This Is How It Goes

"Only if it's got your blood in it," Skinner responded, smirking. "Heard Slayer juice does some crazy shit to vampires." He looked at Angel questioningly, cocking his head. "That true, buddy?"

Angel stared at the ground, posture still carefully casual, not rising to the bait.

"Enough from the evil peanut gallery," Buffy said tersely. She looked at her group again. "You guys did good -"

A large crash drowned out the rest of Buffy's words. The door to the cage flew open with a violent shudder and Skinner, mobile, free, and wearing a feral, hungry grin, stepped out with open arms.

"You really should get that lock fixed," he said, licking his fangs in anticipation. "Wouldn't want someone dangerous getting out."

Before Buffy could do more than growl ineffectively, Xander was up and thrown across the room, smashing into Giles and going down in an ungraceful heap. There was a frantic scraping of chairs as everyone backed up to safer areas. Buffy snarled and moved forward, pivoting on her right foot and spinning out with her left in a savage kick. Skinner ducked, caught her leg and flipped her over, Buffy landing straight on her back as the air was forced out of her. She lay on the floor gasping, hands clutched to her stomach, glancing at the battleaxe she had avoided impaling herself on two inches away. Thank God for small favors, she thought distractedly.

"Aw, Slayer. If I'd known you'd get on your back for me this easily, I woulda skipped all the foreplay," he said, grinning down at her.

There was a whooshing noise as Angel's fist sliced through the air where Skinner stood a second ago. Skinner backhanded him viciously, kicking him in the chest and sending him flying into a bookshelf. He turned back to Buffy, leaning over, grasping the front of her shirt and holding her immobile in the air. He avoided a kick from Buffy with a smirk and pulled her against him, opening his mouth wide, fangs glinting dangerously as he lowered his head. Buffy struggled furiously and ineffectually, her heart pounding with fear. Skinner's teeth touched her neck.

And then he froze and slowly looked down at the stake protruding from his chest. Buffy fell out of his grasp with a grunt.

"This is ... fucking disappointing," Skinner said flatly, and dissolved with a soft pop.

Wesley stood behind him. His arm was still raised, his face frozen in an expression of utter astonishment. His eyes were monumentally huge and staring blankly ahead.

"Wes," Buffy said in mild shock, rubbing her neck and raising her eyebrows, impressed.

Wesley blinked and focused on her.

"Dear Lord," he squeaked. Then he fainted.

Buffy stared down at him, sprawled out on the ground. The others came and stood by her, forming a circle around Wesley's unconscious form. Buffy tilted her head.

"I know you're supposed to say he looks peaceful," she said, squinting. "But ..."

"He still just looks like a huge, spazztastic dork," Xander finished. The others nodded in agreement.

"Can someone get him home?" Buffy asked, wanting to look up but unable to tear her eyes away from the grotesque slackness of Wesley's mouth.

"Sure," Willow said distantly, except she didn't move. Nor did anyone else.

They stood around him for another minute, until Buffy shook her head violently and raised her head. "Okay, this is approaching voyeurism. Enough shameless spectating. You guys go on home."

"But what about the ..." Willow said, waving her hand at the multitude of weapons and dynamite.

Buffy glanced upstairs. "Giles and I can wire up the library. Get some sleep."

The group exchanged looks.

"But, Buffy -" Willow started.

"Go. Home," Buffy repeated firmly, eyes narrowing dangerously.

They exchanged one more quick, fearful glance and then moved as one to the exit. Willow, Oz and Xander grabbed various limbs of Wesley's and half-dragged, half-carried him out the door. Angel flicked his eyes, soft and apologetic, to meet Buffy's and then quickly slid them away, walking out of the doors. The last footsteps disappeared and Giles stood in front of her, scrutinizing her with thoughtfully narrowed eyes.

"You should go home, too," he said.

Buffy shook her head. "All that's waiting for me there is an empty house. Can't sleep before a big fight like this anyway."

Giles inclined his head at her, accepting her statement. "I suppose we should set up the illegally assembled explosives," he said, sighing. "Rather a large amount of dramatic irony here."

"You mean 'cause we gave up our physical and mental health defending this place, and now we're gonna blow it to smithereens?" Buffy asked, walking with Giles upstairs. "What the hell are 'smithereens' anyway?" she mumbled, frowning. "Like the dickens. All these unexplained analogies."

Giles ignored her familiar rambling. They reached the upstairs floor and he inhaled and looked around the library, placing his hands on the banister. "It has served us well. In its own incompetent, utterly unserviceable way."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, looking at him with the ghost of an amused smirk playing around her mouth. "When you give my eulogy, it better be a hell of a lot more flattering than that."

Giles put a hand on her shoulder, grasping it tightly, and smiled at her. It was a proud, paternal smile, full of warmth and reconciled sadness. It made Buffy's heart ache. She swallowed and smiled back at him, trying to communicate her gratitude, her love, her trust.

Setting up the explosives took an hour, during which flashes of events ran through her head like a disconnected film roll. Everything that had happened in the library, in the school, every life she had rescued and everyone she hadn't been able to save. Come this time tomorrow, whether they won or lost, everything around her would be decimated, smoldering shrapnel. She couldn't tell if that was a comforting or terrifying thought.

As Giles went into his office, sleeves rolled up in preparation for another exhilarating research session, Buffy sat down at the table, half-heartedly pulling one of the volumes littering the table towards her. In the middle of reading about Marcus Chatwick, a pastry chef trying to prepare his town for a warlock's Ascension using only cheese Danishes, she felt that familiar leaden ache in her eyelids, that enervating warmth seeping into her limbs. Buffy put the book down and closed her eyes, just for a second, just to concentrate, and opened them to find herself in Angel's mansion.

She vaguely acknowledged that she was dreaming, looking at the way some objects were lucidly focused, some of them blurry around the edges. The room was bathed in a soft, yellow light, the walls pure and untarnished. There was a feeling of peaceful stagnation here, as if the air itself had stopped moving. She could hear herself breathing, slow and muffled in her ears.

"Looking for something?" a familiar voice asked behind her, light and amused. It cut through the thickness of the air, sharp and clear.

Buffy was smiling before she turned around. Faith was standing there, stance relaxed, arms crossed casually. There was an easy, lopsided smirk on her face. Buffy felt a sharp yearning flare in her stomach, looking at the soft, smooth lines of Faith's expression, the quiet animation in her body. Everything in Buffy ached to touch her, to feel warm, alive skin thrumming under her hands, but some ineffable feeling in the dream held her back.

"Just passing through," Buffy responded.

Faith took a step forward, the light hitting her face and distorting her features for a split second. Her body was glowing, suffused with a slow radiance. God, she was beautiful. Buffy's heart constricted painfully at the sight.

"Ain't that my job?" Faith asked, lips curling lazily.

Buffy blinked rapidly, trying not to squint at the light surrounding the other girl. "Why aren't you here?" she whispered.

Faith tilted her head. "You know me, B," she responded softly. "Like to make my fashionable entrances."

Buffy shook her head, something unsettling rising in her gut. "You shouldn't. You don't know which way you're going." The words poured out of her mouth with no preceding rational thought, but there was a strange sense of gravity as she said them.

"You gonna be my guiding light?" Faith asked, smiling gently. The shine on her lips and small strands of her hair were glinting. Her eyes looked lighter somehow, specks of colors mixed in with deep chocolate.

Buffy's brow furrowed. "I don't think that's how it goes," she said slowly.

Faith's smile changed. There was a brush of sadness in it, a resigned knowledge. "Pretty sure there's more than one way this can go."

Buffy's stomach coiled uneasily. "You have to come back."

Faith stepped forward again, holding Buffy's gaze. She drew so close Buffy could see her eyelashes, flashing softly as she shook her head. "Not in my hands, B. Not in yours, either."

Buffy felt her eyes burn, felt the corners of her vision begin to blur. Her throat was closing up.

"Don't cry, B," Faith said, her voice cracking. She moved forward swiftly, coming to within inches of Buffy and raising her hand. She placed a warm, firm palm on Buffy's cheek, wiping a tear away with the pad of her thumb. She was looking at Buffy with such tender melancholy that Buffy almost stopped breathing. "You got this one, okay? It's all on you."

Buffy looked at her plaintively, melting into the contact of Faith's hand. "It shouldn't be," she whispered.

Faith smiled sadly at her. "Maybe not," she said quietly. Buffy stared into her eyes, swirling with ardent emotion, and felt like she was drowning. "Or maybe it shouldn't be anyone else."

Buffy lifted a hand to put over Faith's, holding her against her cheek.

"You know the drill, B," Faith said softly. "No one likes to lose control. Not even him." She cocked her head, brushing a finger along Buffy's jaw and causing her to shiver. "You ready?"

Buffy snapped her eyes open, inhaling sharply. Her eyes roamed her surroundings, her heart pounding, Faith's question echoing loudly in her head. She raised her head, prying off the page her cheek was stuck to, and blinked as images and feelings from the dream coursed through her. She could still feel the electric trail that Faith's fingertip left along her jaw.

"Buffy?" Giles asked, walking out of his office and stopping as he saw her face. "Are you alright?" he asked, brow furrowing in concern.

Buffy swallowed. "I, uh — yeah. I just — I had a dream."

Giles sat down next to her, looking interested. "Prophetic?"

"Not ... exactly," Buffy responded distractedly, internally parsing the conversation she just had with Faith. She turned to Giles suddenly, eyes hard and certain. "I'm ready."

Giles looked mildly perplexed at Buffy's sudden change in demeanor. "Er — that's good," he said uncertainly, eyes flicking down. "Would that readiness include cleaning your saliva off of a priceless 16th century manuscript?"

Buffy blinked and looked down at the journal she had slept and apparently drooled on, cringing sheepishly. "Oops."

Chapter 35: Bona Fide Rebellion

Author's Notes:

"You're ready."

Buffy shifted in her robes, the chair creaking under her. She glanced to her right as Willow walked swiftly up the aisle, trying to sit down as covertly and quietly as possible. Buffy raised an eyebrow at her flustered, guilty face.

"Still human?" Willow breathed, looking at the Mayor. "Good."

"That's what this diploma really means," the Mayor, continued, holing up one of the rolled-up papers. "It's not about high school, or me, or even the gently-perspiring Mr. Snyder over there. It's about you. You did what you needed to do and you took valuable skills and experience away from it," he said in a stern, pedantic tone, pointing at the assembled class. "You are ready to move beyond these four walls, to graduate from your old existence. You're ready to ascend."

Buffy stared at him, eyes narrowed. He was a complete enigma to her sometimes. He was speaking with such earnestness, such genuine emotion and vehemence, and, yet, he was mocking them. Talking about their futures as if he wasn't planning on killing them all brutally in about ten minutes. Why would he even bother? Either this was all part of his manipulative, sociopathic self, able to talk to them with false conviction and enjoy the ironic pretense of it all, or the Mayor had the ability to completely detach himself from his own evil intentions. Neither option was especially appealing.

Buffy turned to Willow as the Mayor continued his inspirational speech. "Where were you?" she whispered curiously.

"Having sex," Willow whispered back casually, leaning a little towards Buffy but still focused on the Mayor.

"Oh," Buffy said lightly. And then did a double-take as Willow's words fully penetrated her distracted consciousness. "You what?" she asked, much, much too loudly.

Several students turned around to glare at her, frowning indignantly. There were some hushing noises. Buffy cringed.

Willow looked at her with an amused smirk. "You really need to work on this whole inconspicuous thing more."

"You're evil," Buffy hissed at her, trying to repress a grin. "Just dumping that on me. You know my voice gets all — all uncooperative when I'm surprised."

Willow raised her eyebrows in mock-shock. "I was not aware of that, no." Buffy gave her an unamused glare. "Besides, since when do you have the right to scold me for dumping unexpected news?" Willow asked, pointing at her accusatorily. She adopted a slightly high-pitched voice, trying to imitate Buffy. "The weather's nice today. Oh, and by the way, I've been banging Faith."

Buffy opened her mouth in astonishment, ignoring the way her stomach clenched with Faith's name and the memory. It seemed like another life. "You — you ..." she trailed off, not having a proper insult. "Apparently sex does wonders for your sass level."

Willow shrugged, smiling and conceding the point. They both turned back to the Mayor.

" — are the future. You kids are bright, ambitious, and resilient. That world is going to do its very best to toss you around, to take that center of control away from you. But — and trust me on this — nothing happens to you unless you let it. You seize your own future," the Mayor said, gesturing and sounding like a corporate-sponsored motivational speaker. Buffy absorbed his words and the meaning behind them, staring fixedly at him. She heard Faith's voice echoing in her head, sharp and certain. No one likes to lose control. Not even him. "And I have no doubt -"

The Mayor stopped talking abruptly, his eyes rolling up to the sky. Buffy and the rest of the students followed his gaze, seeing the growing darkness. A black disk was moving in front of the sun, blotting it out slowly. An eclipse. The air was different suddenly, darker, ominous. Buffy's skin was crawling, a cold pit in her stomach.