Chosen

by Nancy Holder

  She pulled in, not reacting . . . but still listening.

  “Here,” he offered. “I’ll prove it to you. Ask me a question only I would know the answer to. Something like . . .” He thought a moment. “. . . where did I hide the moon pies in my office, or who was my favorite character in Little Women?” He paused. “We never got that far, did we.” A beat. “Meg.”

  He threw his hands up in a ‘can you believe it!’ gesture.

  “I know! Most people guess Beth. But Meg was a such a proper young lady. Remember when Jo burned your hair?”

  Faith kept herself cold, kept herself distant. “I know what you’re doing. It’s not going to work.” She shrugged. “But feel free to keep talking. Hell, I could listen to you yap all night.”

  He wagged a finger at her, giving her a parental frown. “Hey, hey, hey . . . language. You’re a leader now. You keep throwing the “H-E-double hockey sticks” around, pretty soon these girls are going to pick up on it. Then what?”

  “You let me worry about the girls,” she said icily.

  “Of course. Of course.” He added, giving her a confidential smile, “You’re doing a great job with them, by the way. Much better than Buffy ever did. You were smart to kick her out.”

  Faith was taken aback. “That’s not what we . . . Buffy got them this far.”

  He scoffed. “Why are you protecting her? You think she cares about you?”

  Faith didn’t say a word.

  “She nearly killed you, Faith,” he reminded her.

  “It’s different now,” she murmured.

  “No matter what you do, Buffy will always see you as a killer, not as a person. And now you have what she so desperately wants—the respect of these girls.”

  He came closer to what was under Faith’s surface. . . .

  “All she needs is an excuse, and she’ll finish what she stared when she stuck that knife in your belly.” He paused and added, “Stay on guard, Faith. Buffy’s dangerous. If you’re not careful, she’ll destroy you.

  “I’m just saying,” he added pleasantly. “It all comes down to love.”

  They were squaring off; she braced herself, knowing The First was going to try to work her, hurt her, throw her off balance.

  Deep down, you’ve always wanted Buffy to accept you, to love you, even.” He raised his brows. “Why do you think that is?”

  “You a shrink now?” she asked sullenly.

  “You keep looking for love and acceptance from these people, these ‘friends’ of yours,” he pointed out, sounded very reasonable, very kind. “But you’re never going to find it. The truth is, nobody will ever love you.” He smiled at her. “Not the way I love you.”

  “Get out,” she spat, balling her fists. He was getting to her; she couldn’t deny that.

  “They’ll forever see you as a killer,” he added, still pleasant.

  “I said get out!”

  “I’ll always be with you, firecracker.” His tone was fatherly, gentle, and filled with the love that she wanted. “In everything you do.”

  Dear God, the love that she wanted . . .

  . . . and then he disappeared.

  Then a voice behind her said, “Faith?”

  She whirled around to find Robin there. He put his hand on her shoulder; she shook it off and moved away.

  “Shouldn’t sneak up like that,” she said. “Almost took your head off.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I knocked . . .”

  “What’d you see?” she demanded.

  He gestured to the room, then to her. “Just you looking spooked. What happened?”

  She tried to let it go, but she was still shaken. “Nothing,” she insisted. “Forget it.” Then she remembered he’d come in for a reason, and that she was on point, and said, “What’s up?”

  “I was just going to fill you in our weapons status,” he told her.

  “So, fill,” she said brightly. “Go.”

  “We need more,” he said frankly. Then he titled his head, scrutinizing her. “You sure you’re all right?:

  Her temper flared, and she knew why, but it was none of his business. “What?” she threw at him, mean as a punch. “You want to rap about my problems?” Her voice raised. “You hopin’ to be the guy who puts the pal in principal for me?”

  He stayed calm, though not entirely unaffected, as he said to her, “Okay, I came up to talk weapons. I see you, you look kind of upset, and I ask you if you’re okay. Where exactly did I go wrong?”

  She processed that and stepped down from phasers on kill. “Sorry. I just don’t know what I’m doing . . . I just . . .”

  “I’ll leave you alone,” he said thoughtfully. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

  As he turned to go, she blurted out, “It was The First.”

  He turned back and looked at her, then entered the room and shut the door.

  “You’re really in the game now,” he said. “The First doesn’t show unless it thinks you really matter.”

  “Lucky me,” she drawled. “I’m a player.”

  They sat down on the bed side by side, and she held up a shaking hand. “Man,” she said. “Look at that. That really got me. I mean, demons, vampires, women in the penitentiary system, none of those make me freak.”

  “But that’s what The First does,” Robin explained. “Finds your Achilles heel.

  “Naw. It just talked to me.” She made a face. “It does a heel thing too?”

  “It’s a phrase.” He didn’t sound at all patronizing. “Your weak spot.”

  “Ah. The school thing.” She nodded. “I was kind of absent that decade.”

  They shared a smile, put some closure on the tension, moved on. It was actually kind of nice, as far as Faith was concerned.

  “So who was it . . . The First?” Robin asked her.

  She stirred. “He was . . . like, an old boss of mine.”

  “Just a boss?” He was noncommittal in his surprise. “And seeing him makes you shake like that?” A beat, and then, “Wouldn’t give you a raise, huh?”

  “Yeah, right.” She smiled weakly. “Nah.” Took a breath. “I know it sounds retarded, but he was like a dad to me.”

  “Oh.” Then he said to her, in deep confidence, “It was my mother. When it came to me. And I mean, it was her. Right down the perfume: patchouli and lilac.”

  Faith heard the hurt in his voice and looked into his eyes.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He was, too.

  “I’m just pissed at myself,” she admitted, shifting again. “I knew it was a trick . . .”

  “So did I,” he reminded her. “And I still wanted my mama to hold me like a little baby.” Off her amused look, he added, “In a manly way. Of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He said, “Nobody wants to be alone, Faith. We all want someone who cares. To be touched that way. The First may deal in figments, but the wanting is real.”

  The look they shared . . . intense. We get each other, Faith thought, seeing him in a different way. We get the need in each other.

  “Hitting things and a whole lotta Jack D dulls it some,” she drawled.

  He did not back off, did not back down. He was quite the man.

  “Among other things,” he said.

  She smiled bigtime at that. Then she said, “When it came to you, did The First tell you the truth?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  Faith considered that. Then she told him, “It said that we’ve got to watch out for Buffy. That Buffy’s dangerous.” She gazed at him, pretty damn troubled.

  “What do you think?” he asked her

  She shook her head. “Could be. We’ve given B a mighty reason to be pissed off.

  “The messed-up thing?” she added, going for it. “The First is telling me to worry about her, and I just wish she was here. In a couple of hours, I’m leading these girls into some serious crap. And she’s the only one—”

  “She’s not the only one,” Robin r
eminded her firmly. “You’re a Slayer, too. And I think you’re a leader.”

  She gave it up. “I’m an ex-con that didn’t finish high school.

  He gave her a sad smile. “I’m the principal of a school that nobody finished. And I’m totally out of my league in this.”

  “I hear otherwise,” Faith said, giving him a look.

  That flattered him, and threw him off; he regained his composure and said, “So, tomorrow . . .”

  “Forget about tomorrow,” she told him. “This is tonight.” She put a hand on his arm, let her touch linger there for a moment, gazed up at him and said softly, “Been a while. Am I out of line?”

  “Hey, you’re the leader.” His voice was husky.

  She kissed him. Held his face between her hands and kissed him hard, pressing him back down onto the mattress. Faith, the one who burned bright, the flame, the comet. She straddled him, came up for air so she could burn hotter, longer, and said to him, “Kiss me.”

  He did. Deep, hard. He slid his hands under her T-shirt and caressed the bare length of her back, the muscles, the scars.

  She began to undress him . . .

  . . . let there be fire . . .

  * * *

  Willow went into her room to put the troops to bed for the night, dressing in a tank top and jammie shorts. She was looking at one of Giles’s maps.

  “Okay, guys,” she said, studying the map, “Giles said that Faith said that we should be ready to go early in the—”

  She blinked. The only person in the room was Kennedy in a beautiful gown, lying under the sheets. One of her exquisite, muscular legs was revealed. Candles glowed, bronzing her with a glow.

  With a catch in her voice, Willow asked, “What happened to the girls?”

  Kennedy peered through her lashes and murmured, “Looks like there’s only one girl here. “

  Willow raised her brows. “But what about the other ones, with their sleeping bags and their headgear and their snoring and . . .” She smiled big. She smiled radiant. She smiled like an Amazon on the night before the big battle. “They’re not here.”

  Kennedy’s mouth curved into a bow.

  “Nope.”

  Willow shut the door.

  “That’s nice.”

  She went over to the bed and sat on the edge near Kennedy, and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “Nice and necessary,” Kennedy teased. “Our fore-play was threatening to turn into twelve-play.”

  She kissed Willow back; then she took the map from Willow’s hand and dropped it to the floor. Pulled the Wicca close and said, “C’mere.”

  Willow slid under the sheets, then turned away. Kennedy spooned her, kissing her neck, and asked, “Something not right?”

  “No, no, I just . . .” Willow took a breath. “I guess I’m kind of scared.”

  Kennedy got that. “It’s probably too stupid to ask why, huh? Death, war, apocalypse . . .”

  “Me,” Willow admitted. As Kennedy looked at her tenderly, she gently pushed a strand of hair off her face.

  “I’m scared if we . . . then I’ll . . . and then . . .”

  “And then, isn’t that the good part?” Kennedy asked.

  “Yeah, good.” Willow nodded earnestly in her Willow way. “Good feeling. But also . . .”

  “Bad stuff like unrestrained moaning and screaming with joy?” Kennedy joshed her.

  Willow looked abashed. “Well, yeah, sort of. Yeah, with the unrestrained of it. I’ve been in a place where I kind of should be restrained. I’ve been controlling myself and if I get out of control . . . if I let myself go, I could just . . . go.”

  “You’re worried you’re going to turn into Big Bad Willow.”

  “It’s not stupid,” Willow pointed out. “When we kissed, I turned into a—a Warren.” She was stricken.

  “It’s not stupid,” Kennedy agreed, “but it’s not going to happen. C’mon . . .”

  Willow gazed uncertainly at her, and Kennedy said, “Am I doing that thing? Am I pushing too hard?”

  “I don’t know,” Willow told her honestly.

  “I guess I just want you to know that you’re safe with me,” Kennedy said. “I’ll keep you safe. You can float around and I’ll tether you down.”

  “You’ll be, like, my kite string?” Willow asked her, breathy, beginning to relax.

  “You be a kite and I’ll be your kite string, okay?” Kennedy said.

  “Okay,” Willow said, and their kisses turned passionate; Willow let go . . . let go . . . abandoning herself to the moment, to Kennedy.

  * * *

  How the Potentials could sleep through all the racket going on upstairs was beyond Anya. She and Xander sat on the counter, eating ice cream, but for heaven’s sake . . .

  “They could have a little respect, you know,” Anya said crabbily.

  “Mmm,” Xander said noncommittally.

  “I mean, they should at least acknowledge the possibility that some people might not want to listen to an a cappella concert of moaning and groaning.”

  Xander took a spoon from her and ate a bite.

  “Mmm,” he said again.

  “It’s disgusting, is what it is.”

  He handed her back the spoon. “Little jealous, eh?”

  “Well of course! A lot jealous. If you and I are done having sex, I think everyone else should just knock it off . . .”

  * * *

  In the night: the comfort, the passion before the battle, before death took all the life away:

  In the arms of the angels . . .

  Faith and Robin in pure need, pure passion . . . he took over, took the lead, made her follow. . . .

  Willow and Kennedy, abandoning . . . Kennedy licking Willow with her pierced tongue, making her let go, making her soar into the night sky. . . .

  Xander and Anya on the floor, still clothed, she on top, not done yet, oh, not yet, not yet. . . .

  And Buffy and Spike.

  The lovers.

  She was asleep in his arms. He kept vigil, watching her, stroking her hair, infinitely gentle. He leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead.

  May you find . . . some comfort . . .

  * * *

  “I envy them,” The First said to Caleb as they walked together in the vineyard. She had put on the face of Buffy. “Isn’t that the strangest thing?”

  “Well, it does throw me a tad,” he admitted. “They’re just, well, they’re barely more than animals, feeding off each other’s flesh. It’s nauseating.

  He came forward, toward her. “But you, you’re everywhere. You’re in the hearts of little children, in the souls of the rich; you’re the fire that makes people kill and hate, the cleansing fire that will cure the world of weakness. They’re just sinners.

  “You are sin.”

  The First smiled enigmatically. “I do like your sermons.”

  “And you’re in me,” he told her. “Gave me strength no man can have.”

  “You’re the only man strong enough to be my vessel,” she told him. “And I know you feel me, but I . . . I know why they grab at each other. To feel. I want to feel.”

  She grew heated. “I want to put my hands around an innocent neck and feel it crack. I want to bite off a young girl’s face and feel the skin and gristle slither down my throat.”

  Caleb was moved. “Now that is truly poetical,” he told her.

  “We have to kill them,” The First insisted.

  He nodded. “We are.”

  “We have to do it faster.

  “Amen.”

  * * *

  Morning broke, the fearful phantoms . . . solid and real; but the tenderness, too, as Buffy opened her eyes and gazed at Spike asleep in her arms. Peaceful, a boy again. She gazed at him, a girl again, a lover, a mother, a sister. Someone powerfully connected to William, who might, soon, have to watch his true love die. . . .

  * * *

  At Checkpoint Revello, the Potentials were dressed for action. Kennedy and Miss
Kite were listening. Everyone was listening . . .

  . . . to Andrew, who had on a pith helmet and reminded Faith pretty much of Joxer on Xena, although he had something of far more substance to tell them than Joxer ever shared with X.

  “So it turned out that all these stone tablets basically said the same thing: The First and Caleb are trying to protect something. We don’t know exactly what, but it’s something powerful and they don’t want the Slayers to get it. I’m thinking it could be a weapon and if we are looking for an arsenal—”

  “You’re not coming,” Faith told him flat out.

  “If one is looking for an arsenal,” he immediately corrected, “well, what better place to find a—”

  “Weapon,” Faith concluded. “Okay, got it. Good. Good thinking, Andrew,” she added, trying to remember her leadership duties.

  “It’s a pleasure, Faith,” he beamed. “Back to you.”

  She turned to Giles, Willow, Dawn, and Xander.

  “I need you four to suss out the low-down on B. I don’t want you talking to her, getting in her way, or, for that matter, letting her know you’re there. Just do a little recon.”

  Robin asked her, “Where do you want me, Faith?”

  “By your phone. I’ll call you when I need you.”

  Her tone was cold, impersonal, as if they had not spent the entire night setting the room ablaze. He heard it, and realized he had been a one-night stand. Nothing more. Nothing there.

  Nothing there at all.

  Dawn asked anxiously, “What are we looking for, I mean, is there some reason we should . . . spy on Buffy?”

  “We’re just making sure she’s okay,” Faith answered, trailing off for a moment. Then she gaped at the large group of Potentials. “Those of you who are coming with me to the arsenal, you know who you are.”

  Kennedy, Vi, Caridad, Amanda, and others . . . including Kennedy, who pulled Willow’s hand up to her lips and gave it a little kiss.

  “Everybody ready?” Faith asked. Getting affirmatives, she said “Let’s do this thing.”

  Oooh, just like Princess Leia, Andrew thought dreamily.

  * * *