New Blood commentary, pt. 7
Jan. 25th, 2004 05:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mandolinAll right, all right, so Rach doesn't throttle me, here's the last part of the New Blood DVD commentary.
Anyway, links for those who are interested in reading the whole thing:
Wherever You Are - The one-shot from Feb. 1999 that started all this.
New Blood - In its entirety (well, chopped into 6 chunks) sans commentary.
Slow Night - The mini-sequel I wrote in March 2001 when a hellishly amusing scene turned into a short fic.
Here we go...
"Tyger, tyger, burning bright..." Willow droned tiredly, then stopped to glare at the surprisingly docile werewolf crouched on the bookcage floor. "I've read this poem over three times! Isn't there anything else that calms you down?"
I love this poem, and in the wake of Willow reading "Call of the Wild" to pacify Oz-wolf (without the mention of rabbits), I figured this would be an amusing bit of literature to calm him down.
For answer, Oz growled, his hackles rising. "What about White Fang then?"
Again with the Jack London.
No change. Willow sighed. "You know, you've got a repetitive streak. I wonder if all werewolves are like this." Another growl. "Oh, all right, all right. 'Tyger, tyger, burning bright / In the forests of the night...'"
She was saved from a fourth reading as the doors were thrown open, and Mike dashed into the library in a panic. He was a sight; his left pant leg was torn, he was breathing heavily, and he was sporting a nasty-looking gash on his forehead. But the panicked, wild-eyed expression on his face was all she needed to tell he was in trouble. "Will? Where's Giles?"
"He went looking for you," Willow answered, closing the book and crossing the room to meet him. "Mike, he said you were marked for possession by a--"
At that moment, a cold gust of wind blew the doors open, and a hazy figure stepped into the library. "--ghost," she finished.
Gotta hand it to the Magna Defender, he knows how to make an entrance.
"Yeah, I kind of guessed as much," Mike answered weakly as they backed away. "Willow, get out of here. It's after me."
But this is Willow, so of course she tries to help.
She ducked into the office, quickly snatching up an amulet that Mike didn't recognize before dashing out again, interposing herself between her friend and the advancing specter. Hands shaking, Willow held up the amulet. "Spirit, I command you! By Hecate, return to the depths from whence you..."
Note that at this point in Season Three, Willow isn't quite as powerful as she eventually becomes. Had this been Season Five, I'm positive she would have been able to at least give Mike a chance to escape. But that would kill the upcoming scenes.
Before she could finish the incantation, the specter made a sweeping gesture, lifting Willow off her feet and sending her flying into the nearest wall. She collapsed in a heap beside the office, unmoving. Oz howled and vainly charged at the bookcage door.
Werewolf or not, that's still Oz there, and Willow getting hurt agitates him even more.
The werewolf's enraged howling and snarling seemed to fade into the background as the specter turned towards Mike, continuing its advance.
* * *
Meanwhile, at the beach...
Buffy lifted the blade. "Not unless I kill you first."
In response, Molly let out another strident wail. Buffy was ready for it, but even so she had to clap her hands over her ears to keep from keeling over. Angel writhed in pain as the petite girl stood over him, the aura of light now more brilliant than before. "Pity, really," Molly mused calmly. "Lorelei and I, we had such grand plans. Such grand plans... She could spell them, I could drain them... oh, what a lovely time it would have been. But now," she finished, "it ends here!"
She punctuated that statement with another scream, and this time Buffy fell to her knees, the sound getting through the earplugs easily. The Slayer squeezed her eyes shut as the keening continued... and then abruptly ended with a startled shriek.
For those who were wondering where the hell Frank was...
Buffy and Angel both looked up in time to see Molly go flying, borne by an unseen force that lifted the sand beneath her feet up in a tiny geyser of sand. Frank was standing there, a determined expression on his face. You're right. It is ending here.
Now that the others aren't muffling most of his abilities, Frank has pretty much come into his own.
Molly hit the sand and rolled, the aura of power dying out. As she glanced up, she could see just what Buffy had sensed; whatever power had been locked away in the bassist had just been unleashed. "Uh-oh."
She let out another scream, but the sand lifted around her again, surrounding her in a miniature tornado. The swirling sand and grit and dust blinded and choked the sidhe, and she was barely able to surface from the storm. "You'll regret this!" Molly screamed. "I found you! I made you! Without me, you wouldn't have even learned what you were capable of!"
You know, Frank really could have been Air, although here he was actually lifting the sand to create the tornado, not manipulating the air. But I didn't make that clear enough here, and wanted Molly's downfall to occur thanks to her own element (Lori was stabbed and drowned, Molly's outdone by a seeming tornado).
Frank didn't look in the least fazed. So?
Frank is so much fun when he finally gets a backbone here.
The sidhe wrenched herself free, gasping as she stumbled across the sand, momentarily looking human, weak, again. "You can't stop me," Molly snarled. "You hate the feeding, the killing. And if you ever want to get rid of me, you'll have to kill me!"
The storm began to subside. You're right, Frank admitted. I can't.
However, Frank is not a killer, something I made clear since the beginning.
Molly smirked triumphantly. Her smile died away as gunshots were heard, the bullets striking her in the back. Jerking in pain, she gasped, her mouth opening in an "O" of surprise. Somehow, she found the strength to turn and stare at the source of the shots.
Hi, Mal!
"Well, guess what," Malik commented, lighting a cigarette as Molly slumped to the ground. "I can."
He was originally supposed to blow Lori away, but I changed my mind at the last second - mainly since Buffy had the tools to take Lori out, but she wasn't prepared for Molly.
* * *
This was the SECOND scene I wrote when I began writing scenes. Before I came up with Relish, before Faith told me she'd be coming on to Mike, I immediately realized that the Defender must have followed Mike through and be ready to finish the job.
Mike scrambled backwards, knocking over a chair as he backed frantically away. The misty figure was undeterred, stepping through the overturned chair as it advanced towards him. With each step, the shape in the center of the mist became more and more defined. As his pursuer became visible, Mike's spirits sank. This did not look good.
The figure was heavily armored from head to toe, armed with a blaster and a broadsword that was as long as his arm. Its horned helmet had a reflective black visor, making it impossible to see its face as it moved forward. It was the same one he'd been catching glimpses of all week. And it was definitely after him, there was no doubt. He glanced over at the motionless form by the office. Willow would probably have a headache when she woke up, but that was about it.
That's a pretty good description of the Magna Defender. Even out of the context of the Power Rangers universe, he's still pretty intimidating, especially if he's after you.
Cursing under his breath, Mike turned and dashed up the steps, heading for the back windows of the library. Where the hell was Giles?
He scrambled up to the nearest window, trying to force it open. The rusty frame creaked in protest and wouldn't budge. A cool gust of wind brushed against him, and he whirled to see the armored figure standing only a few feet away. "Who are you?" Mike shouted. "What do you want with me?"
Originally, Mike went for the stacks, but I watched "Graduation Day" again and revised it because that would have been too easy an escape. Those windows did not look rusty or difficult to open when Buffy crashed through them.
For a moment, the specter did not respond. Then a voice spoke, gruff and harsh with disuse, echoing in his mind.
--Don't you remember?--
And now we get to a detail that's really going to mess with Mike's head.
Mike could only stare as it continued.
--I'm the one who saved you.--
Technically, that is true, although his intentions certainly weren't that great.
* * *
"What do you mean, it's not a ghost?" Faith asked incredulously as Giles sped down the road, breaking yet another speed limit.
"Not precisely," Giles answered. "Technically, it is a revenant of a deceased person, but this spirit commands a great deal of energy."
Part research, part BS here. Wanted to get across that the Defender wasn't just your average revenge-obsessed spirit; his powers came through with him, which is partly why he tossed Faith aside like that.
Xander nodded. "Not your typical ghost."
"Far from it. If it's as powerful as I believe, full moon or no, this banishment will only be a temporary exile from this plane." Giles frowned. "Although a spirit possession usually requires some sort of permission... I don't know how that could have been circumvented..."
Oh, I took pains to explain that one too! It wasn't really circumvented, as we will see.
"Wait a minute," Faith interrupted. "I thought you said that we could get rid of it."
"In this case, we can only hold it off for a while." Giles sighed. "Sometimes, when a person is in command of a great deal of internal power at the time of death, that energy is manifested in the revenant. The only thing it lacks is solid substance."
Explaining why he was so powerful. Very little was really known about where the heck the Magna Defender ever came from in the show, so I could fudge this.
"Solid substance?" Xander echoed. "Maybe I'm stretching a little, but you think that's why it's after Vortex Boy?"
The expression on Giles' face turned grim. "Exactly."
I could not resist tossing the nickname in there again.
* * *
Buffy got to her feet, staring at Molly in shock. The sidhe twitched, her face contorting in pain. "Iron... bullets..." Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her body sagged limply as the life left it. Blue light surrounded her again, this time engulfing her form as it disintegrated, forming tiny motes of light that spiraled into the air, drifting away into the night like so many fireflies. As it faded away, all that was left was a couple of dented bullets lying on the sand.
Another bit I took from Disney's Gargoyles - only iron can kill a sidhe. Which Malik would know, and be prepared for.
Angel jolted, gasping as his strength returned to him in a rush. "Uh, uh, uh," Malik cautioned as Buffy stepped towards him. She stopped, seeing the gun pointed directly at her. "I don't know about the walking corpse here, Slayer, but I don't think you can dodge bullets." He eyed Frank. "And don't try no tricks. If I get a hint you're gonna do something, I'll blow her brains out."
Buffy looked over at Frank, who nodded slightly. He'll know. To even be invited into the group, Mal had to have some abilities of his own.
"What do you want?" Angel demanded quietly.
"Hey, I got all I wanted. Ding, dong, the bitches are dead." He grinned maniacally at Frank. "Damn, kid, I was wondering when you were gonna stand up to them."
Mal is pretty much voicing some readers' opinions at this point; a couple people were annoyed that Frank was taking so long to double-cross them.
"And you were just going to play along," Buffy added. "Oh, yeah, that's real macho of you."
"I'm not trying to be macho, I'm trying to stay alive," was the answer. "Which means a one-way ticket out of the Hellmouth. I get in the van and take off, you don't stop me, you never see my sorry ass again."
Malik's a realist. I think he suspected, just as Frank did, that Lori might get rid of Mal and Frank if she managed to siphon energy from the Hellmouth. So he had a backup plan.
"Until the next voodoo cult comes into town," Buffy retorted.
Frank winced. Don't give him any ideas.
"Voodoo? Oh, that's rich." He snorted, keeping his gun trained on Frank. "I was thinking Vegas! The strip! I'm gettin' out of the entertainment biz. Security's where it's at down there." Neither of his three adversaries looked impressed as he backed up the beach, keeping the gun trained on Buffy.
It occurs to me that Malik would be right at home in Las Vegas.
"Think he's bluffing?" Angel murmured.
Once he was halfway up the ramp, Malik lowered the gun and started running. "Oh, yeah," Buffy replied as she dashed after him, with Angel and Frank following. The drummer was already crossing the parking lot as they started up the ramp.
Malik literally vaulted over a bench, throwing the van door open as he leapt into the cab and started the engine. He didn't notice the dark figure pulling itself out from under the vehicle. As his pursuers reached the top of the steps, Malik was already turning out of the lot onto the main road.
But when someone or something's been messing with your vehicle, it's not going to be pretty.
The van only made it ten feet down the road.
Fire spewed forth from the base of the van, the blast lifting it up a few feet as a miniature fireball consumed the vehicle's innards. The flame spilled forward from the back, flooding the cab completely with roiling orange-yellow light. Buffy, Frank, and Angel could only stare as the fire reached the gas tank, taking the van out for good in a terrific explosion.
This description was hard for me to write. Not that describing the explosion was hard - I do like the description - but I had a hard time killing Malik off. I really did. I liked him too much. But after taking out Lori and Molly, and since Trick does not like loose ends, he had to meet his end, and I had to make it clear that he didn't escape the blast. Death by fire, naturally.
The same thought struck Buffy and Angel then, and both turned to stare at Frank. The bassist backed away, shaking his head. I didn't do it!
Hee. He couldn't possibly have done it, but they don't know that. Again, Frank's not a killer, and Buffy wouldn't kill a human. That left Trick.
"I wouldn't fault you if you had," Angel said quietly.
Buffy stared at the wreckage in morbid fascination. "Wow. I guess he won't be going to Vegas after all."
Anything else was cut off by a loud, insistent honking and the flash of headlights. Cordelia pulled up as close as she dared, leaning on the horn of her convertible. "Excuse me? Social rejects? Wouldn't it be a good idea to LEAVE around now?"
You've got to give Cordelia credit for not driving off as soon as that van blew up.
"For once," Buffy sighed, "I think she's got a point."
They piled hurriedly into the convertible, unaware of the eyes watching them as Cordelia hit the gas, speeding out of the lot.
* * *
"Why the hell are you chasing me?" Mike snapped, trying a new tactic. Running wasn't working, and fighting was out, so stalling was all he had left. "You claim you saved me, and now you're driving me crazy! What do you want?"
--Scorpius seeks the Lights of Orion. Three thousand years ago, I released them, and paid with my life. I must find them before he does.--
And I sum up the Defender's backstory quite well here. I didn't bother to define certain terms that non-PR fans wouldn't understand, because, well, I don't need to. Some bad guy's after some powerful artifact, that's all one has to glean from this.
"Great," Mike answered. "Why don't you go do that, and leave me alone?"
--I cannot in this state.--
"I don't understand." Mike glanced past the specter to the front doors of the library. Sprawled beside Giles' office, Willow did not stir. In the book cage, he heard Oz roar and crash against the bars, but to no avail. He was probably better off with the werewolf locked up anyway. "Where do I come in to all this?"
He suspects how he fits into all this, but he's stalling for time.
--I have the power. I lack the substance.--
Mike didn't like where this was heading. "Substance?"
The specter hesitated. --You.--
Pretty much confirming Mike's fears with one word.
"What?" Horrified, Mike edged sideways, but stopped as the specter drew its sword. "No! Forget it. I don't know who you are or why you want these Lights, and I'm not letting you use me to get to them! Go find yourself another puppet!"
--That is no longer an option. The mergence began when you first awakened me. It must be completed.--
"Over my dead body." Mike paused, glancing at the ethereal blade. "Wrong choice of words, but you know what I mean."
--I've waited too many years to give up now. They killed my son, destroyed my life. I must have my revenge.--
Summing up his motivation in just a few sentences.
"I don't do revenge." If he could get the ghost to move just a bit to the left, he could make a break for the stacks. He'd jump through the back window there if he had to.
The specter tried another tack. --If Scorpius gets his claws on the Lights, we are all doomed.--
I should mention that the only reason the Defender is wasting time talking is that a more willing host is a lot easier to take. Not that he's EVER going to persuade Mike.
"And if you get your hands on them?"
--I will see justice done. I have pledged my very existence to the cause of the Defender.--
"You didn't pledge mine," Mike retorted.
The specter paused. --There is no other way.--
And he gives up on talking and goes in for the kill.
As it reached for him, Mike dived to the side - or tried to. He found himself locked in place, unable to move a muscle. The armored knight stepped forward, its form glowing brightly before dissolving into a formless, swirling brilliance. It surged forward, wrapping about him like a cocoon. Shutting his eyes, Mike gasped in pain as unwanted energy flowed into him, burning through him. A montage of scenes flickered behind his closed eyelids, like someone else's memories burying his own.
No! Mike clenched his teeth, pushing back as hard as he could. But despite his determination, he couldn't do much more than hold it off. Bit by bit, he began to feel himself slipping down into the recesses of his mind. You can't... do this...
As he struggled to hold on, Mike let out an agonized scream.
* * *
"Okay," Xander commented as the scream echoed down the hall, "that didn't sound good."
Giles was the first to reach the doors of the library, hastily pulling out the bottle of crushed herbs, a small ceramic bowl, and a book of matches. "These will have to be burned for it to work effectively." Pouring a quantity of the herbs into the bowl, he lit a match and set the herbs ablaze.
"Ugh!" Xander coughed at the smell. "What is that stuff?"
"Asafetida," Giles answered. "It's used for banishing spells."
It is, from the bit of research I did.
"Yeah, I can smell why," Faith muttered. "Let's go before it banishes me."
The specter didn't notice as they slipped into the library, too absorbed in whatever it was doing to Mike. "Oh my God," Giles muttered as he saw what was going on.
Xander spotted Willow's prone form lying near the office. "We're going to have to get Will out of the line of fire."
Of course his first thought is to get Willow to safety.
"You do that," Faith advised. "I'll keep Wolfie from going on the rampage." All the commotion and the concentration of energy was starting to agitate the werewolf, who was crashing against the door of the book cage. If he kept that up for much longer, the lock would give.
Nodding, Xander hurried over to Willow's side, trying to move quietly so as not to attract the ghost's attention. Not that it was difficult under the din of an overexcited werewolf. Carefully, he placed his hands under her arms, dragging her into the relative safety of the office.
Faith literally vaulted over chairs and tables to get to the book cage, where Oz was still slamming his bulk against the door. The Slayer spun around in confusion before she noticed the file cabinet nearby. Grabbing it, she shoved it against the book cage door.
Meanwhile, Giles began to chant in Latin, and the smoke rising from the herbs took on a yellowish glow.
Setting Willow gently on the floor of the office, Xander emerged, shutting the door behind him. The file cabinet notwithstanding, Oz continued to batter against the book cage door. "Great," Faith muttered. "Where's a chain when you need one?"
Xander took one look at the book cage and ducked behind the circulation desk.
I intentionally made it look like he was ducking for cover. But Xander has something else in mind.
The specter suddenly realized what was going on, but it was too late as the energy began to pull back from Mike. "Earth, and Wind," Giles shouted over the howling of the wind and the growling of the wolf, "draw this spirit from this plane!"
This was also taken from the resource that mentioned asafetida as an ingredient for banishing spells. I should NOT have mixed the Latin in, though.
With a roar, Oz crashed against the book cage door, snapping the lock. Another crash, and the file cabinet toppled over. The enraged werewolf nearly tore the door off its hinges as it bounded out of its prison. Naturally, Faith was the closest living target.
Xander popped up from behind the desk, hastily loading the tranquilizer gun. "Faith! Catch!"
Xander, chickening out? Hell, no.
He hurled the tranquilizer gun into the air as Oz pounced. Slayer reflexes saved Faith for the nth time as she flipped out of the way, landing on top of the table in time to catch the gun. Deprived of its target, the wolf crashed into one of the lower bookshelves instead. Before Oz could pounce again, Faith aimed the gun and fired two darts into the werewolf.
This part flowed so well. I could just see that happening in my mind.
Giles set the bowl on the floor before him. "Respond, and release."
The effect was instantaneous. The glow around Mike flickered and faded, and a barely distinct figure reared back with an angry roar. Mike slumped to the floor as a gust of wind blew through the room, snuffing out the flame and spilling the bowl of herbs.
Because angry, vanishing, cold-wind-bringing spirits must knock out any flame burning with their departure.
Xander was the first to speak. "Did we get him?"
Giles looked up again, fanning his face against the smell of the burning herbs. The specter was gone. "I believe so."
The office door opened, and Willow stumbled out, rubbing the back of her head. "Xander? Giles? What happened?"
Before Giles could answer, the doors flew open to admit Cordelia, Angel and Buffy, the latter two of whom were soaked. "What'd we miss?" Buffy asked as she strolled over to join the group, trying to look casual.
"Same old, same old," Xander responded.
Cordelia scowled at Buffy as she joined them. "I hope for your sake you didn't seriously damage the upholstery." Buffy rolled her eyes. Behind Cordelia, Frank slipped in through the library doors, unnoticed by the others.
Oh, Cordelia, you are going to eat your words in a few minutes.
Still disoriented, Willow suddenly noticed the open book cage. "Oh, no! Oz!"
"He's fine," Xander assured her, indicating the unconscious werewolf. "Although we're going to have to get a better lock for that thing."
Giles sighed, eying the remains of the chair Oz had smashed into. "Not to mention yet another chair."
Brought up the tendency to break furniture from the first library scuffle again.
"So where's the ghost or whatever?" Cordelia spoke up.
"It's gone," Xander replied. "Isn't it?"
At that, all heads turned to where Mike was still slumped against the wall, limp and unmoving. Giles jumped up and hurried over, with Faith and Xander following. "Let's hope he's all right," the Watcher said. "We may have been too late."
An unpleasant thought occurred to Faith. "Hell, let's hope he's still Mike."
Giles reached Mike first, kneeling down to check for vital signs. Faith and Xander were right behind him. "Well?" Faith asked after a moment.
"He has a fairly steady pulse, and he's breathing, albeit shallowly," Giles answered. "But there's no pupillary reaction."
Xander raised an eyebrow. "Everything's working, but no one's home?" Giles nodded. "That's not exactly a good thing."
"Dammit," Faith muttered, slapping Mike lightly to try to rouse him. "Come on, Corbett. Come on."
* * *
The stream of images shut off abruptly, the specter's hold on him dissipating. But one last fragment of memory came to the fore.
There was only one thing to do. "I'm sorry," he whispered almost inaudibly as he let his hand slip from his brother's. Panicked, Leo grabbed for him, but caught only air as Mike dropped into the grey swirling abyss.
As he fell away, the last thing Mike heard was his brother's anguished scream. "NO!!!" With that, the surface world was swallowed by grey.
These first two paragraphs are directly taken from "Wherever You Are." At this point, the scene switched in the story. Here Mike remembers another part that he'd blocked out.
Mike's descent abruptly ceased as his body jerked like a rag doll. But the jarring pain and blackness he was expecting did not come. Barely conscious, he tried to open his eyes, seeing only a blur of smoke and flames. Before he could will himself to focus, the world flared suddenly in an explosion of white light.
Sharp pain shot through him, and he was suddenly aware of another presence battering at the edges of his mind. Somehow, he grasped its intent, but it wavered, almost as if it needed to be permitted to enter.
Mike's conscious mind hesitated. But one voice, beyond reason and deep within his subconscious, agreed.
~I don't want to die!~
Ladies and gentlemen, we have permission! Kind of.
That was all it took.
Light exploded in and around him, and the rest of the world died away as a powerful presence flooded into his body. ~No!~ Mike tried to cry out, despite what his instinct had agreed to. ~I don't want this!~
His protests were futile as he was suddenly aware of everything the strange presence had seen and known in his life; a swirl of pain, grief, anger, and vengeance. As he slipped into the depths of his mind, Mike was positive that this must be what his own private hell was like.
Then, suddenly, something went wrong. There was a howl, a ripping sensation, and everything faded to black.
* * *
"Corbett? Corbett?" Faith repeated, sure that she'd seen some reaction. "Mike?"
Giles and Xander exchanged looks, and Giles shook his head grimly as he stood, wiping his glasses nervously. It didn't look good.
Suddenly, Mike convulsed, his entire body jerking violently as his eyes flew open. He leaned back, staring into space as he gasped for air. "Corbett!" Faith repeated. "Can you hear me? You in there?"
Numbly, Mike nodded, trying to breathe evenly. He remained staring blankly into space, seemingly fixated on a point beyond them. Giles knelt back down beside Faith as Cordelia joined the group clustered around Mike. "So what's wrong with him?" she demanded of the Watcher.
Giles sighed. "You always assume I know all the answers," he muttered. "I believe he's going into shock. Not that I could blame him, given the nature of what just happened."
No kidding!
Xander turned to the circulation desk, where Willow was bending - carefully this time - to replace the tranquilizer gun.
Not wanting to hit her head on the desk again.
"Will! Call an ambulance!"
"No," Mike croaked, startling them all. He coughed and managed to focus on Giles. "No, I--" Swallowing against a dry throat, he added more loudly, "I don't need an ambulance."
"Are you sure?" Giles asked.
Mike nodded wearily. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm - I'm still me."
"Glad to hear it," Faith quipped.
With more than a little effort, Mike began to pull himself up, waving off Giles' attempts to help as he hauled himself unsteadily to his feet, holding on to the bookcase for balance. He wavered for several seconds, not letting go of the bookcase as he tried to regain his equilibrium. The others backed off, giving him a chance to preserve his dignity. "All right," Mike finally admitted. "I need some help here, please."
So much for his dignity.
Grinning, Faith slung his arm over her shoulders, supporting him on one side. "That's not all you need."
As she guided him down to the lower level, Mike sighed. "Yeah, I need about a week's worth of sleep, a new set of legs, maybe a truckload of aspirin--" He stopped abruptly as her free hand wandered. "You've got one hell of a one-track mind, you know that?" Faith merely smirked.
Yes she does, and don't you forget it! I couldn't resist, and neither could Faith if you think about it.
Buffy approached them, dusting her hands off proudly. "Oz is still out cold, and I kind of had to MacGyver a lock," the Slayer explained. At Giles' curious expression, she added, "Hope you didn't like that letter opener too much."
Despite himself, Giles smiled and shook his head, patting her on the shoulder. "We'll worry about that in the morning."
In the midst of all the commotion, Frank had slipped into the library, and was hovering by the doors uncertainly. Cordelia? You might want to put the top down on your car.
Need to fix that. He shouldn't have gotten in til now.
"I wouldn't need to if you were out watching it!" the brunette exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
I'm serious. Look outside.
Turning to look out the window, Cordelia let out a squeal. She turned and bolted for the exit, brushing past Frank as she plowed out the library doors. The others followed curiously, filing out into the hall and out the side doors of the parking lot to see what was the matter.
A gentle sprinkling of rain was spattering the sidewalks, picking up as the Scooby Gang stepped outside. Within moments, it had become a steady downpour, blurring the surroundings with curtains of water. "We came out here for this?" Giles exclaimed, wrapping his vest about him tighter.
After the heat wave and drought, I had to end this story with a good, well-deserved fall of rain.
Willow beamed, holding out her hands as if to catch the raindrops in her palms. "It's wonderful!"
"It's also freezing," the Watcher muttered, hurrying back to the relative safety of the overhang. Cordelia, still shrieking, was scrabbling to get the top down on her convertible while Xander attempted to help. Faith, still supporting Mike, had wisely remained high and dry beneath the overhang. Frank folded his arms and grinned, the first real smile any of them had seen on the bassist's face. The miserable heat of the past few weeks was gone, and the first rain they'd had for weeks was coming down in torrents.
It also adds to the finality of this scene, too.
Buffy sagged against Angel, who put an arm around her as they stood together in the rain, content. "It's over."
* * *
Couldn't wrap this evening up without a bit more of the Mayor. I so love writing him.
"So everything is taken care of?" the Mayor inquired.
Trick nodded. "Pretty much. Slayer trashed the siren. Turns out there was a sidhe in the mix, but she's also out of the picture."
"Mmm." Pausing to brush a speck off the desk, Wilkins folded his hands in front of him thoughtfully. "Our other two clients: what of them? Did you send a committee to deal with Robinson?"
"Already taken care of," Trick replied. "It's his own fault for lighting up in a van carrying all that explosive."
Wilkins smiled. "I've always said smoking was a nasty habit. What about the fourth member of the group?"
He would despise smokers, wouldn't he?
"Turned on them," was the answer. "Couldn't bring himself to do in the sidhe, though. I don't think he'll be a problem."
"Well, three out of four isn't bad," the Mayor sighed. He leaned back, an odd look in his eyes.
Trick noticed it immediately. "What?"
"She was something, wasn't she?" Wilkins said admiringly. "Quite a woman. Last time I met someone that remarkable was that succubus who blew through here in the sixties."
Family man or not, I figured Wilkins had to admire a woman as calculatingly evil as Lori. He might be immune to her charms, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't find that sort of manipulation amusing.
The vampire chuckled. "You've got to respect the dominatrix."
I have never been able to live down this line. Private joke.
"I might have added her to my team had she been trustworthy," Wilkins mused. "Pity she had to go and try to drain energy from the Hellmouth." He sat up straight again. "But what's done is done, I suppose."
"So... is that all for tonight?"
Wilkins stood and went to the cabinet, pulling his favorite bottle of Scotch and two glasses out from behind the occult artifacts. "Not quite." He set the glasses down on his desk and uncorked the bottle, pouring the liquor into the glasses, handing one to Trick.
He did find the Scotch eventually.
The vampire raised an eyebrow. "I'm not much of a Scotch drinker, you know."
"One glass won't kill you. Besides, this is the finest Scotch I've tasted yet, and I've been around long enough to know." Wilkins lifted his glass. "A toast. To all the... remarkable women out there."
He took a long chug of his drink, and Trick sipped his as well. It was pretty damned good. "So," he said after a moment. "Tell me about this succubus."
The reminiscing - and the Scotch - lasted well into the night.
* * *
Epilogue
Saturday
The young man groaned, cracking his eyes open to meet the bright sunlight streaming through the window.
Sunlight?
Mike blinked a few times, briefly afraid he'd been sucked into some kind of mad time loop and that the whole week was about to repeat itself. But this wasn't Giles' bedroom. He was lying in a small guest room that was neat and quiet and comfortable... and utterly unfamiliar.
Had this moment of deja vu planned out since the beginning. This room is actually what ended up being Dawn's room two years later.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and he could hear the sound of a television set and laughter.
Saturday morning cartoons, of course.
Of course. Now he remembered. This was Buffy's place; Giles wouldn't let him crash on his couch with the condition he was in. They had ended up at Buffy's house, sans Angel, after Buffy had insisted she assure her mother that the monster of the week was gone. Joyce had caught Buffy sneaking out with a purseload of stakes Friday night, and had spent the rest of the evening worrying.
One look at Mike, and Joyce had gone straight for the first-aid kit. He couldn't recall all the details - he hadn't exactly been at his most alert - but around the time he dropped off to sleep at the kitchen table for the third time, Joyce had offered the use of the guest room. He didn't remember much after that.
The clock radio by the bed read nine a.m. From the noise downstairs, it was safe to say that most of the Scooby Gang either had stayed over or came back early. Sighing, Mike rose and dressed, glaring at his reflection in the mirror briefly before heading downstairs.
* * *
This little discussion was inspired by some guys I knew online in a chat room; the pancakes vs. waffles argument was a running joke.
"They're both for breakfast, you put syrup on both of them, you make them both with Bisquick," the Slayer observed. "Don't see the distinction."
"I'm serious, Buffy," Willow argued as Buffy attempted to help Joyce in the kitchen. "Waffles are a lot better than pancakes any day. They've got that, that nice waffle shape that lets you pour the syrup in the little squares. You can even make patterns."
As Buffy looked at her friend oddly, Oz spoke up. "She's got a point. You've got to consider texture."
"Texture?" Buffy asked.
"The absorption level," the guitarist answered blithely. "Pancakes take in syrup like a sponge. Waffles don't absorb it so quickly."
I love Oz's line of reasoning. He's got a point, too.
Willow nodded, pleased to have some support in the debate. "And - and that way they don't get all spongy and mushy after two bites."
"You could eat them without syrup and it wouldn't matter," a voice interrupted. They all turned to see Mike leaning against the doorframe. "But I'll add my vote to waffles."
Shades of Sunday morning. I had to have Mike sneak up on them again.
Buffy shot him an exasperated look. "Will you stop sneaking up on us? I get enough of that from--" She bit back the last word, realizing her mother was present.
Oops! No mentioning Angel yet, Buffy!
Fortunately, Joyce didn't pick up on that, or didn't seem to. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," Mike yawned. "Hungry." He tapped his forehead and grimaced. "I think I'm doomed to walk around Sunnydale with a bandage on my head."
Yeah, with all the freaking head injuries...
"It could be worse," Oz observed.
Mike nodded, conceding the point. "Where's everybody else?"
"Faith's around," Willow replied dismissively. "Frank's on the porch tuning, Xander's watching TV, Giles is being Giles somewhere, and Cordelia's getting her car reupholstered."
Still couldn't see Giles paying a visit so soon after "Band Candy."
As she mentioned Frank, Oz straightened up as if remembering something. He turned and murmured something in Willow's ear, giving her a peck on the cheek as he left the kitchen. Mike watched him go, then turned back to the immediate possibility of breakfast.
* * *
I really, really like this scene. Frank and Oz had a lot in common (and I just combined the names in my head and smacked myself), and I figured a private discussion/jam session was in order.
At least his baby was fine.
He hadn't had time to get it before Molly had grabbed him, and Frank was wholeheartedly glad about that. If he had, it would probably be blown to bits with Mal and the rest of the equipment in the van. Frank sighed. Rest in peace. True, Malik had been as much of an ass as the other two, but a small-scale ass. As much as he'd complained and griped and smoked, for a few years Mal had been the closest thing to a friend Frank had.
The question nagged at the edges of his mind. Had he done it? Had he ignited that spark that took out the van and Mal with it with whatever ability he had?
No. No, he was sure of it. Somehow, Frank knew he wasn't capable of that. But it left the question of who, exactly, had rigged the van. It certainly wasn't coincidence.
The rattle of the screen door brought him back to reality, and he looked up to see Oz standing there, guitar in hand. "Hey."
Hey, Frank replied.
Oz gestured to the bass guitar in Frank's lap. "How's she sound?"
Not bad. Glad I left her in the Bronze. I think she'll pull through.
The other musician nodded, settling down on the bench with his own guitar across his knees. He reached into his pocket, holding the guitar pick up to the light. "Only one way to find out."
* * *
Meanwhile, Mike is dealing with the fact that on some level, he did let the Defender in.
"I let him," Mike said after a moment.
Willow blinked. "What?"
Mike sighed, staring at the dining room table. "I must have blocked it out... it wasn't even conscious, but he had to be 'let in.'" He glanced over his shoulder to where Joyce was making the waffle mix, oblivious to their conversation. "Some part of me freaked. I didn't want to die. That was all it took."
"Oh," Willow replied, unsure how to respond. "It's - it's not like you asked for him to try that."
"Maybe," was all Mike would say.
Buffy nudged him. "Hey. Anybody in that situation wouldn't want to die. Anybody sane, anyway."
"It's not my sanity I'm worried about," Mike mused. "I'm going to be okay, it's just - if he hadn't tried that stunt, if he hadn't stopped my fall, I'd probably be dead right now."
The two young women were silent, unable to think of an appropriate answer as the sound of the screen door banging and the strains of dueling guitar chords could be heard. "Got a major jam session going on out there," Faith announced as she strode into the kitchen.
Leave it to Faith to come break the awkward moment.
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Isn't this, like, 2 am according to your sleep schedule? What are you doing up?"
"Didn't sleep," Faith answered. "How's the head, Corbett?"
Implying that yes, Faith was a bit worried about Mike.
"Still attached to my neck," Mike responded as she took the seat beside him. "How are you doing?"
Faith grinned. "Hey, I'm livin' large." She patted his knee, cocking her head suggestively. Willow and Buffy tried not to laugh at the resigned look on Mike's face.
"Faith, the boy just escaped being possessed," Buffy scolded. "He hasn't even had breakfast yet."
Yeah, really, Faith. :)
"Hey," Faith protested, putting both hands on the table before her and trying to look innocent. "I'm here for the pancakes."
"Waffles," Willow corrected.
"Whatever. So where's the syrup?"
* * *
And here I give Frank a bit of closure.
When the stream of intertwining guitar chords finally ceased, Buffy took her cue to step out onto the back porch. "Room service."
Oz set his guitar down and took one of the plates from her hands before they could topple, handing it to Frank. The bassist took the plate with a grateful smile. Thanks.
"No problem." She handed Oz his plate and sat down on the stoop as Frank dug into his portion with an almost feral vigor.
Even with his werewolf side to contend with, Oz was surprised at the way Frank was inhaling the food. "Haven't eaten in a while?"
He stopped, embarrassed. Huh? Oh. Sorry. Haven't had something home-cooked in ages.
Buffy nodded understandingly. The three of them sat in silence for several minutes, finishing off the waffles. "So what are you going to do now?" Buffy asked.
Frank didn't answer for a moment, chewing his bite thoughtfully. I don't know. Hadn't thought about that yet. Not sure where I could go.
"You could always stick around here," Buffy suggested, then hesitated. "Did I really say that?"
As in, why is she encouraging someone to STAY in Sunnydale?
But what am I going to do?
"You could at least jam with Dingoes Ate My Baby," Oz offered.
"It'd be an improvement," Buffy put in. "No offense."
"None taken. We could play more than one chord for a change."
The slightest hint of a smile played at the corners of Frank's mouth. I'm not going back to my folks. From his tone, it was evident he meant that. But I've got a cousin in Stone Canyon. Trini might put me up for a day or two at least if I grovel.
PR Reference #3: Frank Kwan is the cousin of Trini Kwan - the version in this world, anyway. There really is a Stone Canyon in California, even if Angel Grove doesn't exist in this world. Told you the last name wasn't incidental. The first name just stuck.
"Sounds like a start," Buffy observed.
I'll have to think about it. I've got time.
"Freedom," Oz noted. "Got to be a new concept."
Frank leaned back in his seat, thinking. I haven't been on my own in years. I don't know where to start.
Buffy stood up to collect plates. "Nice, isn't it?"
This time, Frank really did smile. Damn right.
* * *
And here we get into the blatantly silly bit. I don't know where this one came from. I do know that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jennies encouraged it.
"Hey," Willow greeted as she and Mike came into the living room, plates in hand. "What you watching?"
"Huh?" Xander glanced up. "Food! All right!" He fairly snatched the plate from Willow's hands, blocking her view of the TV. "Thanks, Will."
Mike settled into the armchair, plate in hand. "Down in front."
As Xander reluctantly sat back down on the couch, Willow scooted in beside him, watching the TV with interest. "You're watching Power Rangers again, aren't you?"
Here we come to a fun little parallel. Just when I thought I couldn't embarrass Mike any more, this scene popped into my head - courtesy of trying to figure out how to explain a PR reference in season two.
"I'm exploring my inner child,"
That line just sounds WRONG now that I re-read it.
Xander replied defensively. Mike promptly started choking on his food. "Hey, Mike? You okay?"
"Did you say 'Power Rangers?'" Mike gasped incredulously once he was able to speak again.
"Yeah," Xander answered. "Why?"
"Nothing," Mike said, shaking his head. "Got to be a coincidence."
The television was showing a group of too-attractive teens on what was obviously a soundstage made up to look like a youth center. A very familiar youth center, if it had four walls and was slightly less fake-looking. Mike set down his fork, suddenly having lost his appetite. "What the hell is this?"
Of course, the TV version is a "fake" mock-up of the "real" thing. :)
"It's this really cheesy kids' show," Willow explained. "They take footage of Japanese sentai and splice it together with American footage. It's corny, but a lot of little kids like it."
"Kids' show?" Mike echoed in disbelief. He set the plate aside, all traces of his appetite gone. Something told him he probably didn't want to see this, but a perverse fascination kept him rooted to his seat as the show played out. Even fashioned from obviously fake and too-clean settings, he couldn't help but recognize places from his childhood: the Youth Center, Angel Grove High, and that damned park. Seemed like every third time he or Leo had crossed through Angel Grove Park for some reason or another, there was a monster attack going on. He was watching the story of the superheroes he'd idolized half his life as a low-budget kids' show.
Man, did he ever have a headache.
"Wait a minute," Willow realized. "Angel Grove. Didn't you say that was where you were from?"
"Yep," Mike muttered.
Xander swallowed abruptly and turned to gape at Mike. "Hey... you don't mean that Angel Grove, do you?"
"No," Mike answered slowly, still recovering from his shock. "This Angel Grove was real." At their stares, he added, "Yes, with real Power Rangers."
"Let me get this straight," Xander said as the robot and the monster of the day started trashing the cardboard city. "So where you come from, a bunch of teenagers in spandex fighting off aliens was normal. And you didn't believe the Hellmouth was real until a couple of vampires almost killed us."
"Well, this was real," Mike snapped angrily. "People did get killed. A lot. People I knew. There was a ton of property damage. Monster alarms and shelters were a normal, everyday part of life, all right? Those huge things storming into the middle of town were huge, and real, and damn destructive."
I did try to make a distinction here.
"Okay, okay," Xander conceded. "Sorry. Didn't mean to hit a nerve there."
"It's okay," Mike sighed.
There was a moment of silence as the show continued on. "So, did you ever meet the pink one?" Xander asked. Willow pinched him. "Ow! It's a legitimate question. I mean, she fills out that spandex." Another pinch. "I'll shut up now."
Xander would bring that up. We're referring to the first Pink Ranger, for those who care.
"I knew of her," Mike muttered. "And it wasn't spandex, it was armor."
"Looks like spandex to me," Xander observed. "You can't tell me it wasn't."
"Maybe on a cheap kids' show, but not in real life."
"That's spandex."
"It was armor, I was there."
Willow changed the channel.
But too late to stave off the argument.
* * *
Faith was sitting alone at the dining room table, with an empty plate in front of her and an almost content smile on her face. She glanced up as Buffy entered with a stack of plates as the jam session resumed outside. "How's it hanging?"
"I think Frank's going to be fine," Buffy announced as she set the plates down for a moment. "You don't look so bad yourself."
"You know me. Five by five." She leaned back and stretched, the contentment fading.
Buffy caught the flash of worry in Faith's eyes. "What is it?"
For a moment, Faith looked like she was about to shrug it off, but decided not to. "Think Vortex Boy's all right?"
Yeah, she's definitely concerned for Mike.
"Mike? He will be if you and Xander stop calling him that."
"Come on, B. You know what I'm talking about."
Buffy stood and picked up the dirty dishes. Faith followed her into the kitchen as she set them down by the sink. "I guess he'll be okay. The whole 'possession' thing has him kind of wigged out, but he's dealing."
Faith nodded. "Has to be to survive here."
Willow stuck her head into the kitchen door, trying not to laugh. "Buffy? You might want to, um--"
I blame the sugar high I was on for this scene.
Curious, the two Slayers followed Willow into the living room. Xander and Mike were arguing loudly, oblivious to their audience. "Armor!"
"Spandex!"
"Armor!"
"Spandex!"
Faith grinned. "I think our boy's going to fit right in."
The three girls exchanged looks, then burst into hysterical laughter.
* * *
However, after such a silly scene, it's time for an abrupt change of tone...
Screams. Nothing but screams.
The child's dying cries echoed in the warrior's ears as he stumbled from the battle, heartsick and weary. If only he had been quick enough. If only he had foreseen his son's brave and impulsive move. If only he could have stopped Zika. If only...
Countless battles passed by, a flood of anger and loss and terror. Everything he had fought for, all the ideals he had stood for, seemed to fade away. Scorpius' forces had killed innocent after innocent. They had laid waste to all that was good. They had murdered his son.
They had taken his soul.
And for that, they would pay.
Mike awoke with a start, nearly knocking himself off Giles' couch in his shock. He sat bolt upright, gasping for air, his heart pounding in his chest. It was a few moments before he could collect himself, wiping the sweat from his brow and untangling himself from the sheets. The anger and hatred from his dream ebbed away, to be replaced with a cold fear.
Contrary to what he thinks, Mike did NOT get out of this unscathed.
He knew that rage. He'd seen it for a few moments, when the Defender had taken hold of him for the first time. Dreaming of Maya had disturbed him, but not like this. Never like this. Why couldn't he go back to those dreams?
Yeah, I don't blame him for wanting to go back to that...
As if answering his question, the words of the Defender came back to him. --The mergence began when you first awakened me.--
Mike groaned and flopped back down, shifting position to get comfortable. The vengeful spirit was gone, for now. Giles had assured him of that. If he could just stop thinking about this, and torturing himself, maybe he might be able to get more than three hours' sleep. He had to stop dwelling on it.
Good luck.
--I must have my revenge.--
His subconscious was tormenting him, that was all. It wasn't real. His fixation with Maya had triggered those dreams, and the Friday night insanity had triggered these. This too would pass. Dammit, what was wrong with him?
Forget Vortex Boy, I should start calling him Denial Boy.
--It must be completed.--
What the hell was with those dashes? I know there was a reason, but now it looks annoying.
Sighing, Mike rolled over onto his side, closing his eyes. He was not going to think about this; his head hurt too much already. The Defender was gone, banished and unable to touch him. It was over. As he slipped back into a restless sleep, two words floated through his subconscious.
For now...
The End
Before I get kicked, this was intended to be part of a series, I had stuff plotted out and had no idea I'd get so sidetracked with it. I was in no way prepared for the insanity that became my second semester of my junior year of college.
I did manage a mini-sequel in '01, and I have TRIED to get the bona fide sequel, "So This Is Christmas" off the ground.
Wow, it's after 5. I need to get back to cleaning. :)
Anyway, links for those who are interested in reading the whole thing:
Wherever You Are - The one-shot from Feb. 1999 that started all this.
New Blood - In its entirety (well, chopped into 6 chunks) sans commentary.
Slow Night - The mini-sequel I wrote in March 2001 when a hellishly amusing scene turned into a short fic.
Here we go...
"Tyger, tyger, burning bright..." Willow droned tiredly, then stopped to glare at the surprisingly docile werewolf crouched on the bookcage floor. "I've read this poem over three times! Isn't there anything else that calms you down?"
I love this poem, and in the wake of Willow reading "Call of the Wild" to pacify Oz-wolf (without the mention of rabbits), I figured this would be an amusing bit of literature to calm him down.
For answer, Oz growled, his hackles rising. "What about White Fang then?"
Again with the Jack London.
No change. Willow sighed. "You know, you've got a repetitive streak. I wonder if all werewolves are like this." Another growl. "Oh, all right, all right. 'Tyger, tyger, burning bright / In the forests of the night...'"
She was saved from a fourth reading as the doors were thrown open, and Mike dashed into the library in a panic. He was a sight; his left pant leg was torn, he was breathing heavily, and he was sporting a nasty-looking gash on his forehead. But the panicked, wild-eyed expression on his face was all she needed to tell he was in trouble. "Will? Where's Giles?"
"He went looking for you," Willow answered, closing the book and crossing the room to meet him. "Mike, he said you were marked for possession by a--"
At that moment, a cold gust of wind blew the doors open, and a hazy figure stepped into the library. "--ghost," she finished.
Gotta hand it to the Magna Defender, he knows how to make an entrance.
"Yeah, I kind of guessed as much," Mike answered weakly as they backed away. "Willow, get out of here. It's after me."
But this is Willow, so of course she tries to help.
She ducked into the office, quickly snatching up an amulet that Mike didn't recognize before dashing out again, interposing herself between her friend and the advancing specter. Hands shaking, Willow held up the amulet. "Spirit, I command you! By Hecate, return to the depths from whence you..."
Note that at this point in Season Three, Willow isn't quite as powerful as she eventually becomes. Had this been Season Five, I'm positive she would have been able to at least give Mike a chance to escape. But that would kill the upcoming scenes.
Before she could finish the incantation, the specter made a sweeping gesture, lifting Willow off her feet and sending her flying into the nearest wall. She collapsed in a heap beside the office, unmoving. Oz howled and vainly charged at the bookcage door.
Werewolf or not, that's still Oz there, and Willow getting hurt agitates him even more.
The werewolf's enraged howling and snarling seemed to fade into the background as the specter turned towards Mike, continuing its advance.
* * *
Meanwhile, at the beach...
Buffy lifted the blade. "Not unless I kill you first."
In response, Molly let out another strident wail. Buffy was ready for it, but even so she had to clap her hands over her ears to keep from keeling over. Angel writhed in pain as the petite girl stood over him, the aura of light now more brilliant than before. "Pity, really," Molly mused calmly. "Lorelei and I, we had such grand plans. Such grand plans... She could spell them, I could drain them... oh, what a lovely time it would have been. But now," she finished, "it ends here!"
She punctuated that statement with another scream, and this time Buffy fell to her knees, the sound getting through the earplugs easily. The Slayer squeezed her eyes shut as the keening continued... and then abruptly ended with a startled shriek.
For those who were wondering where the hell Frank was...
Buffy and Angel both looked up in time to see Molly go flying, borne by an unseen force that lifted the sand beneath her feet up in a tiny geyser of sand. Frank was standing there, a determined expression on his face. You're right. It is ending here.
Now that the others aren't muffling most of his abilities, Frank has pretty much come into his own.
Molly hit the sand and rolled, the aura of power dying out. As she glanced up, she could see just what Buffy had sensed; whatever power had been locked away in the bassist had just been unleashed. "Uh-oh."
She let out another scream, but the sand lifted around her again, surrounding her in a miniature tornado. The swirling sand and grit and dust blinded and choked the sidhe, and she was barely able to surface from the storm. "You'll regret this!" Molly screamed. "I found you! I made you! Without me, you wouldn't have even learned what you were capable of!"
You know, Frank really could have been Air, although here he was actually lifting the sand to create the tornado, not manipulating the air. But I didn't make that clear enough here, and wanted Molly's downfall to occur thanks to her own element (Lori was stabbed and drowned, Molly's outdone by a seeming tornado).
Frank didn't look in the least fazed. So?
Frank is so much fun when he finally gets a backbone here.
The sidhe wrenched herself free, gasping as she stumbled across the sand, momentarily looking human, weak, again. "You can't stop me," Molly snarled. "You hate the feeding, the killing. And if you ever want to get rid of me, you'll have to kill me!"
The storm began to subside. You're right, Frank admitted. I can't.
However, Frank is not a killer, something I made clear since the beginning.
Molly smirked triumphantly. Her smile died away as gunshots were heard, the bullets striking her in the back. Jerking in pain, she gasped, her mouth opening in an "O" of surprise. Somehow, she found the strength to turn and stare at the source of the shots.
Hi, Mal!
"Well, guess what," Malik commented, lighting a cigarette as Molly slumped to the ground. "I can."
He was originally supposed to blow Lori away, but I changed my mind at the last second - mainly since Buffy had the tools to take Lori out, but she wasn't prepared for Molly.
* * *
This was the SECOND scene I wrote when I began writing scenes. Before I came up with Relish, before Faith told me she'd be coming on to Mike, I immediately realized that the Defender must have followed Mike through and be ready to finish the job.
Mike scrambled backwards, knocking over a chair as he backed frantically away. The misty figure was undeterred, stepping through the overturned chair as it advanced towards him. With each step, the shape in the center of the mist became more and more defined. As his pursuer became visible, Mike's spirits sank. This did not look good.
The figure was heavily armored from head to toe, armed with a blaster and a broadsword that was as long as his arm. Its horned helmet had a reflective black visor, making it impossible to see its face as it moved forward. It was the same one he'd been catching glimpses of all week. And it was definitely after him, there was no doubt. He glanced over at the motionless form by the office. Willow would probably have a headache when she woke up, but that was about it.
That's a pretty good description of the Magna Defender. Even out of the context of the Power Rangers universe, he's still pretty intimidating, especially if he's after you.
Cursing under his breath, Mike turned and dashed up the steps, heading for the back windows of the library. Where the hell was Giles?
He scrambled up to the nearest window, trying to force it open. The rusty frame creaked in protest and wouldn't budge. A cool gust of wind brushed against him, and he whirled to see the armored figure standing only a few feet away. "Who are you?" Mike shouted. "What do you want with me?"
Originally, Mike went for the stacks, but I watched "Graduation Day" again and revised it because that would have been too easy an escape. Those windows did not look rusty or difficult to open when Buffy crashed through them.
For a moment, the specter did not respond. Then a voice spoke, gruff and harsh with disuse, echoing in his mind.
--Don't you remember?--
And now we get to a detail that's really going to mess with Mike's head.
Mike could only stare as it continued.
--I'm the one who saved you.--
Technically, that is true, although his intentions certainly weren't that great.
* * *
"What do you mean, it's not a ghost?" Faith asked incredulously as Giles sped down the road, breaking yet another speed limit.
"Not precisely," Giles answered. "Technically, it is a revenant of a deceased person, but this spirit commands a great deal of energy."
Part research, part BS here. Wanted to get across that the Defender wasn't just your average revenge-obsessed spirit; his powers came through with him, which is partly why he tossed Faith aside like that.
Xander nodded. "Not your typical ghost."
"Far from it. If it's as powerful as I believe, full moon or no, this banishment will only be a temporary exile from this plane." Giles frowned. "Although a spirit possession usually requires some sort of permission... I don't know how that could have been circumvented..."
Oh, I took pains to explain that one too! It wasn't really circumvented, as we will see.
"Wait a minute," Faith interrupted. "I thought you said that we could get rid of it."
"In this case, we can only hold it off for a while." Giles sighed. "Sometimes, when a person is in command of a great deal of internal power at the time of death, that energy is manifested in the revenant. The only thing it lacks is solid substance."
Explaining why he was so powerful. Very little was really known about where the heck the Magna Defender ever came from in the show, so I could fudge this.
"Solid substance?" Xander echoed. "Maybe I'm stretching a little, but you think that's why it's after Vortex Boy?"
The expression on Giles' face turned grim. "Exactly."
I could not resist tossing the nickname in there again.
* * *
Buffy got to her feet, staring at Molly in shock. The sidhe twitched, her face contorting in pain. "Iron... bullets..." Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her body sagged limply as the life left it. Blue light surrounded her again, this time engulfing her form as it disintegrated, forming tiny motes of light that spiraled into the air, drifting away into the night like so many fireflies. As it faded away, all that was left was a couple of dented bullets lying on the sand.
Another bit I took from Disney's Gargoyles - only iron can kill a sidhe. Which Malik would know, and be prepared for.
Angel jolted, gasping as his strength returned to him in a rush. "Uh, uh, uh," Malik cautioned as Buffy stepped towards him. She stopped, seeing the gun pointed directly at her. "I don't know about the walking corpse here, Slayer, but I don't think you can dodge bullets." He eyed Frank. "And don't try no tricks. If I get a hint you're gonna do something, I'll blow her brains out."
Buffy looked over at Frank, who nodded slightly. He'll know. To even be invited into the group, Mal had to have some abilities of his own.
"What do you want?" Angel demanded quietly.
"Hey, I got all I wanted. Ding, dong, the bitches are dead." He grinned maniacally at Frank. "Damn, kid, I was wondering when you were gonna stand up to them."
Mal is pretty much voicing some readers' opinions at this point; a couple people were annoyed that Frank was taking so long to double-cross them.
"And you were just going to play along," Buffy added. "Oh, yeah, that's real macho of you."
"I'm not trying to be macho, I'm trying to stay alive," was the answer. "Which means a one-way ticket out of the Hellmouth. I get in the van and take off, you don't stop me, you never see my sorry ass again."
Malik's a realist. I think he suspected, just as Frank did, that Lori might get rid of Mal and Frank if she managed to siphon energy from the Hellmouth. So he had a backup plan.
"Until the next voodoo cult comes into town," Buffy retorted.
Frank winced. Don't give him any ideas.
"Voodoo? Oh, that's rich." He snorted, keeping his gun trained on Frank. "I was thinking Vegas! The strip! I'm gettin' out of the entertainment biz. Security's where it's at down there." Neither of his three adversaries looked impressed as he backed up the beach, keeping the gun trained on Buffy.
It occurs to me that Malik would be right at home in Las Vegas.
"Think he's bluffing?" Angel murmured.
Once he was halfway up the ramp, Malik lowered the gun and started running. "Oh, yeah," Buffy replied as she dashed after him, with Angel and Frank following. The drummer was already crossing the parking lot as they started up the ramp.
Malik literally vaulted over a bench, throwing the van door open as he leapt into the cab and started the engine. He didn't notice the dark figure pulling itself out from under the vehicle. As his pursuers reached the top of the steps, Malik was already turning out of the lot onto the main road.
But when someone or something's been messing with your vehicle, it's not going to be pretty.
The van only made it ten feet down the road.
Fire spewed forth from the base of the van, the blast lifting it up a few feet as a miniature fireball consumed the vehicle's innards. The flame spilled forward from the back, flooding the cab completely with roiling orange-yellow light. Buffy, Frank, and Angel could only stare as the fire reached the gas tank, taking the van out for good in a terrific explosion.
This description was hard for me to write. Not that describing the explosion was hard - I do like the description - but I had a hard time killing Malik off. I really did. I liked him too much. But after taking out Lori and Molly, and since Trick does not like loose ends, he had to meet his end, and I had to make it clear that he didn't escape the blast. Death by fire, naturally.
The same thought struck Buffy and Angel then, and both turned to stare at Frank. The bassist backed away, shaking his head. I didn't do it!
Hee. He couldn't possibly have done it, but they don't know that. Again, Frank's not a killer, and Buffy wouldn't kill a human. That left Trick.
"I wouldn't fault you if you had," Angel said quietly.
Buffy stared at the wreckage in morbid fascination. "Wow. I guess he won't be going to Vegas after all."
Anything else was cut off by a loud, insistent honking and the flash of headlights. Cordelia pulled up as close as she dared, leaning on the horn of her convertible. "Excuse me? Social rejects? Wouldn't it be a good idea to LEAVE around now?"
You've got to give Cordelia credit for not driving off as soon as that van blew up.
"For once," Buffy sighed, "I think she's got a point."
They piled hurriedly into the convertible, unaware of the eyes watching them as Cordelia hit the gas, speeding out of the lot.
* * *
"Why the hell are you chasing me?" Mike snapped, trying a new tactic. Running wasn't working, and fighting was out, so stalling was all he had left. "You claim you saved me, and now you're driving me crazy! What do you want?"
--Scorpius seeks the Lights of Orion. Three thousand years ago, I released them, and paid with my life. I must find them before he does.--
And I sum up the Defender's backstory quite well here. I didn't bother to define certain terms that non-PR fans wouldn't understand, because, well, I don't need to. Some bad guy's after some powerful artifact, that's all one has to glean from this.
"Great," Mike answered. "Why don't you go do that, and leave me alone?"
--I cannot in this state.--
"I don't understand." Mike glanced past the specter to the front doors of the library. Sprawled beside Giles' office, Willow did not stir. In the book cage, he heard Oz roar and crash against the bars, but to no avail. He was probably better off with the werewolf locked up anyway. "Where do I come in to all this?"
He suspects how he fits into all this, but he's stalling for time.
--I have the power. I lack the substance.--
Mike didn't like where this was heading. "Substance?"
The specter hesitated. --You.--
Pretty much confirming Mike's fears with one word.
"What?" Horrified, Mike edged sideways, but stopped as the specter drew its sword. "No! Forget it. I don't know who you are or why you want these Lights, and I'm not letting you use me to get to them! Go find yourself another puppet!"
--That is no longer an option. The mergence began when you first awakened me. It must be completed.--
"Over my dead body." Mike paused, glancing at the ethereal blade. "Wrong choice of words, but you know what I mean."
--I've waited too many years to give up now. They killed my son, destroyed my life. I must have my revenge.--
Summing up his motivation in just a few sentences.
"I don't do revenge." If he could get the ghost to move just a bit to the left, he could make a break for the stacks. He'd jump through the back window there if he had to.
The specter tried another tack. --If Scorpius gets his claws on the Lights, we are all doomed.--
I should mention that the only reason the Defender is wasting time talking is that a more willing host is a lot easier to take. Not that he's EVER going to persuade Mike.
"And if you get your hands on them?"
--I will see justice done. I have pledged my very existence to the cause of the Defender.--
"You didn't pledge mine," Mike retorted.
The specter paused. --There is no other way.--
And he gives up on talking and goes in for the kill.
As it reached for him, Mike dived to the side - or tried to. He found himself locked in place, unable to move a muscle. The armored knight stepped forward, its form glowing brightly before dissolving into a formless, swirling brilliance. It surged forward, wrapping about him like a cocoon. Shutting his eyes, Mike gasped in pain as unwanted energy flowed into him, burning through him. A montage of scenes flickered behind his closed eyelids, like someone else's memories burying his own.
No! Mike clenched his teeth, pushing back as hard as he could. But despite his determination, he couldn't do much more than hold it off. Bit by bit, he began to feel himself slipping down into the recesses of his mind. You can't... do this...
As he struggled to hold on, Mike let out an agonized scream.
* * *
"Okay," Xander commented as the scream echoed down the hall, "that didn't sound good."
Giles was the first to reach the doors of the library, hastily pulling out the bottle of crushed herbs, a small ceramic bowl, and a book of matches. "These will have to be burned for it to work effectively." Pouring a quantity of the herbs into the bowl, he lit a match and set the herbs ablaze.
"Ugh!" Xander coughed at the smell. "What is that stuff?"
"Asafetida," Giles answered. "It's used for banishing spells."
It is, from the bit of research I did.
"Yeah, I can smell why," Faith muttered. "Let's go before it banishes me."
The specter didn't notice as they slipped into the library, too absorbed in whatever it was doing to Mike. "Oh my God," Giles muttered as he saw what was going on.
Xander spotted Willow's prone form lying near the office. "We're going to have to get Will out of the line of fire."
Of course his first thought is to get Willow to safety.
"You do that," Faith advised. "I'll keep Wolfie from going on the rampage." All the commotion and the concentration of energy was starting to agitate the werewolf, who was crashing against the door of the book cage. If he kept that up for much longer, the lock would give.
Nodding, Xander hurried over to Willow's side, trying to move quietly so as not to attract the ghost's attention. Not that it was difficult under the din of an overexcited werewolf. Carefully, he placed his hands under her arms, dragging her into the relative safety of the office.
Faith literally vaulted over chairs and tables to get to the book cage, where Oz was still slamming his bulk against the door. The Slayer spun around in confusion before she noticed the file cabinet nearby. Grabbing it, she shoved it against the book cage door.
Meanwhile, Giles began to chant in Latin, and the smoke rising from the herbs took on a yellowish glow.
Setting Willow gently on the floor of the office, Xander emerged, shutting the door behind him. The file cabinet notwithstanding, Oz continued to batter against the book cage door. "Great," Faith muttered. "Where's a chain when you need one?"
Xander took one look at the book cage and ducked behind the circulation desk.
I intentionally made it look like he was ducking for cover. But Xander has something else in mind.
The specter suddenly realized what was going on, but it was too late as the energy began to pull back from Mike. "Earth, and Wind," Giles shouted over the howling of the wind and the growling of the wolf, "draw this spirit from this plane!"
This was also taken from the resource that mentioned asafetida as an ingredient for banishing spells. I should NOT have mixed the Latin in, though.
With a roar, Oz crashed against the book cage door, snapping the lock. Another crash, and the file cabinet toppled over. The enraged werewolf nearly tore the door off its hinges as it bounded out of its prison. Naturally, Faith was the closest living target.
Xander popped up from behind the desk, hastily loading the tranquilizer gun. "Faith! Catch!"
Xander, chickening out? Hell, no.
He hurled the tranquilizer gun into the air as Oz pounced. Slayer reflexes saved Faith for the nth time as she flipped out of the way, landing on top of the table in time to catch the gun. Deprived of its target, the wolf crashed into one of the lower bookshelves instead. Before Oz could pounce again, Faith aimed the gun and fired two darts into the werewolf.
This part flowed so well. I could just see that happening in my mind.
Giles set the bowl on the floor before him. "Respond, and release."
The effect was instantaneous. The glow around Mike flickered and faded, and a barely distinct figure reared back with an angry roar. Mike slumped to the floor as a gust of wind blew through the room, snuffing out the flame and spilling the bowl of herbs.
Because angry, vanishing, cold-wind-bringing spirits must knock out any flame burning with their departure.
Xander was the first to speak. "Did we get him?"
Giles looked up again, fanning his face against the smell of the burning herbs. The specter was gone. "I believe so."
The office door opened, and Willow stumbled out, rubbing the back of her head. "Xander? Giles? What happened?"
Before Giles could answer, the doors flew open to admit Cordelia, Angel and Buffy, the latter two of whom were soaked. "What'd we miss?" Buffy asked as she strolled over to join the group, trying to look casual.
"Same old, same old," Xander responded.
Cordelia scowled at Buffy as she joined them. "I hope for your sake you didn't seriously damage the upholstery." Buffy rolled her eyes. Behind Cordelia, Frank slipped in through the library doors, unnoticed by the others.
Oh, Cordelia, you are going to eat your words in a few minutes.
Still disoriented, Willow suddenly noticed the open book cage. "Oh, no! Oz!"
"He's fine," Xander assured her, indicating the unconscious werewolf. "Although we're going to have to get a better lock for that thing."
Giles sighed, eying the remains of the chair Oz had smashed into. "Not to mention yet another chair."
Brought up the tendency to break furniture from the first library scuffle again.
"So where's the ghost or whatever?" Cordelia spoke up.
"It's gone," Xander replied. "Isn't it?"
At that, all heads turned to where Mike was still slumped against the wall, limp and unmoving. Giles jumped up and hurried over, with Faith and Xander following. "Let's hope he's all right," the Watcher said. "We may have been too late."
An unpleasant thought occurred to Faith. "Hell, let's hope he's still Mike."
Giles reached Mike first, kneeling down to check for vital signs. Faith and Xander were right behind him. "Well?" Faith asked after a moment.
"He has a fairly steady pulse, and he's breathing, albeit shallowly," Giles answered. "But there's no pupillary reaction."
Xander raised an eyebrow. "Everything's working, but no one's home?" Giles nodded. "That's not exactly a good thing."
"Dammit," Faith muttered, slapping Mike lightly to try to rouse him. "Come on, Corbett. Come on."
* * *
The stream of images shut off abruptly, the specter's hold on him dissipating. But one last fragment of memory came to the fore.
There was only one thing to do. "I'm sorry," he whispered almost inaudibly as he let his hand slip from his brother's. Panicked, Leo grabbed for him, but caught only air as Mike dropped into the grey swirling abyss.
As he fell away, the last thing Mike heard was his brother's anguished scream. "NO!!!" With that, the surface world was swallowed by grey.
These first two paragraphs are directly taken from "Wherever You Are." At this point, the scene switched in the story. Here Mike remembers another part that he'd blocked out.
Mike's descent abruptly ceased as his body jerked like a rag doll. But the jarring pain and blackness he was expecting did not come. Barely conscious, he tried to open his eyes, seeing only a blur of smoke and flames. Before he could will himself to focus, the world flared suddenly in an explosion of white light.
Sharp pain shot through him, and he was suddenly aware of another presence battering at the edges of his mind. Somehow, he grasped its intent, but it wavered, almost as if it needed to be permitted to enter.
Mike's conscious mind hesitated. But one voice, beyond reason and deep within his subconscious, agreed.
~I don't want to die!~
Ladies and gentlemen, we have permission! Kind of.
That was all it took.
Light exploded in and around him, and the rest of the world died away as a powerful presence flooded into his body. ~No!~ Mike tried to cry out, despite what his instinct had agreed to. ~I don't want this!~
His protests were futile as he was suddenly aware of everything the strange presence had seen and known in his life; a swirl of pain, grief, anger, and vengeance. As he slipped into the depths of his mind, Mike was positive that this must be what his own private hell was like.
Then, suddenly, something went wrong. There was a howl, a ripping sensation, and everything faded to black.
* * *
"Corbett? Corbett?" Faith repeated, sure that she'd seen some reaction. "Mike?"
Giles and Xander exchanged looks, and Giles shook his head grimly as he stood, wiping his glasses nervously. It didn't look good.
Suddenly, Mike convulsed, his entire body jerking violently as his eyes flew open. He leaned back, staring into space as he gasped for air. "Corbett!" Faith repeated. "Can you hear me? You in there?"
Numbly, Mike nodded, trying to breathe evenly. He remained staring blankly into space, seemingly fixated on a point beyond them. Giles knelt back down beside Faith as Cordelia joined the group clustered around Mike. "So what's wrong with him?" she demanded of the Watcher.
Giles sighed. "You always assume I know all the answers," he muttered. "I believe he's going into shock. Not that I could blame him, given the nature of what just happened."
No kidding!
Xander turned to the circulation desk, where Willow was bending - carefully this time - to replace the tranquilizer gun.
Not wanting to hit her head on the desk again.
"Will! Call an ambulance!"
"No," Mike croaked, startling them all. He coughed and managed to focus on Giles. "No, I--" Swallowing against a dry throat, he added more loudly, "I don't need an ambulance."
"Are you sure?" Giles asked.
Mike nodded wearily. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm - I'm still me."
"Glad to hear it," Faith quipped.
With more than a little effort, Mike began to pull himself up, waving off Giles' attempts to help as he hauled himself unsteadily to his feet, holding on to the bookcase for balance. He wavered for several seconds, not letting go of the bookcase as he tried to regain his equilibrium. The others backed off, giving him a chance to preserve his dignity. "All right," Mike finally admitted. "I need some help here, please."
So much for his dignity.
Grinning, Faith slung his arm over her shoulders, supporting him on one side. "That's not all you need."
As she guided him down to the lower level, Mike sighed. "Yeah, I need about a week's worth of sleep, a new set of legs, maybe a truckload of aspirin--" He stopped abruptly as her free hand wandered. "You've got one hell of a one-track mind, you know that?" Faith merely smirked.
Yes she does, and don't you forget it! I couldn't resist, and neither could Faith if you think about it.
Buffy approached them, dusting her hands off proudly. "Oz is still out cold, and I kind of had to MacGyver a lock," the Slayer explained. At Giles' curious expression, she added, "Hope you didn't like that letter opener too much."
Despite himself, Giles smiled and shook his head, patting her on the shoulder. "We'll worry about that in the morning."
In the midst of all the commotion, Frank had slipped into the library, and was hovering by the doors uncertainly. Cordelia? You might want to put the top down on your car.
Need to fix that. He shouldn't have gotten in til now.
"I wouldn't need to if you were out watching it!" the brunette exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
I'm serious. Look outside.
Turning to look out the window, Cordelia let out a squeal. She turned and bolted for the exit, brushing past Frank as she plowed out the library doors. The others followed curiously, filing out into the hall and out the side doors of the parking lot to see what was the matter.
A gentle sprinkling of rain was spattering the sidewalks, picking up as the Scooby Gang stepped outside. Within moments, it had become a steady downpour, blurring the surroundings with curtains of water. "We came out here for this?" Giles exclaimed, wrapping his vest about him tighter.
After the heat wave and drought, I had to end this story with a good, well-deserved fall of rain.
Willow beamed, holding out her hands as if to catch the raindrops in her palms. "It's wonderful!"
"It's also freezing," the Watcher muttered, hurrying back to the relative safety of the overhang. Cordelia, still shrieking, was scrabbling to get the top down on her convertible while Xander attempted to help. Faith, still supporting Mike, had wisely remained high and dry beneath the overhang. Frank folded his arms and grinned, the first real smile any of them had seen on the bassist's face. The miserable heat of the past few weeks was gone, and the first rain they'd had for weeks was coming down in torrents.
It also adds to the finality of this scene, too.
Buffy sagged against Angel, who put an arm around her as they stood together in the rain, content. "It's over."
* * *
Couldn't wrap this evening up without a bit more of the Mayor. I so love writing him.
"So everything is taken care of?" the Mayor inquired.
Trick nodded. "Pretty much. Slayer trashed the siren. Turns out there was a sidhe in the mix, but she's also out of the picture."
"Mmm." Pausing to brush a speck off the desk, Wilkins folded his hands in front of him thoughtfully. "Our other two clients: what of them? Did you send a committee to deal with Robinson?"
"Already taken care of," Trick replied. "It's his own fault for lighting up in a van carrying all that explosive."
Wilkins smiled. "I've always said smoking was a nasty habit. What about the fourth member of the group?"
He would despise smokers, wouldn't he?
"Turned on them," was the answer. "Couldn't bring himself to do in the sidhe, though. I don't think he'll be a problem."
"Well, three out of four isn't bad," the Mayor sighed. He leaned back, an odd look in his eyes.
Trick noticed it immediately. "What?"
"She was something, wasn't she?" Wilkins said admiringly. "Quite a woman. Last time I met someone that remarkable was that succubus who blew through here in the sixties."
Family man or not, I figured Wilkins had to admire a woman as calculatingly evil as Lori. He might be immune to her charms, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't find that sort of manipulation amusing.
The vampire chuckled. "You've got to respect the dominatrix."
I have never been able to live down this line. Private joke.
"I might have added her to my team had she been trustworthy," Wilkins mused. "Pity she had to go and try to drain energy from the Hellmouth." He sat up straight again. "But what's done is done, I suppose."
"So... is that all for tonight?"
Wilkins stood and went to the cabinet, pulling his favorite bottle of Scotch and two glasses out from behind the occult artifacts. "Not quite." He set the glasses down on his desk and uncorked the bottle, pouring the liquor into the glasses, handing one to Trick.
He did find the Scotch eventually.
The vampire raised an eyebrow. "I'm not much of a Scotch drinker, you know."
"One glass won't kill you. Besides, this is the finest Scotch I've tasted yet, and I've been around long enough to know." Wilkins lifted his glass. "A toast. To all the... remarkable women out there."
He took a long chug of his drink, and Trick sipped his as well. It was pretty damned good. "So," he said after a moment. "Tell me about this succubus."
The reminiscing - and the Scotch - lasted well into the night.
* * *
Epilogue
Saturday
The young man groaned, cracking his eyes open to meet the bright sunlight streaming through the window.
Sunlight?
Mike blinked a few times, briefly afraid he'd been sucked into some kind of mad time loop and that the whole week was about to repeat itself. But this wasn't Giles' bedroom. He was lying in a small guest room that was neat and quiet and comfortable... and utterly unfamiliar.
Had this moment of deja vu planned out since the beginning. This room is actually what ended up being Dawn's room two years later.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and he could hear the sound of a television set and laughter.
Saturday morning cartoons, of course.
Of course. Now he remembered. This was Buffy's place; Giles wouldn't let him crash on his couch with the condition he was in. They had ended up at Buffy's house, sans Angel, after Buffy had insisted she assure her mother that the monster of the week was gone. Joyce had caught Buffy sneaking out with a purseload of stakes Friday night, and had spent the rest of the evening worrying.
One look at Mike, and Joyce had gone straight for the first-aid kit. He couldn't recall all the details - he hadn't exactly been at his most alert - but around the time he dropped off to sleep at the kitchen table for the third time, Joyce had offered the use of the guest room. He didn't remember much after that.
The clock radio by the bed read nine a.m. From the noise downstairs, it was safe to say that most of the Scooby Gang either had stayed over or came back early. Sighing, Mike rose and dressed, glaring at his reflection in the mirror briefly before heading downstairs.
* * *
This little discussion was inspired by some guys I knew online in a chat room; the pancakes vs. waffles argument was a running joke.
"They're both for breakfast, you put syrup on both of them, you make them both with Bisquick," the Slayer observed. "Don't see the distinction."
"I'm serious, Buffy," Willow argued as Buffy attempted to help Joyce in the kitchen. "Waffles are a lot better than pancakes any day. They've got that, that nice waffle shape that lets you pour the syrup in the little squares. You can even make patterns."
As Buffy looked at her friend oddly, Oz spoke up. "She's got a point. You've got to consider texture."
"Texture?" Buffy asked.
"The absorption level," the guitarist answered blithely. "Pancakes take in syrup like a sponge. Waffles don't absorb it so quickly."
I love Oz's line of reasoning. He's got a point, too.
Willow nodded, pleased to have some support in the debate. "And - and that way they don't get all spongy and mushy after two bites."
"You could eat them without syrup and it wouldn't matter," a voice interrupted. They all turned to see Mike leaning against the doorframe. "But I'll add my vote to waffles."
Shades of Sunday morning. I had to have Mike sneak up on them again.
Buffy shot him an exasperated look. "Will you stop sneaking up on us? I get enough of that from--" She bit back the last word, realizing her mother was present.
Oops! No mentioning Angel yet, Buffy!
Fortunately, Joyce didn't pick up on that, or didn't seem to. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," Mike yawned. "Hungry." He tapped his forehead and grimaced. "I think I'm doomed to walk around Sunnydale with a bandage on my head."
Yeah, with all the freaking head injuries...
"It could be worse," Oz observed.
Mike nodded, conceding the point. "Where's everybody else?"
"Faith's around," Willow replied dismissively. "Frank's on the porch tuning, Xander's watching TV, Giles is being Giles somewhere, and Cordelia's getting her car reupholstered."
Still couldn't see Giles paying a visit so soon after "Band Candy."
As she mentioned Frank, Oz straightened up as if remembering something. He turned and murmured something in Willow's ear, giving her a peck on the cheek as he left the kitchen. Mike watched him go, then turned back to the immediate possibility of breakfast.
* * *
I really, really like this scene. Frank and Oz had a lot in common (and I just combined the names in my head and smacked myself), and I figured a private discussion/jam session was in order.
At least his baby was fine.
He hadn't had time to get it before Molly had grabbed him, and Frank was wholeheartedly glad about that. If he had, it would probably be blown to bits with Mal and the rest of the equipment in the van. Frank sighed. Rest in peace. True, Malik had been as much of an ass as the other two, but a small-scale ass. As much as he'd complained and griped and smoked, for a few years Mal had been the closest thing to a friend Frank had.
The question nagged at the edges of his mind. Had he done it? Had he ignited that spark that took out the van and Mal with it with whatever ability he had?
No. No, he was sure of it. Somehow, Frank knew he wasn't capable of that. But it left the question of who, exactly, had rigged the van. It certainly wasn't coincidence.
The rattle of the screen door brought him back to reality, and he looked up to see Oz standing there, guitar in hand. "Hey."
Hey, Frank replied.
Oz gestured to the bass guitar in Frank's lap. "How's she sound?"
Not bad. Glad I left her in the Bronze. I think she'll pull through.
The other musician nodded, settling down on the bench with his own guitar across his knees. He reached into his pocket, holding the guitar pick up to the light. "Only one way to find out."
* * *
Meanwhile, Mike is dealing with the fact that on some level, he did let the Defender in.
"I let him," Mike said after a moment.
Willow blinked. "What?"
Mike sighed, staring at the dining room table. "I must have blocked it out... it wasn't even conscious, but he had to be 'let in.'" He glanced over his shoulder to where Joyce was making the waffle mix, oblivious to their conversation. "Some part of me freaked. I didn't want to die. That was all it took."
"Oh," Willow replied, unsure how to respond. "It's - it's not like you asked for him to try that."
"Maybe," was all Mike would say.
Buffy nudged him. "Hey. Anybody in that situation wouldn't want to die. Anybody sane, anyway."
"It's not my sanity I'm worried about," Mike mused. "I'm going to be okay, it's just - if he hadn't tried that stunt, if he hadn't stopped my fall, I'd probably be dead right now."
The two young women were silent, unable to think of an appropriate answer as the sound of the screen door banging and the strains of dueling guitar chords could be heard. "Got a major jam session going on out there," Faith announced as she strode into the kitchen.
Leave it to Faith to come break the awkward moment.
Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Isn't this, like, 2 am according to your sleep schedule? What are you doing up?"
"Didn't sleep," Faith answered. "How's the head, Corbett?"
Implying that yes, Faith was a bit worried about Mike.
"Still attached to my neck," Mike responded as she took the seat beside him. "How are you doing?"
Faith grinned. "Hey, I'm livin' large." She patted his knee, cocking her head suggestively. Willow and Buffy tried not to laugh at the resigned look on Mike's face.
"Faith, the boy just escaped being possessed," Buffy scolded. "He hasn't even had breakfast yet."
Yeah, really, Faith. :)
"Hey," Faith protested, putting both hands on the table before her and trying to look innocent. "I'm here for the pancakes."
"Waffles," Willow corrected.
"Whatever. So where's the syrup?"
* * *
And here I give Frank a bit of closure.
When the stream of intertwining guitar chords finally ceased, Buffy took her cue to step out onto the back porch. "Room service."
Oz set his guitar down and took one of the plates from her hands before they could topple, handing it to Frank. The bassist took the plate with a grateful smile. Thanks.
"No problem." She handed Oz his plate and sat down on the stoop as Frank dug into his portion with an almost feral vigor.
Even with his werewolf side to contend with, Oz was surprised at the way Frank was inhaling the food. "Haven't eaten in a while?"
He stopped, embarrassed. Huh? Oh. Sorry. Haven't had something home-cooked in ages.
Buffy nodded understandingly. The three of them sat in silence for several minutes, finishing off the waffles. "So what are you going to do now?" Buffy asked.
Frank didn't answer for a moment, chewing his bite thoughtfully. I don't know. Hadn't thought about that yet. Not sure where I could go.
"You could always stick around here," Buffy suggested, then hesitated. "Did I really say that?"
As in, why is she encouraging someone to STAY in Sunnydale?
But what am I going to do?
"You could at least jam with Dingoes Ate My Baby," Oz offered.
"It'd be an improvement," Buffy put in. "No offense."
"None taken. We could play more than one chord for a change."
The slightest hint of a smile played at the corners of Frank's mouth. I'm not going back to my folks. From his tone, it was evident he meant that. But I've got a cousin in Stone Canyon. Trini might put me up for a day or two at least if I grovel.
PR Reference #3: Frank Kwan is the cousin of Trini Kwan - the version in this world, anyway. There really is a Stone Canyon in California, even if Angel Grove doesn't exist in this world. Told you the last name wasn't incidental. The first name just stuck.
"Sounds like a start," Buffy observed.
I'll have to think about it. I've got time.
"Freedom," Oz noted. "Got to be a new concept."
Frank leaned back in his seat, thinking. I haven't been on my own in years. I don't know where to start.
Buffy stood up to collect plates. "Nice, isn't it?"
This time, Frank really did smile. Damn right.
* * *
And here we get into the blatantly silly bit. I don't know where this one came from. I do know that
jennies encouraged it."Hey," Willow greeted as she and Mike came into the living room, plates in hand. "What you watching?"
"Huh?" Xander glanced up. "Food! All right!" He fairly snatched the plate from Willow's hands, blocking her view of the TV. "Thanks, Will."
Mike settled into the armchair, plate in hand. "Down in front."
As Xander reluctantly sat back down on the couch, Willow scooted in beside him, watching the TV with interest. "You're watching Power Rangers again, aren't you?"
Here we come to a fun little parallel. Just when I thought I couldn't embarrass Mike any more, this scene popped into my head - courtesy of trying to figure out how to explain a PR reference in season two.
"I'm exploring my inner child,"
That line just sounds WRONG now that I re-read it.
Xander replied defensively. Mike promptly started choking on his food. "Hey, Mike? You okay?"
"Did you say 'Power Rangers?'" Mike gasped incredulously once he was able to speak again.
"Yeah," Xander answered. "Why?"
"Nothing," Mike said, shaking his head. "Got to be a coincidence."
The television was showing a group of too-attractive teens on what was obviously a soundstage made up to look like a youth center. A very familiar youth center, if it had four walls and was slightly less fake-looking. Mike set down his fork, suddenly having lost his appetite. "What the hell is this?"
Of course, the TV version is a "fake" mock-up of the "real" thing. :)
"It's this really cheesy kids' show," Willow explained. "They take footage of Japanese sentai and splice it together with American footage. It's corny, but a lot of little kids like it."
"Kids' show?" Mike echoed in disbelief. He set the plate aside, all traces of his appetite gone. Something told him he probably didn't want to see this, but a perverse fascination kept him rooted to his seat as the show played out. Even fashioned from obviously fake and too-clean settings, he couldn't help but recognize places from his childhood: the Youth Center, Angel Grove High, and that damned park. Seemed like every third time he or Leo had crossed through Angel Grove Park for some reason or another, there was a monster attack going on. He was watching the story of the superheroes he'd idolized half his life as a low-budget kids' show.
Man, did he ever have a headache.
"Wait a minute," Willow realized. "Angel Grove. Didn't you say that was where you were from?"
"Yep," Mike muttered.
Xander swallowed abruptly and turned to gape at Mike. "Hey... you don't mean that Angel Grove, do you?"
"No," Mike answered slowly, still recovering from his shock. "This Angel Grove was real." At their stares, he added, "Yes, with real Power Rangers."
"Let me get this straight," Xander said as the robot and the monster of the day started trashing the cardboard city. "So where you come from, a bunch of teenagers in spandex fighting off aliens was normal. And you didn't believe the Hellmouth was real until a couple of vampires almost killed us."
"Well, this was real," Mike snapped angrily. "People did get killed. A lot. People I knew. There was a ton of property damage. Monster alarms and shelters were a normal, everyday part of life, all right? Those huge things storming into the middle of town were huge, and real, and damn destructive."
I did try to make a distinction here.
"Okay, okay," Xander conceded. "Sorry. Didn't mean to hit a nerve there."
"It's okay," Mike sighed.
There was a moment of silence as the show continued on. "So, did you ever meet the pink one?" Xander asked. Willow pinched him. "Ow! It's a legitimate question. I mean, she fills out that spandex." Another pinch. "I'll shut up now."
Xander would bring that up. We're referring to the first Pink Ranger, for those who care.
"I knew of her," Mike muttered. "And it wasn't spandex, it was armor."
"Looks like spandex to me," Xander observed. "You can't tell me it wasn't."
"Maybe on a cheap kids' show, but not in real life."
"That's spandex."
"It was armor, I was there."
Willow changed the channel.
But too late to stave off the argument.
* * *
Faith was sitting alone at the dining room table, with an empty plate in front of her and an almost content smile on her face. She glanced up as Buffy entered with a stack of plates as the jam session resumed outside. "How's it hanging?"
"I think Frank's going to be fine," Buffy announced as she set the plates down for a moment. "You don't look so bad yourself."
"You know me. Five by five." She leaned back and stretched, the contentment fading.
Buffy caught the flash of worry in Faith's eyes. "What is it?"
For a moment, Faith looked like she was about to shrug it off, but decided not to. "Think Vortex Boy's all right?"
Yeah, she's definitely concerned for Mike.
"Mike? He will be if you and Xander stop calling him that."
"Come on, B. You know what I'm talking about."
Buffy stood and picked up the dirty dishes. Faith followed her into the kitchen as she set them down by the sink. "I guess he'll be okay. The whole 'possession' thing has him kind of wigged out, but he's dealing."
Faith nodded. "Has to be to survive here."
Willow stuck her head into the kitchen door, trying not to laugh. "Buffy? You might want to, um--"
I blame the sugar high I was on for this scene.
Curious, the two Slayers followed Willow into the living room. Xander and Mike were arguing loudly, oblivious to their audience. "Armor!"
"Spandex!"
"Armor!"
"Spandex!"
Faith grinned. "I think our boy's going to fit right in."
The three girls exchanged looks, then burst into hysterical laughter.
* * *
However, after such a silly scene, it's time for an abrupt change of tone...
Screams. Nothing but screams.
The child's dying cries echoed in the warrior's ears as he stumbled from the battle, heartsick and weary. If only he had been quick enough. If only he had foreseen his son's brave and impulsive move. If only he could have stopped Zika. If only...
Countless battles passed by, a flood of anger and loss and terror. Everything he had fought for, all the ideals he had stood for, seemed to fade away. Scorpius' forces had killed innocent after innocent. They had laid waste to all that was good. They had murdered his son.
They had taken his soul.
And for that, they would pay.
Mike awoke with a start, nearly knocking himself off Giles' couch in his shock. He sat bolt upright, gasping for air, his heart pounding in his chest. It was a few moments before he could collect himself, wiping the sweat from his brow and untangling himself from the sheets. The anger and hatred from his dream ebbed away, to be replaced with a cold fear.
Contrary to what he thinks, Mike did NOT get out of this unscathed.
He knew that rage. He'd seen it for a few moments, when the Defender had taken hold of him for the first time. Dreaming of Maya had disturbed him, but not like this. Never like this. Why couldn't he go back to those dreams?
Yeah, I don't blame him for wanting to go back to that...
As if answering his question, the words of the Defender came back to him. --The mergence began when you first awakened me.--
Mike groaned and flopped back down, shifting position to get comfortable. The vengeful spirit was gone, for now. Giles had assured him of that. If he could just stop thinking about this, and torturing himself, maybe he might be able to get more than three hours' sleep. He had to stop dwelling on it.
Good luck.
--I must have my revenge.--
His subconscious was tormenting him, that was all. It wasn't real. His fixation with Maya had triggered those dreams, and the Friday night insanity had triggered these. This too would pass. Dammit, what was wrong with him?
Forget Vortex Boy, I should start calling him Denial Boy.
--It must be completed.--
What the hell was with those dashes? I know there was a reason, but now it looks annoying.
Sighing, Mike rolled over onto his side, closing his eyes. He was not going to think about this; his head hurt too much already. The Defender was gone, banished and unable to touch him. It was over. As he slipped back into a restless sleep, two words floated through his subconscious.
For now...
The End
Before I get kicked, this was intended to be part of a series, I had stuff plotted out and had no idea I'd get so sidetracked with it. I was in no way prepared for the insanity that became my second semester of my junior year of college.
I did manage a mini-sequel in '01, and I have TRIED to get the bona fide sequel, "So This Is Christmas" off the ground.
Wow, it's after 5. I need to get back to cleaning. :)
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no subject
Date: 2004-01-25 03:29 pm (UTC)This is good - very entertaining (particularly like the scene with Xander and Mike arguing over PR!) and fascinating to see it from your point of view. Also nice to see that Mal wasn't wholly bad :)
no subject
Date: 2004-01-25 06:08 pm (UTC)"Spandex!"
"Armor!"
"Spandex!"
:D Always loved that scene.
And, as much energy as going through this long of a story making commentary must've taken, might as well put in that I still think it rocks, Chaos. :) Highly entertaining. Though not being a PR-fan, the extra bits on what the defender was up to / where the show ended and your muse took off really helped.
If it helps: I've come across the Japanese version of a 'revenant' before...don't remember its technical name, but it translated to 'Manifestation of Will'. It actually fits in a lot with your version, in terms of origins, abilities, powers.... But...I don't feel up to hunting through 16 volumes of manga to find the exact word. Sorries.
Here's hoping your creativity demons grace you with their (productive!) presence post-haste... :)
*claps*
Date: 2004-01-25 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-26 04:14 am (UTC)