This Is How It Goes

"How is she?" Willow asked, eyes flicking to the bed.

"She ... she lost a lot of blood," Buffy said hoarsely, feeling like she hadn't used her voice in days. Her face stretched painfully with the motions of her mouth. "The doctors say it's too soon to tell if she'll ..." she trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.

"I — I don't understand," Willow said, frowning. "What happened?"

Buffy looked sharply at Giles, who shook his head. "I didn't have a chance to explain," he said quietly.

Buffy inhaled deeply, frowning. "Skinner told me the cure for Angel after you left. He said it was to drain a Slayer. I was going to ..." her voice trailed off, and Willow's eyes widened in comprehension, her mouth forming a small "oh." "But then Faith showed up." Buffy screwed her eyes shut, jerking her head. "I should have known. I should have stopped her. She knocked me out, threw me in the cage, and then she — she made him drink."

Willow and Giles turned their heads to look at Faith, staring as if they had never seen her.

"Faith sacrificed herself? For Angel?" Willow asked in a quiet, incredulous voice.

"For me," Buffy responded tightly.

They looked at her again, staring at her small, lifeless form. Buffy's chest felt like it was being compacted, crushed in a vise every time she looked at her. She took a shaky breath.

"Buffy, I — I'm sorry to bring this up at such a difficult time, but we have another problem," Giles said hesitantly.

"The Mayor," Buffy said in a monotone.

And suddenly Buffy realized that she wasn't numb. Not at all. There was a simmering anger below the surface, humming underneath her skin. It soared with her statement, billowing in her veins. She recalled Skinner and Faith's earlier words and clenched her fists so hard her arms were trembling.

"That son of a bitch," Buffy hissed under her breath. Giles looked at her quizzically, a little taken aback at her vitriol. "He set this up. He shot Angel so this would happen." She sneered. "We were just pawns for him to jerk around."

"He knew Faith would do that?" Willow asked, sounding dumbfounded.

"He knew one of us would," Buffy said vaguely, but her mind was whirling, not paying attention to Giles or Willow.

This didn't come down to the actions of Angel or even Faith. This came down to that sociopathic, manipulative asshole. The Mayor engineered this. He put his pieces down on the board and sat back and laughed while it played out. Buffy felt a hot rush of bitter rage. She was through being used by people who thought she was a helpless, ineffectual tool, who thought she and her relationships existed for manipulation. Faith was in this bed because of him. Angel was most likely questioning his own humanity because of him. Buffy's gut was twisting with the wrongness of the situation because of him. People like the Mayor screwed with her because they thought they had access to more power. She was going to show them exactly how much power she had.

The Council, Azazel, Spike, Skinner, the Mayor, they all acted with delusions of impunity. They hurt her, they hurt the people she loved, they exploited her affections, and they expected no repercussions. That time was ending. And this end held no whimper. It was all bang.

Buffy's subconscious was busy formulating plans even as her attention turned to Faith. She turned from the still-confused expressions of Willow and Giles and walked over to the hospital bed. She stared down at Faith for several moments, eyes tracing her features, the thinness and paleness of her face, the spotted bandage on her neck, the way she seemed to shrink in the hospital robe. Buffy leaned over and kissed her forehead tenderly.

"I'll be back, Faith," she whispered against her skin. "I'm going to kill that bastard. And then I'm going to kick your ass." She moved down and kissed her gently on the mouth, brushing against the dryness of her lips.

Buffy straightened up and strode over to Giles and Willow again, feeling that comforting steel and resolve in her step. She had missed that certainty.

"I'm ready," Buffy said resolutely. She looked back at Faith for several seconds, frowning. "Do you think -"

"I'll watch her," a voice said, pre-empting her question. Buffy saw Angel standing uncertainly in the doorway, meeting her gaze with that same bright flash of self-loathing and remorse in his eyes.

Buffy nodded at him as he moved further into the room. She watched as he sat in the chair she herself had just vacated, looking down at Faith. She turned to leave.

"Buffy," Angel said quietly. She stopped, looking at him and seeing a cold rage blooming in his face. "I want in this fight. You tell me what the plan is and I'm yours."

She smiled grimly at him, seeing her own emotions reflected. Their minds were evidently on the same wavelength.

"Let's go," she said to Giles and Willow.

~ — ~ — ~

"So, that's what I'm figuring," Buffy said. "Input?" She surveyed the group in front of her. "Questions, comments, accusations of insanity?"

They stared at her, faces blank and dazed. She was standing in front of them in the center of the library, the group spread out around the table. It was early morning again. It was hard to believe that everything had happened just hours ago, but the soft light of dawn was proof of it. Graduation was tomorrow afternoon. The Ascension was happening in less than 48 hours.

Giles was the first to move after Buffy's statement, removing his glasses and cleaning them distractedly.

"I don't wanna say 'insane' ... per se," Willow said hesitantly, face scrunched up.

"Let's not exclude that word completely," Giles added, replacing his glasses and looking grim. Buffy rolled her eyes.

"I think it's fucking ballsy," Skinner said, twisting his head from his immobilized position in the cage to look at them, smirking. "No amount of testes is gonna stop you from being massacred, though."

"Thanks for your valuable contribution," Buffy said brusquely, sparing him one dismissive glance.

"So, just to recap," Xander said, sitting on the edge of the table and gesturing uncertainly. "The Mayor Ascends during graduation. Instead of running away screaming like any self-respecting person, we arm the student populace with 18th century weapons, some of them combustible. We fight off the giant demon snake and fend off the army of vampires with aforementioned weapons. Then, you lure Mr. I'm-Too-Good-For-This-Plane-Of-Existence away and we proceed to blow up the entire school with an unholy amount of dynamite." He frowned, squinting at Buffy. "Also, are you aware you have a footprint on your face?"

"Yes, yes, yes, and no," Buffy said, eyes to the ceiling as she counted off. Her brow furrowed at the last one and she walked over to one of the library windows, inspecting her reflection. "Crap," she mumbled, leaning forward and examining the distinct indentations on her cheek and forehead. "Why, why does she insist on wearing Doc Martens?"

"It's quite an ... ambitious plan," Wesley said in a high-pitched, weak voice, trying to sound enthusiastic but utterly failing with the amount of horrified doubt in his voice.

"Giles?" Buffy asked with some trepidation, turning to him as she walked back.

Giles shook his head dubiously, eyebrows approaching his hairline. "While I have to sympathize with Wesley's poorly-concealed terror, this may very well be our best course of action." He frowned at Buffy, peering at her with that searching, intelligent gaze that made her wither a little every time she faced it. "Are you sure you'll be able to procure the necessary ... supplies?"

"That would be Xander's area of expertise," Buffy said, looking at him with a small, proud smile.

"What?" Xander asked loudly, sounding frantic. "I don't have an area of expertise! I — I have quagmires of suckiness and little pockets of moderate competence."

"Xander," Buffy said firmly. "Stop underestimating yourself with creative imagery. You did it before, you can do it again. Without you, this plan doesn't work."

Xander paled and swallowed. "You want me to do the action hero thing and abscond with a bunch of army explosives?" he asked, sounding slightly less panicked.

"That's the idea," Buffy said quietly.

He inhaled deeply, nodding. "I can do that."

Buffy grinned at him. "Can you imagine the manly points you get if you pull this off?"

Xander shook his head resignedly. "Pretty much the only reason I'm agreeing to this madness."

"Okay," Buffy said, taking a deep breath. She began to pace, periodically looking up at the group. "Wes, keep looking through the books for more info. The more we know about this demon, the more we can kill it. Giles, you're my weapon guy," she said, and then frowned. "Uh, the non-dynamite kind. Wil, I need you to help Xander get the goods."

"What about transportation?" Willow asked worriedly.

"I think I can help with that," a voice said in the doorway.

Everyone in the library looked around to see a small, red-headed figure standing awkwardly, hands in his pockets.

"Oz?" Willow asked quietly, voice full of anxious hope.

"Hey," he said shortly, eyes flicking to Buffy briefly. "Figured a spacious hippie van could help with the brewing apocalypse." Buffy nodded. Oz looked towards Willow, attention focusing solely on her. "Can we talk?"

Willow exchanged a brief, panicked glance with Buffy, eyes holding a muted desperation. Buffy gave her a sympathetic look.

"Uh, yeah," Willow said weakly. Shooting one more flustered stare at Buffy, she stood up and walked with Oz out of the library doors.

Buffy turned to everyone else after the doors stopped swinging.

"Aw," Skinner said, smiling a horribly artificial smile. "Ain't reconciliation grand?" No one looked at him.

"Everyone got their assignments?" Buffy asked. There was a collective nod. "Alright, people. Go forth and prepare."

Chapter 34: More than One Way

Author's Notes:

It was funny. With the Ascension, the Mayor, and the situation with Faith and Angel, Buffy had essentially forgotten the initial purpose of Graduation. She was leaving high school. She had received the acceptance letter from UC Sunnydale a couple of weeks ago in the mail and had dropped it nonchalantly on the counter. Larger things had been occupying her mind. But she was going to college. She could pretend to live a semi-ordinary life. When this was over, if it didn't end in the utter destruction of Sunnydale, she could take classes, live in dorms, go slaying with her girlfriend, hang out with her friends. Buffy kept this image of precious normalcy in a corner of her mind, conjuring it when she needed a break from planning a war.

While the others were fulfilling their various functions, Buffy had stopped by her house to get some new clothes, weapons, and force her mother to take an impulsive, hastily-planned vacation. She couldn't have her here, couldn't put her in unnecessary danger if something went wrong. Wrong, of course, being that their plan failed miserably and the Mayor razed the entire town while still digesting them. Buffy tried not to think about this.

She went to the hospital too. Walked into the darkened room, blinds shut, and found Angel staring at the opposite, neutrally-colored wall with vacant, distant eyes. He snapped his head around to look at her when she walked in, blinking rapidly.

"Buffy," he said quietly, sounding almost disoriented. She didn't know where his mind had gone, but she could guess he wasn't imagining himself frolicking in a sun-lit, flowery field. Just like her, just like Faith, he was questioning his own identity, his own morality, who he thought he was. Except that for Angel, it was familiar problem.

Buffy slid her eyes over to Faith, hearing the soft beeping of the machine, seeing the same tubes running out of her mouth and nose. "Any change?"

Angel shook his head slowly. "The doctors came in and talked to me," he said in a quiet, hesitant voice, his sentence trailing off as if he didn't want to say more.

"And?" Buffy asked edgily, eyebrows raised.

"They said she's in ... she's in a coma," Angel responded softly. His jaw clenched as he finished the statement, his anguish-filled eyes sliding to Faith almost involuntarily. "They said that the — the blood loss," he said, stumbling over the words rigidly, "was too severe."

Buffy closed her eyes and tried to repress the thickening in her throat. "Can — is she going to wake up?" she asked hoarsely.

"They don't know," he said faintly. He wasn't looking at Buffy.

Buffy felt cold, as if a block of ice had just dropped into her stomach. That sensation of utter wrongness, approaching surreal, returned. Faith should be by her side, fighting with her against the Mayor, not fading into the background, lying motionless and stagnant.

"Angel," she said, a slight tremble in her voice. She swallowed. "After sunset, I want you to get as many weapons as you can and then come back to the library."

Angel looked at her briefly and nodded his understanding. Buffy felt herself shaking and suddenly needed to get out of the room. She felt constricted, suffocated, couldn't watch this any longer. She turned quickly and began to move towards the exit.

"Buffy," Angel called after her. She stopped in the doorway, turning to look at him. "After the fight ... I'm not going to say goodbye," he said softly. Buffy felt her face tighten. "I'm just going to leave."

Buffy clamped her jaw shut, staring at him for several seconds before spinning around and walking out.

~ — ~ — ~

Buffy stood in the library that night, surveying her team. Wesley, Giles and Angel were standing in various positions around the table, primly upright and looking attentive, pacing slightly with his hands in his pockets, and leaning against a bookshelf, arms lightly crossed. Respectively. Willow, Oz, and Xander were sitting at the table, looking at Buffy steadily and temporarily ignoring the pile of books in front of them. Buffy could see Willow and Oz holding hands, fingers laced gently. She ignored the heaviness in her gut and the echoing sensation of Faith's fingers intertwined with her own and smiled at Willow. Willow beamed back at her, shining eyes sliding to her recently-reinstated boyfriend.

There were boxes and crates all around them. Axes, crossbows, broadswords, maces jutting out dangerously everywhere. Upstairs, in the stacks, there were bags of fertilizer, large barrels, and carefully organized piles of explosives. Buffy ran her eyes over them, internally smiling a grim, satisfied smile.

"I'm bored," Skinner said from the cage, sighing and rolling his eyes melodramatically to the ceiling. Everyone glanced at him.

"Can I get you a magazine?" Buffy asked sarcastically, twisting her head to glare at him. "Maybe a Bloody Mary?"