she had stolen off of a
recent victim. The curbs, and passengers, suffered as a result. Her green eyes
shifted into gold.
"Ryan, Kate, Marc, you three will rush the back of the crowd as they leave
the church. Remember to wait until the happy couple, at least, are out, but
don't wait so long that people start to straggle. I have word that the wedding
party isn't very large, and that it's on Holy Ground, so the Immortals have been
persuaded to give up their swords for the ceremony, but don't assume
anything."
"Maire?" The wide-eyed, brown-haired, bespectacled, mousy girl in the
seat beside her looked up from the laptop computer she had been busily clacking
and clicking over. "Are the others ready?"
"In assigned positions and ready, Master. No pre-assignment gatherings to
rouse suspicion. Three lost to the Slayer, but no information leaked. The
twenty-seven from the Seattle contingent will arrive as scheduled just as we
do."
"Las Vegas?"
"Only three, but yes, they're already there. Xavier refused to allow any of
his to become entangled, just as you predicted." Maire pushed the glasses
back up on her nose. Only three weeks turned, she still clung to some of her
human mannerisms. "Dylan was able to make it."
"Good," Olivia snarled happily, pushing the gas pedal to the floor.
-----
"...and do you, Angelus Nicholas Snowe, take this woman, Buffy Anne
Summers, to be your honored and cherished wife, to live with and love for the
rest of your life?"
Her smile was like a ray of sunshine. "I do."
"Then turn to her and make this profession of your faith..."
After they had been through so much together... "I, Angel, take you Buffy,
to be my wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer, for
poorer, in sickness and in health. To love and to cherish," There was a
tear in her eye. "Until death does us part..."
-----
Dylan felt a tap on his back, and turned, expecting one of his companions.
Instead, his head was thrown back as a fist like iron connected with his nose.
His body made contact with the sidewalk that ran around the church, blood from
the broken bones in his face staining the pale concrete. Just before the stake
plunged into his heart, he caught sight of a young woman with dark hair and gold
eyes bending over him.
"Loser." Teresa waited until the ashes blew away in the strong breeze
that was coming off the ocean, then went silently for her next target.
-----
Half of the church was in tears, and the other half looked near it or incredibly
proud, or happy. Daphne was bouncing up and down, but whether she was excited or
had to go to the bathroom, Cordelia wasn't sure. Between the organ music and the
various sounds made by people as they started to stir, she couldn't be certain,
but she could almost swear that she heard someone fighting outside, beneath the
window.
***Everyone get out of the church! Get out now! The back!***
Nearly everyone in the ceremony broke with the orderly, traditional path they
had been following, the bride and groom themselves pausing in confusion in the
middle of the aisle. People stopped what they were doing, unsure how to proceed
with this new intrusion. Willow and Methos looked toward each other, each
wondering if the other had heard the same thing and not reassured by the
knowledge that they both had.
***I can't fight them all off at once! Get out!***
They were almost frozen in place-- some in shock, some startled, some simply too
confused to move. Amanda reached for her sword out of reflex, only then
remembering that she'd left it with the others'. They couldn't fight here
anyway. It was Holy Ground... So what the Hell was going on?
***Too late!***
Cordelia screamed as the glass behind her shattered inward, raining her and the
rest of the bridesmaids in a shower of glittering splinters. She felt something
knock into her before her head hit the floor, and remembered nothing after that.
Vampires immediately poured in through the broken window, snarling, angry, some
coated with dirt and blood. At least one had marks around its chest, showing
where a stake had narrowly missed. Most of those who realized they would be of
no help in a fight against a bunch of bloodthirsty demons made a dash, some
stopped in their tracks as the front doors burst open and more mobbed in.
-----
Two vampires gripped her right arm, and another three were holding on to various
points of her left side. Teresa kicked out with her only free limb, the right
leg, managing to catch one of the four in front of her off guard. She hissed as
the large male that was attached to her left shoulder leaned in for a bite, and
suddenly pulled away from all of them, quickly twisting his neck so that his
face was turned exactly the wrong way. He dropped like a rock, but as she
watched another one of them right his spine, she knew he would only be out of
the game for a few minutes. Her stake had been dropped minutes ago.
*Oh, come -on-!* Teresa whipped herself nearly out of reach, ramming heads
together as she went forward. She crouched as one of them regained his footing,
and tripped him with an outstretched leg. A nearby sign provided the wood
necessary to reduce him to dust. Just as he died, another jumped on her back,
forcing her down momentarily. She met her end as quickly as Teresa could roll
over, but they just kept coming.
-----
"This isn't happening," Buffy said once, still trying to deny what was
going on right in front of her. Angel's hand on her shoulder shocked her back to
life. "Can you fight in that dress?"
One of the more IQ resistant rushed toward them, held back by Angel's sudden
lunge.
"Damn them all!" She reached for the vampire Angel was restraining
with one hand and with the other grabbed and splintered the top edge of one of
the wooden pews. It left a ragged edge perfect for impaling. She didn't bother
with wiping the dust off before follwoing her new husband into the meelee.
-----
"Uungghh..." Teresa slammed her fist down on one side of her knee,
popping the twisted bone back into place. One of the few left outside saw her
"helpless" state. Ran for her. Stake. Dust. The cold, numbing,
tingling sensation around her leg told her that it was healed. With the arrival
of yet another van, she'd been overwhelmed by sheer numbers. She blinked her
yellow eyes and knew that they had gotten into the church... A pile of rubble
against the wall... the window now a gaping hole... screams... Why hadn't they
listened to her? With a surge of adrenilin produced by anger, Teresa leapt
across the dark ground, directly through the ragged hole.
-----
If panic and confusion has reigned a moment before, an ordered chaos had
upsurped its place. Close to fifty vampires swarmed in the church. Half a dozen
left to fight...
"Hello, Buffy."
The Slayer whipped around at the sound of her name. "Olivia."
Several vampires, two males, one female, broke off from the main pack to take
sides with their master against the Slayer.
"Glad you remember me, Buff."
The circle inched forward, closing in.
"You know, I can't imagine why you didn't kill me the last time, but I
assure you, you will regret it."
Buffy shifted the position of the stake in her hand. Out of the corner of her
eye, she saw Duncan taken down by the combined forces of nine vampires, two
attached to his neck and sucking. In the back of her mind, she remembered that
vampires were always stronger after feeding on Immortal blood.
Methos' sword sliced cleanly through the chest of one, then came around for a
second slice that cleaved its head from its body. It instantly dissolved to
dust, but four had jumped him from behind in the meantime. If they got his
weapon... She couldn't see Giles or Amanda, and with Duncan temporarily out of
the picture, his nine started toward her.
"It's not going to end like this. Not now. Not tonight," Buffy said,
her eyes going back to the vampires slowly circling in front of her. Her voice
lacked the conviction that she needed to hear. Olivia, standing slightly in
front of the circle, threw her head back in an empty laugh, and Buffy's heart
sank. She could sense another group approaching, and knew that someone had been
killed or disabled. She couldn't fight them all at once, there were just too
many, and closing in.
Olivia allowed her forces to gather in, letting them take their time. She wasn't
about to spring forward; even for the glory of a Slayer kill, she wasn't stupid.
Having done a little research herself, and seeing the complete lack of cuts or
scratches on the girl, the rest fell into place. An Immortal Slayer. Both
intriguing and dangerous, and it would fit with sketchy reports of a second
active Slayer operating in Europe.
"You plan to stop us? Do something then!" The Slayer stood perfectly
still, and Olivia watched as the group that had been ringing the other female
Immortal stood back, then headed for them. She chuckled. Despite the unforseen
appearance of another ensouled vampire just outside the church, and she had no
idea how they had accomplished that, things were falling neatly into place.
"You're finished, Slayer, but I'll have your blood before I have your
head."
-----
Teresa worked silently through those she came across, picking them off one at a
time. The stragglers she caught first, using stakes ripped from whatever wooden
surface was nearest. They went without having time to alert those around them.
Draining, then snapping the necks of a few gave her the initiative to continue,
and kept her on the edge of frenzy. Giving into that animal would get more than
the other vampires killed, however, and she contained it.
Under a blanket of glass shards, her dress ripped and back bleeding, Teresa
found Cordelia alive, but unconscious, barely inside the church. She must have
been trampled in the first wave, then ignored. She moved on, feeling as Duncan
was taken down, but right in front of her was Giles, very mortal, and hampered
by the attentions of four vampires. One stake. Two. The third was dispatched in
the second second, its fangs tearing into the Watcher's throat. The fourth had
enough warning to widen its eyes, but crumbled to dust the moment after.
***Stay quiet and listen to me,*** she calmly thought to him. Ignoring her, her
reached for his neck. She grabbed his hand mid-way. It was better that he not
feel the blood oozing from the ugly wound. ***Get Cordelia and get out of here.
Go to the hospital. Don't stop until you get there.*** She visualized where the
bridesmaid was, and Giles finally looked up at her with some recognition.
"Teresa?"
"It's me. Can you do that? Can you help Cordelia?"
"Buffy?"
His first concern, always his Slayer.
***Alive, but not for much longer if I don't move. Help Cordelia.***
Teresa sensed the approach of two vampires from behind. She twisted, impaling
the first one with its own momentum. The second had enough warning to slow,
skidding on the waxed floor, but Teresa leapt silently, pressing her hand over
the demon's mouth and twisting its arms behind it. Her own fangs found the
carotid artery, taking freely from the cold fluid that came into her mouth.
Three sucks. Stake. Dust. She turned, and Giles was already gone. Her eyes
sought him out, disappearing through the back door, Cordelia limp in his arms.
Two less to worry about. Had Joe stayed? No, he'd gone with Willow...
Against all odds, she felt Angel and Methos still fighting. Methos was working
with a dozen snarling, grimacing vamps piled on top of him. She couldn't even
see him through the undead mass. He must have staked one, because the entire
heap collapsed in on some inner cavity.
There were ten or eleven roaming about the church, reluctant to get in a tangle
with the Slayer despite the number already surrounding her. Teresa crawled
beneath a pew and slid forward on her back across the waxed floor. She grabbed
the nearest one by his leg, and he fell between the cracks in an instant; the
next, he joined the rest of his deceased fellows. When his female companion
rushed over, seeing him fall, she met his fate.
They weren't falling fast enough. Even the number that she had killed was barely
making a dent in the pack, and the slow going was frustrating. Another opening.
Another second, and the third in a row went down without a fight, taken like an
unsuspecting buffalo by a lurking piranha. The thought came to her that if she
could only find Angel, and get Methos, Buffy would have a chance. She could take
the ones on Methos by herself, but only if the others didn't all rush her way.
But where was Angel? She couldn't see him... she had to see him to send to
him... a moment of confusion, then an attempt.
***Angel?***
His answer was a question in his own thoughts, but despite the ruckus around
her, Teresa could hear it plainly and all but see his head going from side to
side. Apparently he was doing exactly as she was, hiding beneath the pews and
moving to pic off the stragglers, working towards Buffy. They must have been
pulled apart... <<Who's there?>>
***It's Teresa. Where are you, and can you make it to Methos?***
<<I'm not going to leave Buffy!>>
***She's surrounded. There's about twenty-five circling her, waiting until she
makes the first move, from what I can hear. Listen to me. We need to get Methos
and...*** She felt the first stirrings of Duncan reawakening. ***Duncan if we're
to have any chance of all of us getting out of this alive.***
Teresa felt the seconds grind like hours as he argued the matter back and forth
in his mind, eventually hearing the answer she expected. Before he could rethink
it, she dashed across the floor, diving right for Methos. With her face as it
was, none of those struggling around her questioned what she would be doing
there. Once she saw Angel, however, Teresa whipped the stake she had concealed
out of her sleeve. One. Two dusted. Three. On the other side, Angel got one
before cries from the rest alerted the others. Teresa screamed as someone she
had not felt arrive kicked her viciously in the back. Hot pain lanced across the
suddenly fractured ribs. In the second that she was vulnerable, she was tackled.
Thoughts and sounds and pain blurred, burned, attacked, forcing higher thought
down, out of her mind. A stake was brought down in her chest, but missed the
heart, and was deflected by the hard plate of the breastbone. The rent flesh
oozed blood. With another scream, Teresa blindly bit upwards, and was rewarded
by a mouthful of flesh. She tore sideways, and cold liquid splattered all over
her. There was no scream. She spit out chunks of skin and fat from the neck of a
demon who was now out of the picture.
Someone kicked her in the side of the head, and some broken metal piece ripped
open the skin. She shrieked, this time, pulling free from however many were
holding her down, uncaring how many or how strong they were. They were trying to
get her by sheer numbers, exactly as they had outside, but she had learned from
that, and took them as she could get them, using teeth, fingers, elbows, fists,
knees, and feet as weapons. She had the satisfaction of landing a solid blow to
the crotch of one male, who immediately went down like a ton of bricks.
Something tried to grab her leg, only to run, whelping in pain, when she pulled
a fistful of hair and bloody scalp from its head.
Somehow she managed to clear the seething tangle of human shapes to find the
fount... she must have been dragged through half the church... unmindful of the
welts she raised on her own flesh, Teresa grabbed the bowl full of holy water
and launched it at those nearest her. Screams. The smell of burning flesh.
Several blinded, then dead as Teresa found the remnants of a pew and smashed
them chest-first into it. Another. She grabbed a convenient sized piece and
dived toward another. Her back was turned, trying to run. Dust. Another. Dust.
The third swerved, lived another few seconds, but was ended in the second lunge.
Dust. Another. Dust. A red haze had come over her vision, enraging her further.
There was no counting, no thinking, no hesitation -- grab, stake, dust. Another.
She hated them, and didn't know why, only that they deserved no mercy.
What was happening? "Vanessa!" Olivia screamed, momentarily stunned as
her perfect attack splintered into groups of threes and fours, some running. The
front doors were thrown open. How? The metallic flash of a sword as it cleaved a
head from its dissolving body. Dust, drifting thick in the air. Someone in a
frenzy, moving almost too fast to be seen; not human. Not even vampire. Not her
kind of vampire, at least. Uncertainty. Crumbling. Escaping. She was grabbed
across the shoulders from behind, the grip of the Slayer strong and true.
Sweetly, "Pay my respects to Jeremy, would you?" The stake hit home.
White. Black.
Buffy jumped back as Olivia turned to dust, slamming into the stunned remnants
of those who had been surrounding her. Even they were breaking up. Seeing the
Slayer loose, most fled. Those that didn't, died. The church doors were wide
open, revealing a cloudless sky. Vampires scrambled across the lawn, dashed off
into the night. She half turned with her stake held at the ready, but not one
pressed its snarling face next to hers. They were gone... Except for one, and
that one was still wearing his torn tuxedo, now grey instead of black with dust.
He was helping Methos, Duncan, and Amanda, who must have just woken up, to hold
a snarling, unrecognizable figure against the church wall. The howls that came
from it were animalistic and unnatural, and sent chills down her spine. It
snapped at Angel, and he slapped it across the face, holding it down at the same
time. Buffy let the stake lower as she stepped in front of them all, her wedding
gown torn and blood-stained.
Teresa was not in control of her body. She was buried beneath blood and grime
and the demon's flaming gold eyes, hotter than any the Slayer had seen since...
since Angelus. For a moment, the fear that she felt overwhelmed her. The look
was too alike. She was his childe, after all. Angel cracked the girl across the
cheeks again, and her head hit the wall hard, and stayed. Instead of bouncing
back, she opened her mouth, moving the bruised jaw. The ridge disappeared from
her brow in an instant. Her eyes shut, and she hovered for a moment, unmoving,
then collapsed, muscles quivering in exhaustion. Only the hands that had held
her back a moment before supported her now, lowering her as gently as they could
manage, their own bodies still healing.
When Teresa opened her eyes, they were still gold, but as they faded into orbs
of shadowy blue, Buffy realized that they were not looking at her. They were
unfocused, staring at some distant point. The cut on the side of the girl's head
was healed, a spot of pale flesh uncovered. The ugly welts on her forearms were
all but gone, leaving skin that appeared mottled where there was no dirt. They
all heard when her fierce intake of breath forced several ribs back into place,
the benefits of Immortal physiology.
Angel stood back from the others, another urgency taking over his thoughts.
Seeing Buffy only a few steps away, he rushed to her, encircling her in his
strong arms. She grabbed his head, bringing him down for a desperate kiss that
lasted until the panic had stopped. They were alive. They were still alive, and
together.
Teresa tried to stand up. The first attempt was weak, but by the second her body
at least was fine. Her mind, however, had not entirely returned. Amanda held her
under the arm when she took a few awkward steps, then stopped. She held up her
head slowly, as if it were too heavy for her neck. Though no tears fell, her
eyes glistened with moisture. Her voice halting, her expression one of near
agony, she looked away from them. "I was too late."
Duncan put his hand against the shrinking Immortal-demon's back. "It's only
a building, Teresa. You've saved our lives."
Painfully, she turned her head again, keeping her eyes to the floor. "Not
all."
Methos felt the slight, timorous brush against his mind, neither a word nor an
image, but a feeling, and grabbed for the nearest support to keep himself
upright at the way it spread through him. "Willow..."
Buffy snapped back to herself, the Slayer coming to the fore at the mention of
her best friend. "What about Willow?" Teresa didn't answer her.
"Dead?" She couldn't believe she could be asking this. Angel grabbed
her hand.
"Worse," the Khimaira admitted quietly.
"But what-?"
"Turned," Methos interrupted the Slayer, standing firmly again. It
seemed like such a short time... It was just the blink of an eye for him... He'd
come here for a wedding... a wedding of Immortals, and he would have to-
"I'm sorry I couldn't save all of you... I'm... sorry-" Teresa broke
from their grasp. She felt the just-healed knee nearly give out, turned, saw
them all staring after her, and ran from them. There were no tears in her eyes,
only a small hollow in her heart. Stupid mortals... so... fragile... The wind
pushed her hair back and struck the blood-tears off of her cheeks.
-----
There was not a cloud in the sky. Bright, golden sunshine, cool with a hint of
the previous night's rain, bathed her body. She took in the sweet-tasting air,
delighting in the newness of it; she was drinking in spring. Even the grass was
smooth against her skin, the tiny velvety buds of flowers poised to release
their perfume.
The transition lasted only a moment, so that she barely noticed the darkening of
the sky, the lengthening shadows on the ground. Dusky blue covered everything,
blanketing, erasing minor faults and obscuring larger ones. There were buildings
around her- low rows of houses, and in the twilight just before the
disappearance of the sun, they were perfection. Teresa felt them around her,
comforting, present... home.
She was walking along a road which seemed to go on indefinitely in either
direction, its ends a haze that she did not need to see. Someone, a man, was
walking along the opposite side, far, far in the distance- an immense journey to
get to him. He was talking to another someone, but the figure was indistinct as
a ghost or spirit. The spirit noticed her, and she felt the first jolt of shock
go through her. It was real, and it knew her. No one was supposed to know her...
Then pain, then fear. Her eyes were sizzling.
"The light! It burns! It burns my skin!"
She screamed in terror. A bright flash of light that lasted for several seconds
and bathed everything in terrible white and red, like a nuclear explosion,
stripped the skin from her bones, and melted the eyes right out of their
sockets. She screamed, but her mouth was on fire, and the sound mixed with the
ripping, groaning howl from the explosion that obliterated matter.
Nothing had happened. In fact, no time at all has passed. The man and his now
completely fleshed companion - a curly, brown-haired woman, were in the same
place that they were before the flash.
Teresa felt that the buildings on her right side - small buildings, houses
still, but old and falling apart, were now menacing, angry at her. On her left,
the side where those people were walking so far and yet so close, was now an
enormous open field; manicured as a formal park in some prim Victorian town.
Old-fashioned band music, low, unidentifiable, came from that park. Someone, for
a moment, was enjoying himself. There was a moment of laughter, of smiles. Then,
above that, a low, pulse-like growling started deep within, beating with her
blood and in her veins like a sound that wasn't a sound, and terrified her.
She tried to run, to force her legs to take her away, to even move. The wind
blasted suddenly, screaming in her ears and holding her in place as firmly as
steel shackles.
Then the man and woman were there, not more than a few feet away. Neither were
the same. Neither could possible be real. They are both hideous to look at - the
flesh rotting from their faces and hanging in brown and gangrenous black strips.
Yellow puss pooled in their empty eye sockets, and noseless nostrils show a
gleam of green bone under decaying - burned flesh. They both smiled, and showed
perfectly white and strong fangs to her, making a sound something like a hiss.
Her heart thudded erratically in her chest, the terror a living thing gripping
her vitals in its iron vise, telling her to save herself, to dive down into the
save earth beneath her feet and move through the soil as through water. But she
couldn't - she was caught-helpless-unable to move.
The horrible creatures - she could see that despite their flesh, their hair
shone glossy and smooth and clean, and their clothes were fresh and unstained,
continued to move forward. The male licked his cinder-black lips, staring at her
without eyes. The growling picked up volume. It was close to her now - too
close, and she could feel its rancid breath on her shoulders. The man, holding
his arms protectively about the female, turned his head toward the darkness
gathering behind her. He looked at her again, sightlessly, and hissed, but his
soft, almost inaudible outpouring of air came with an impossible to ignore
warning - 'Run, we're coming after you...'
He laughed horribly, bits of flesh falling off of his teeth, and Teresa
recognized the voice: Spike's. And the woman with him was Drusilla.
Soundlessly, instantaneously, another impossibly bright flash exploded around
her. Again, her voice failed. Her screams of searing pain were swallowed in the
absence of sound. Her eyes failed. No black, no white. A nothing. But then she
was running, her feet pounding against the gravely pavement beneath her - she
slipped, fell, felt her knees grind against the sharp rocks until they drew
blood, but the panic gripped her heart. 'Run. Run. Run.'
No more thought. All was thought. Nothing could be real. And the was growling
increasing, blotting out all other sound save the sand and gravel flying under
her feet. And for a moment, everything was black - an utterly dark, soundless,
heatless void. It did not last long enough for her to scream, or to panic, but
disappeared, and all there was was her thoughts...
It was a familiar place, one that she'd been to many times before... She'd
passed that intersection of roads many times before... All sight, and nothing
else... And then she could feel her body again, feel her hands against the hard
road, and her legs - nearly bare, against the sinking-soft and yet sharp and
unyielding gravel shoulder. Sand and rocks bit into her hands, but she could
feel herself slipping. She knew that there was something there, a sewer tunnel,
to the right. No, mustn't slip that way. If she fell, she'd fall into the slime
and muck... And again she could not see. The only sense missing was sight, this
time, and though she could feel her hands moving, she could not see anything,
could not tell whether she was staring into blackness, or a grey mist. More
knowledge, suddenly acquired- to her left was something unknown, and possibly
wild, or possibly sanctuary. In front of her was more road, and houses- homes,
but nobody was in them. And there was so very much road- impossible to take the
right course from there. Behind - there was no behind, only a wall of
nothingness that is silent until she realized what it was. Her head was
splitting, her mind racing and painfully restrained...
Then it began to pulse, and the pulse was the same speed and frequency as the
growl. Cold panic ate into her from the inside, freezing her reason, her will...
'No, no, no... nononononononononono!'
Something lurking in the tunnel was trying to draw her in- into the darkness-
something slimy and wet and running with ooze that gave off no smell. But it was
strong, and its only thoughts were dark. There was no good in it, no life. It
was a creature of darkness, and hunger. Without seeing, Teresa knew that a
bright light had instantly banished the darkness in front and to her sides, but
not to her back. She shrieked, clawing at the ground in front of her- trying to
dig her way in-she was as terrified of the light as she was of the darkness;
there was no thought in the light, no emotion, just light.
Then the light disappeared, and she was paralyzed, frozen solid as a marble
statue as that rancid breath curled hot and wet against her shoulders. There was
something canine about the presence, but not right- not natural- not something
that would be allowed to appear anywhere but in the dream realms. The air stunk,
and she was sick. There was still no sight in her eyes, but she felt it draw
closer, and the utter blackness had turned to blood... spoiled blood and bruises
- dark purple pulsing black stains...
Teresa awoke suddenly in the darkness just before dawn, and for a second could
not tell whether or not she was still dreaming-the sky was the same
color-dark... a bruise against the sky, angry and boiling. The clouds of a
gathering storm churned and roiled above her, the breeze whipping fine tendrils
of her hair back and forth. Pressure and moisture hung in the air, building in
concentration. Her heart was still frantically racing in her chest, and her
forehead was covered with icy beads of blood-sweat. She shivered, disoriented
and dizzy, and remembered...
After running through the night, she had dropped, unable to continue, on the
beach. Some guiding instinct had sent her towards the water, keeping her from
running in endless circles. She had needed to get away, to run as fast as she
could to get away from that place. So stupid, to put herself so near the
Hellmouth for so long... It played on her, used her... The waves licked at the
sand only a hundred yards from where she was, their sound unsteady as the coming
gale drove them forward.
Calming quickly, she put a hand up to her cheek. The flesh was cool, smooth,
solid. Somehow, she must have slept away an entire day and night, under the
wide-open sky, without anyone finding her. A rocky overhand had provided some
shelter from the blistering sun, but there was no other screen. Anyone could
have wandered in. There was only a single track on the sand.
Spike and Drusilla... No, she wouldn't think about that. The dreams were just
that, dreams. Nightmares. So terribly, terribly real... No.
Her mind opened slowly, stretching, waking. There was something missing that had
been here before, always around but never in front. A life that was no more.
There was another still there, but different... and the rest...
She had saved them. All but two were alive because of her. It had not been her
fault, and things could have gone far worse. They hadn't... Cordelia, Giles...
They were alive because of her. But what had she done? What...
"And I asked her for some happy news," Teresa whispered to herself,
sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees. Her clothes were still torn
and stained with blood and dust, now nearly covered with sand. The wind was
picking up. Perhaps, this time, she wouldn't come back. There was no one who
needed her, no one who really wanted her. *I've nearly been around the world and
back again, and for what? A name? Yes, Khimaira, what are you going to do with
yourself this time?* And if she didn't want a new life? A few cold, heavy drops
fell around her, then hit, running down the dry fabric. Teresa backed into the
chilled rock and laid her head down, burying it in her arms, alone, tired again,
and very, very small. She would feel better soon, she knew from long experience.
"But she just smiled and turned away..."