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Buffyfic-digest       Saturday, January 17 1998       Volume 01 : Number 085



In this issue:

       BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 9/12
       BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 10/12
       BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 11/12
       BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 12/12
       BUFFYFIC: "Return to Normalcy" (2/3)
       BUFFYFIC: "Return to Normalcy" (3/3)

See the end of the digest for information on subscribing to the buffyfic
or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues.

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

Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:31:46 -5000
From: "Dianne la Mercenaire" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 9/12

"A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 9/12
   by Dianne T. DeSha (a.k.a. la Mercenaire)
      <[e-mail]>


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the coldness that had overtaken her when she felt her heart's
blood drain away, Edith broke off strong slivers of wood for Beth and
her husband as well. But even after many, many attempts there was no
ash, only more cold, congealed blood and torn flesh. Finally she left
them as they were, no longer caring, and stumbled back to her house.

When Billy met her at the door, Edith threw her arms around his neck
and sobbed openly, pressed tight against him, for nearly an hour.

~~~~~~~~~

In the silence that followed he continued to hold her tight, mumbling
phrases of love in her ear. Suddenly, as though in response to
something he had said, she pulled away.

"Marry me, Billy."

Her manner was wild and her face haunted, nonetheless a smile of
relief lit his face at this sign of hope, of life from her. In his
arms, at least, she would be safe from these demons who haunted her
nights, from wandering the streets in her shift at all hours,
unconscious. "You know I will, love. We'll put it off another week or
so, let you recover your strength...."

"No, Billy. Marry me _now_."

He stared at her, startled as much by the intensity in her gaze as by
the request. "But, Princess! It's the middle of the night. And we've
already planned...."

She laid the fingers of one hand lightly over his mouth and looked
soul-deep into his eyes. "Am I still your Princess?"

"Always, love. Always." He met her gaze, catching some of her
urgency, without understanding it.

She smiled the smile that always made his heart feel like it was going
to swell out of his chest. "Then marry me _now_, Billy."

He ducked his head slightly to look into her eyes. "Do you feel all
right?"

The adoring smile slowly lit her too-pale face. "I do now, Billy."

"And you're sure this is what you want, love?"

The smile deepened and she pulled him forward the slightest bit until
their lips met. "I love you, Billy. I _need_ you."

He carefully tucked a stray strand of her hair back into place, a grin
like the sun on his face. "Whatever makes you happy, Princess."

She rested her forehead against his. "_You_ make me happy, Billy."
Then she straightened up and took a deep, steadying breath. Edith knew
she had to tell him. She had to tell Billy what had been happening,
the destiny that had been thrown upon her, the terrible nights she had
spent with....

Like a vision conjured from her own thoughts, Angelus appeared
from the shadows by the foot of the stairs.

She gasped in shock and sudden fear, their eyes meeting for an instant
over Billy's shoulder. Then he was gone. She shuddered and turned away
as Billy looked about, confused.

"You _must not_ tell him," the words hissed in her ear as she felt a
cold shiver run down the back of her neck. "Trust me: If you speak a
word out of turn, he will die as well." She could hear the words as
clearly as when Angelus had spoken them... when he had.... She
suddenly couldn't remember when she'd actually heard them, and she
started as a shutter slammed again in the rising wind.

"Princess, are you all right?" Billy's worried tone grounded her,
bringing her back to her senses. "You've gone all pale. You're still
too weak...."

"No," she said, her eyes locked with his. And even she wasn't sure
exactly what she meant by it at that moment. "_No._"

Billy, uncertain, but solicitous of her wishes, accepted it as an
answer to his own question. "All right then, love. Let's go."

"No, Billy, I need to talk to you."

"What?"

"Now, Billy." She insisted. "There's something I must tell you before
we're wed."

He looked at her, loving and confused and just slightly worried, and
nodded. "All right, Princess." He brushed the side of her face with a
finger. "Talk to me, love."

Edith felt the horrible shiver run down her spine again. "Not here.
Alone. Outside. In the garden."

He sighed, so obviously trying to hide his growing frustration for her
sake, "All right then, but first let's wake your mother so she won't
find us gone and worry."

She followed him docilely up the stairs, only just beginning to
wonder on why they'd heard nothing from her at all through all this
when....

Edith watched Billy drop to her mother's side, trying to sit her up,
to listen for her breath. But no, there was no use... Edith could see
that at once. She had already been dead long enough for the blood that
had poured from her throat to have seeped down into the cracks in the
floor, for the stains on her shift to have begun to dry....

She told him then. Sitting there on her bedroom floor, next to the
cool lifeless body of the woman who had birthed and raised her, Edith
told him everything. Calmly and with great precision, she told him the
entire tale.

To her amazement he didn't interrupt or contradict or try to drag her
straight to Bedlam. He just silently held her, tighter and tighter as
her voice began to break, until by the end she thought he might crush
her with his love.

Only what seemed like a long, long time later, once she had finally
managed to cry herself out once again, did he let go of her. The eyes
she found looking into hers from only inches away were full of pain
and fury and danger-- but not for her.

"I'm going to get the priest, love."

She started to object, but he stopped her with one finger to her lips.
"I'm going to get the priest for your mother here, and to keep the
demons away. And if you still want, he can marry us here as well,
Princess." The utter determination gave his normally sweet eyes almost
a wild look. "Nothing is going to keep us apart, princess. Not demons,
not curses, not death. *Nothing*." He took a deep breath to steady
himself, fighting the growing rage he could not hide. "And certainly
not bloody _Angelus_! If I find him...."

"No! Billy, don't...."

"Love...!"

"Please, Billy? Don't leave me." She watched his resolve melt before
her pleading eyes.

He sighed deeply. "All right, love. I won't. But I'm still going to
get the priest now." He shook his head slightly to forestall her
objection. "I'll only be a moment, and then I'll never leave you
again."

"Never, Billy?"

"*Never*, Princess. I promise." And with a quick kiss he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~

Edith sat there for... she wasn't sure. One moment it seemed no more
than the space from one heartbeat to the next, and the next she knew
that she had been sitting so since the birth of Eve and would still be
sitting there when Judgment Day rained down upon them all.

The warnings of Angelus whispered once again through her mind, but she
forced her thoughts away. She would _not_ think of him. Billy and she
would be wed this night and her life would once more be what she knew,
what she had always dreamed of. And the sound of his voice in her head
would go away. The demons were dead, all of them. Even the one who
wore the shape of her dearest Drusilla. They were gone. The horror was
past. _Past_.

And she was _not_ responsible. It was _not_ her fault. She had not
asked for this destiny and these deaths were _not_ upon her head.
Billy was here for her. He would hold her and protect her. And the
misfortune and suffering that seemed to follow Angelus with the
tenacity of a starving wolf could never, ever touch her again.

With a sudden start she realized that she was cold, shivering.
Wrapping her cloak around herself, she stumbled to her feet. Where was
Billy? How long had he been gone?

As she gazed once more upon her mother's face the simple truth
slowly, slowly dawned upon her battered mind. Through all her
confusion, her emotions, her exhaustion, her willful denial came the
memories: Of casting the child demon easily from her, of the violent
destruction throughout Beth's household, of the others-- Catherine,
Little Paul, Anne, Uncle Edward and the housekeeper, Drusilla herself.
Her mother before her.

It wasn't over. The one who had started this all, the one who had
killed them all, the one whose shadow she had never so much as
glimpsed, was still out there. Out there with....

She was already down the stairs before her mind finished making the
connection. Dragging open a front door that suddenly seemed to be made
of heaviest oak, she stepped out and....

No.

_No_. Not Billy. *No*.

The night was shattered by the horrible, mind-rending sound of a woman
screaming... screaming.... A horrible sound that stopped only when she
herself gasped for breath.

She was holding the crumpled form in her arms, trying to close the
pale, torn flesh of his throat with her hand, refusing to see the
cold, fixed stare of those beloved brown eyes.

The sound of running feet and horrified exclamations made her look up
in time to see the priest, robes flying and bulk shifting uneasily to
such speed, making his way across the street towards her.

Struggling to her feet she tried to reach out to him, her hands and
shift covered in blood.... Only to have him stop short and draw back.
Looking at her with undisguised horror through the dim light he
crossed himself and pleaded with her in a loud, shaking voice. "My
child! What have you done?"

Any words she had dried up in her throat. She was alone. They were all
gone--any who could help, any who could understand, any who would
believe the mad tale that was all she had to tell....

The sense of being outside herself, as though she were in a dream,
increased. She watched the circling, growing crowd begin to mutter
louder, fear and horror turning to outrage and anger. New shouts and
cries suddenly were raised from the direction of Beth's house. And
through the weird, flickering light of lamps and torches, Edith could
see herself just standing there, her outstretched arms stained with
Billy's blood.

This was not real, it had no touch of reality to it at all. This was
truly the torment of a soul consigned to hell. Our Father, Who art in
Heaven... send me aid. Send to me an angel....

Angelus.

She found herself pushing her way easily through the crowd, running
blindly. Angelus could help. Angelus could explain. He was the only
one who could understand. He was the source of this madness that had
torn her life apart and could save her or destroy her with a single
word. He was the only one left....

There was no way to know where in all this devastation he was, but her
instincts ordered her to run and her feet obeyed without question. She
found herself in the little churchyard, the churchyard where too many
lay dead because of her, dead because of this madness that had
descended upon her with the arrival of Angelus. Following the same
undefined instincts she kept moving towards the place where the newest
graves were dug, where Anne and little Paul were laid.

Was this sense of his presence, her ability to track him because he
was her Watcher? Less than an hour before she had prayed never to see
his face again. Now he was her only hope, her only chance....

Her reaction to seeing his crumpled form was surprisingly restrained.
Perhaps, at some level, she had already known. Moving forward slowly,
she felt only a spreading sense of numbness, of indifferent calm.
There was a certain relief in the sudden awareness that she had no one
to lose, no one to fear for. No one more to destroy.

Kneeling gently at his side, she leaned over him, brushing the dark
hair from his face and noting the familiar stain of blood at his
throat without surprise.

Leaning down closer, she laid a single kiss on his cold forehead.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comments, flames, praise, and chocolate always appreciated!
Dianne la Mercenaire...   -*-   <[e-mail]>
}:o * Merc Forever * HorseChick of the Apocalypse* SunS List Mom

- -

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

Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:33:54 -5000
From: "Dianne la Mercenaire" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 10/12

"A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 10/12
   by Dianne T. DeSha (a.k.a. la Mercenaire)
      <[e-mail]>


   "Angel? You mean Angelus. I've read about him--
    He is a monster."
            -- Kendra, "What's My Line?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A week later,
The Convent of the Holy Cross, just outside Kent
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Betrayed by a lover, was she?"

Sister Elizabeth Ann allowed her gaze to slip to the pale, withdrawn
figure sitting apart on a bench at one end of the garden.

"So, did he bed her and leave her, or just run off after some bigger
dowry?"

"Sister Maureen!"

"Well?" the more outspoken of the nuns replied, with no trace of
defensiveness or shame in her tone. "I'm only trying to understand!'

"Oh, certainly!" her companion replied, with no sense of sincerity in
hers. "You're the one back from an entire spring on the road. I
thought you'd have had your fill of the wild, wicked world by now?"

"Never!"

Sister Elizabeth Ann frowned. "Well it's certainly your turn to be
telling tales, and not mine then!"

"Later," Sister Maureen insisted. "Where did she come from?"

With little show of resistance, the younger nun gave in, "She arrived
on foot just before dusk one evening last week wearing nothing but her
shift, stumbling and bloody-footed and half-dead. With her hair and
eyes so wild anyone seeing her on the road must have thought her a
restless spirit... or a lunatic." At the sound of a door closing
somewhere nearby the sister caught herself and frowned at her
companion. "It is not proper to be gossiping so about the poor
creature!"

"So, she's a runaway?" her questioner continued without concern.
"What's her name?"

The second sister sighed and acceded to the inevitable. "She calls
herself 'Drusilla', but will give no family, nor meet your eye when
she says it."

"Ah. She is hiding then." Sister Maureen looked thoughtful. "From her
family?"

"From someone!" her companion agreed emphatically. At the other
sister's inquiring look, she elaborated, "I helped Mother and Sister
Abigail care for her that first night." She looked about and lowered
her voice, "Not all of the blood was on her feet! While Sister Abigail
was binding those cuts, I helped her out of her shift. When I tried to
wash it later, I found dried blood under the mud and road-dirt. So
much blood the shift was completely ruined. Yet there was not a mark
upon her."

Sister Maureen's eyes had widened in unabashed regard. "Really? A
murderess then?"

"Sister Maureen!"

The first nun dismissed her companion's outrage with a gesture. "You
thought the same, no?"

"No!"

"No?"

"Well...." Sister Elizabeth Ann trailed off, recovering with a
righteous sniff when she caught her confidant's smug grin, "She might
well have been the one harmed!"

"You said there was no mark upon her."

"She might have been innocently caught with another's blood upon her.
Perhaps her lovers fought a bloody duel for her hand. When one fell,
protesting always his love for her, she cradled his bleeding face in
her hands and...."

"You've found another romance buried in the library!" Sister Maureen
nearly shouted in annoyance. "I want to see it!"

"Have not!"

"I'll tell!"

"*Shhhh!*"

Silent glares took the place of speech for a moment as the birds
called softly to each other across the convent garden.

"Something _is_ odd about her," Sister Elizabeth Ann insisted.
"When she arrived she could not, or would not, speak at all. Even now,
when she's recovered as much as she's like to, she will not give her
true name or family. She speaks only when she must, and always has
such a desperate sadness about her." The young nun dropped her already
low voice further. "She was in confession for nearly an hour yesterday
with Father Joshua, and the Father looked terribly pale when he
emerged. Then he went and spent the next hour on his _own_ knees in
the chapel!"

Sister Maureen's eyes were wide. "What could she have done?"

Sister Elizabeth Ann shook her head. "I do not know, but...," she
paused meaningfully, "She's given herself the name of a notorious
Roman whore... a depraved woman whose unspeakable crimes nearly
destroyed an entire empire!"

"No!"

"Yes!" she insisted. "I heard Father Joshua tell Mother Superior so
myself! And he's insisted that she take vows immediately-- _tonight_!"

Sister Maureen studied the pale, distant figure for a long moment,
then shook her head. "It does not seem she could be so evil."

" 'The devil may charm and deceive'...."

"No," the first sister countered, shaking her head. "I think you had
the right of it before. She looks so dazed as to barely lift her own
hand! I cannot think her capable of such sins. There is something
else...."

After a moment, Sister Elizabeth offered another piece of news: "An
older man came this way two days past looking for an 'Edith Shepherd'.
He seemed a kind man, a scholarly sort, and genuinely concerned to
find this young woman he sought, but although he professed to have
urgent business with her-- claiming indeed that her life was in peril
should he not speak to her soon-- he did not know so much as the color
of her hair." The young nun shook her head. "It was passing strange
indeed. I _did_ think he might mean...."

She caught Sister Maureen looking at her oddly and shrugged, "But I
could not ask more without revealing her, which would surely make _us_
a fine sanctuary, no?" With obvious reluctance, her companion was
forced to agree. "Besides," Sister Elizabeth Ann continued, "She is to
take her vows at Vespers tonight, after which her past will well and
truly be behind her. So it makes little difference any more."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comments, flames, praise, and chocolate always appreciated!
Dianne la Mercenaire...   -*-   <[e-mail]>
}:o * Merc Forever * HorseChick of the Apocalypse* SunS List Mom

- -

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

Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:34:47 -5000
From: "Dianne la Mercenaire" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 11/12

"A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 11/12
   by Dianne T. DeSha (a.k.a. la Mercenaire)
      <[e-mail]>


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Mother Superior of the Convent of the Holy Cross hurried along the
portico as the wind rose and icy rain began to fall. The convent's
newest sister following silently, wraithlike behind her.

"Saint Dymphna is a humbling example of a woman who never lost
her faith, even after she was forced to flee far from her home. I'm
certain that Father Joshua made an appropriate choice for you." Mother
Superior glanced sideways, tactfully keeping to herself any further
speculation about what connection the Father had made between this
pale young woman and a martyred Irish princess hunted down by a mad
father and known as a patroness of those possessed....

"Mother! Mother!"

Mother Superior looked up as one of the sisters approached her at a
wholly undignified pace, red hair coming loose about her face in the
rising wind. "What is it, Sister Maureen?"

The Sister paused only a second to catch her breath. "There's a young
man at the front gate...."

"At _this_ hour?"

"He's injured, Mother, or sick. He's collapsed against the door and
can't be woken. Sister Elizabeth Ann is in front with him, and she
says his skin is much too cold, and he's like to die if you don't let
him in...."

"Enough!" Mother Superior sighed, cutting off the stream of words.
"Sister Maureen," she admonished sternly, "Pray do not forget that you
are no longer in the world, and attempt to conduct yourself in a more
humble and seemly fashion."

The censured Sister almost let escape a sigh. "Yes, Mother."

Satisfied for the moment, Mother Superior turned to her newest
charge. "Sister Dymphna, welcome to our convent. You are free of
whatever demons have haunted you; the past you fled from is no more.
Go with God, my child. And sleep now, for tomorrow you will begin your
life anew." Then, with a bustle of skirt and veil, she was gone,
headed in the direction of the front gate.

The new Sister Dymphna returned to her cell, Mother Superior's
words, like an absolution, echoing and re-echoing in her head. It was
true. The past was behind her and a quiet, safe life in this holy
place lay ahead.

Stepping carefully into the plainly-furnished cell she had been
allotted, she moved at once to raise the flame on the small table
lamp, while the wind began to shriek through the corridors behind her
like the very souls of the damned.

Folding her cloak neatly, she began to shiver slightly in her new
habit, a bride at last-- if never to the man she loved, then to God.
Turning around she froze, one hand still outstretched towards the
bedcovers.

"Billy?"

He lay there on her bed, eyes closed, as if in slumber-- pale and
perfect, and still as death. Moving as though in a dream, she knelt on
the bed and laid one hand along his pale, cold cheek-- above a throat
no longer marked by wound or gore.

"_Billy_?" She smiled faintly to herself. He was more handsome than
she remembered, for all that his skin felt like ice and there was no
quiver of breath about him. When his eyes opened, she could feel her
heart sing. "Billy!" she moaned, collapsing into his arms, "You're
alive!"

"More alive than ever, my love," he assured her as she buried her face
in his shoulder.

"Then it wasn't true? It wasn't real?"

"I missed you, love," he whispered, holding her closer, "I woke up and
you were gone...."

With a burst of rain and wind and noise the door was forced open,
causing her to jolt upright in fright. But in an instant she saw
Angelus' form filling the low doorway, and she felt almost sick with
relief. It really _wasn't_ true. She hadn't destroyed them all. Here
they were, alive and safe and....

"Little Dru?" she asked, turning back to Billy, hope and a wondering
fear beginning to brighten her fragile features.

"No," Angelus said, still hovering in the shadowed doorway, his voice
low and tinged with something that could have been sorrow, "You killed
her, remember?"

"No! I...." She stopped, confused. But if it was all a nightmare,
unreal? The memory of holding the writhing little body to her and
driving the stake home flared in her mind. "But I... I...."

"You abandoned your calling," Angelus continued, and the hint of
sorrow was replaced by a stern, lecturing tone. "You left too soon.
You left _us_."

Her head was spinning. It made no sense. Were the horrors she had
lived with real then, and her loved ones dead? But Billy was here and
alive. She had left because there was no one left....

"You had no need to fear that crowd, you know," Angelus assured her
reproachfully as he moved slowly forward. "Once they saw their
neighbors beside them begin to fall, gashes of scarlet upon their
throats in the flickering light-- the crowd vanished like a puff of
dust...."

He finally stepped forward into the light. And his face was the face
of Hell.

Great splashes of crimson blood decorated him from chin to waist, and
his eyes shone with a fiendish excitement from behind the twisted,
distorted features of a demon. She had not the breath to scream, nor
the strength to tear her eyes from the vision of perdition before her.

"But I fetched your dear boy for you. After you'd left him all alone."

Swatting the small wood cross from above her door the way one
might dislodge a mosquito and sending it flying across the room, he
took another step towards her. The face that was both his and not his
broke into a gruesome grin. "So, what now, 'Drusilla'?"

She simply stared, as powerless to move as a newborn hare faced
with a ravening wolf.

"Or do I call you 'Dymphna' now? Or just '*Sister*'?"

Jarringly, he was both familiar and terrible-- both a vision from the
Devil's dreams and the friend that Billy had shown off his Princess
to...

"Billy!" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "Billy, help," but
this time the words made no sound at all.

"It's all right, Princess," he soothed, hands moving up to her
shoulders and urging her softly forward. "Now we will never die,
love," he lisped behind her, the words sounding strange out of his
mouth, "We will be together forever."

Angelus was moving closer with the slow stalk of the sure predator. "I
have found you, Slayer. And now you will know what it means to be
damned."

At the last second, she turned back. And when she found Billy's eyes
in the smiling face of a demon, she began to scream, and could not
stop.

Not until the physical power to do so was drained away with her
heart's blood.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comments, flames, praise, and chocolate always appreciated!
Dianne la Mercenaire...   -*-   <[e-mail]>
}:o * Merc Forever * HorseChick of the Apocalypse* SunS List Mom

- -

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

Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:35:45 -5000
From: "Dianne la Mercenaire" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 12/12

"A Truth Worse Than Lies" -- 12/12
   by Dianne T. DeSha (a.k.a. la Mercenaire)
      <[e-mail]>


   "Do you know what I found works real good with Slayers?
    Killing them."
            -- Spike, "School Hard"

Epilogue...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mid-June 1817, Paris
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Drusilla, love. I'm home!' The blond vampire called out as he turned
to close the door of the apartment.

Before the words were out, he felt strong arms wrapped around his
waist from behind. Laughing, he tossed the branding iron he carried
into the corner and turned around.

"Billy," the pale young woman who held him purred, an enticing
smile on her own nightmarish face.

" 'Spike', love." He paused long enough to kiss her once on the lips.
"If you can be my sweet Drusilla, then I can be your adoring Spike."

"Spike," she purred agreeably.

"Yes, pet?"

"Have you found her?"

He sighed, kissed her lightly on the forehead, then pulled away to sit
on the edge of the bed. "Not yet, poodle." He looked up at her where
she hung over his shoulder. "Are you _sure_...."

"She's _here_," Drusilla insisted, moving away, hands moving to her
temples as she winced in pain. "I can _feel_ her!"

He was back at her side in a heartbeat, trying to take her hands from
her head and her thoughts from the Slayer. "I know, love. I know. I'm
sorry." He gathered her close. "And I'll find her, I promise. I'll
find her and kill her and make all the pain go away."

She smiled up at him, eyes wide through the pain. "Promise, Spike?"

"_Promise_, Princess."

~~~~~~~~~

Later, when she lay peaceful in his arms, he watched her sleeping the
long summer day away. Angelus had been an arrogant fool, boasting to
anyone who would hear that he had personally ended the line of the
Slayers, parading Dru around like an exotic curiosity, winning high
marks with the Master for his skill and initiative.

He and Drusilla had followed along in the orbit of his star, sheltered
and tended to like royalty. Angelus-- the crown prince in the master's
court-- had taught him everything he needed to know about his new
existence, guided him, watched over him like an indulgent father. And
life, or the lack of it, had truly been good.

Until the nightmares began.

Dru would wake up in the middle of the day, screaming, her head
filled with images of sun and stakes and ash. The visions began to
follow her into the waking world, and the pain with which they filled
her head became unbearable.

It did not take long for word to reach the Master that a new Slayer
had replaced the old and that his followers were again dying left and
right by her hand. Following Dru's desperate, pain-filled pleas, he
had taken her and left, determined to find and dispose of this new
Slayer.

Now he was less sure. Three weeks in Paris already and he had yet to
find, let alone kill the Slayer. Dru's visions were only getting
worse, becoming more disjointed and confused, the pain they brought
intensifying.

It was time to get out. To put some space between her and that bloody
girl whose very existence was driving her mad. They would leave, as
soon as she awoke tonight, and get as far away as they had to give her
some peace. They would tour the capitals of Europe. Hell, they were
immortal, unstoppable! They could go anywhere and everywhere-- see the
Americas, or China, or Australia-- half the globe away....

He gently kissed her sleeping forehead, so far untroubled by the
nightmares that were certain to return. Being turned had never brought
Dru the peace it should; she had always had a certain fragility to
her, a certain air that made others avoid her with uneasy sideways
stares. But he would always be there to protect her, to make things
right for her.

Yes, tonight they would leave. With distance perhaps Drusilla could
learn to read her visions, _use_ them.

And the next time... the next time they crossed paths with a Slayer,
he would hand his Princess her head on a silver _plate_.



<finis>

~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*n.b: Saint Dymphna was forced to flee from her position as an Irish
princess when her father decided the teenager would make the best
substitute for her recently-dead mother in bed. She fled to Germany,
where her father finally found her and killed her in a fit of rage.
Her areas of patronage include sleepwalking, insanity, loss of
parents, martyrs, mental illness, possessed people, princesses, and
runaways.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comments, flames, praise, and chocolate always appreciated!
Dianne la Mercenaire...   -*-   <[e-mail]>
}:o * Merc Forever * HorseChick of the Apocalypse* SunS List Mom

- -

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

Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 13:38:38 EST
From: [e-mail] (Ingrid E Stanton)
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Return to Normalcy" (2/3)

*******
Hello again. Here's part two, hot off the press. Hope you
enjoy it. Oh! There's quite a bit of mush-mush in this, so
if you don't like that sort of thing, don't read it. What a
concept! Anyway, this takes off where we left off, with Giles
waiting for Ms. Calendar to come over. The standard
disclaimers apply: The characters of Buffy Sommers,
Rupert Giles, Ms. Calendar & company are the property
of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions,
and The Warner Brothers Network, and are used without
permission. The author claims no rights to these characters.
This is my first fanfic, guys, so be gentle.
*******

Giles paced around the room in his flat, wondering what
he could do to make his place look any better. He couldnÆt
clean, because nothing was messy. HeÆd bought a bottle
of champagne. It and two glasses sat on a ledge between
the kitchen and the sitting room, inviting a taste. It was
warm inside, and candles along the mantle gave the room
an old-fashioned and intimate feel to it.

The doorbell snapped him from his silent reverie-
It couldnÆt be-
But it was. Eight-thirty. This was it. Giles took a deep breath
and then opened the door. He tried not to gasp.

Miss Calendar felt his gaze sweep over her, and watched
the astonishment and appreciation in his eyes. SheÆd picked
out the little black dress in somewhat of a stupor. SheÆd pulled
her dark hair from her face into a bun. Casually, (she hoped
it looked casual) she brushed a few errant strands from her
face. Sensing that Giles wasnÆt going to do it anytime soon,
Jenny shut the door behind them.

At this point, Giles wasnÆt sure if he remembered his own name.
Jenny hid a snicker at his paralysis, thinking about a deer in
front of car headlights. She delivered him from the burden of
making the first move.

"Ahhà Finally," she remarked coyly, touching his shoulders,
"The man behind the tweed." Giles gave her an awkward smile,
looking down at his cotton shirt and tie.

"Would you like some champagne, Jenny?"

"Sure, why not," she answered, following him to the couch.
He poured some out for the both of them, and they began to
relax, both taking tiny sips at a time.

"So why is Buffy getting the day off today?"

"Oh, Buffy," he answered distractedly. "She went to see Angel."

"Wow. Even the slayer needs a little downtime, huh?"

"I suppose so," he answered somewhat grudgingly.

She took another sip. "And what about the watcher?"

He looked up at her in surprise. Little mind games-
She always tricked him into seeing things her way.
Not that he minded it so muchà

When he looked up, she was crawling towards him
from her curled up position like a cat. Snuggling up
beside him, she lay her head on his heart being careful
to stay away from his wound.

"I suppose youÆre right." He looked down at her.

"IÆve missed you," she answered, glancing back up at him, "You canÆt be
gotten rid of so easily. Know that?"

"IÆd never really thought aboutà"

"What you were doing to me?"

He blushed, "Wellà"

"Maybe youÆve had a greater effect on me than youÆve
realized." She smiled. He couldnÆt help returning it with a
smile of his own.

Giles shook his head. "No. That canÆt be. I know how it
feels. If anything, you're the one who's had an effect on me."

She looked - well, intrigued, and paused to look into his eyes,
probing, searching.

"Really?"

"Yes." His face suddenly became serious. She was
slightly surprised when he took the initiative, drawing
her into a long, exquisitely sweet kiss.

They kissed again. Sweet, soft kisses. Giles kissed
her cheeks and nose and forehead and neck. She
nudged him. He left from kissing her shoulder to see
what she wanted.

"LetÆs go." She nodded towards what she assumed to
be the bedroom.

He looked back at her distractedly, and she wondered,
just for a second, if he was planning on calling this whole
thing off. She breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled at her
hand and walked with her to the bedroom.

********
Part three should be coming soon...hopefully!


- -

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

Date: Sat, 17 Jan 1998 15:46:45 EST
From: [e-mail] (Ingrid E Stanton)
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Return to Normalcy" (3/3)

****
This part is pretty short (just a little epilogue of sorts). It takes
place the morning after part 2. Hope you enjoy it. Feel free to
send any comments to [e-mail]. I'd love to hear
from you. The fiction here is quality stuff! I guess while I'm
at it, I should thank president Harding for my title,
brought on by an overdose of history, I'm afraid. The standard
disclaimers apply: The characters of Buffy Sommers, Rupert
Giles, Ms. Calendar & company are the property of Joss
Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, and The
Warner Brothers Network, and are used without permission.
The author claims no rights to these characters. This is my
first fanfic, guys, so be gentle.

****
"Return to Normalcy," Part Three
****


Giles was lulled to consciousness by the bright sunshine
pouring through the window. They always had beautiful
weather here he thought. Beautiful weather on the hell mouth.
How ironic.

He his train of thought came to an abrupt halt when he felt
movement against his skin. He looked down and gulped.

Jenny-

He watched as she nuzzled him, shifting her position and
resting her head on his shoulder. All he could see was the dark
hair covering her face, but she was there, solid and warm
against him.

How long had it been sinceà

Since "Ripper?" Had it really been that long?

HeÆd been lonely for so long. HeÆd resigned himself to being a
watcher, not realizing what he might be missing.

Who he might be missing.

He touched JennyÆs back to reassure him. This was okay, he
thought. Not a breach of protocol, really, and he was sure Buffy
wouldnÆt have objectedà

But more than this relief was those wonderful feelings inside
him. Deep care for the woman lying next to him. Deep care and
love?

Miss. Calendar awoke slowly, awoken by a gentle touch on her
back. She lifted her heavy eyelids to see Rupert watching over
her.

A slow smile spread across her face.

"Good Morning England."
****

Whadaya think? Please, please send some feedback. I cannot live on posts
alone.

- -

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

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