Chapter 4: Buffy

The road seemed to stretch endlessly in front of Buffy, and she blinked a few times to relieve the dryness in her tired eyes. Maybe stopping by her childhood home had been a mistake. Just as it had definitely been a mistake to drive by Hemery High. But she'd needed to say goodbye, and with Sunnydale gone, all she had left was this. Los Angeles. To the home where she'd spent the first fifteen years of her life and the school she thought she'd graduate from alongside the friends she'd grown up with. To the place where it all began.

She shouldn't have come, though. The house didn't just look different, it felt different. There was a fresh coat of paint, and her mother's carefully tended roses had been ripped out and replaced with spindly-looking trees. Dad's manicured front lawn was now a dry bed of rocks and gravelly sand. It was a house that belonged to some other family, now. A dad who had stayed, a mom who was still alive, a daughter who wasn't a monster, and another daughter who wasn't… well, Dawn wouldn't have been, would she?

The changes were less apparent at the high school. Obviously, the gym had been rebuilt since she'd burned the old one to the ground. But the steps were still there. Right here was the place where Merrick had told her of her destiny as a Slayer. And here she was, eight years later, her destiny rewritten. Maybe it wasn't the place that had changed so much as the person she'd become.

Who might Buffy Summers have been if she hadn't been called that fateful day? How would her life have turned out?

All Buffy knew was that she almost certainly wouldn't have been sitting on the steps of her high school in the middle of the night. She also wouldn't have spent half an hour trying to restart her stolen car, holding the wires together the way Faith had shown her. Except Buffy wasn't sure which two wires to use and there had been a whole mess of them underneath the steering wheel.

So she'd broken into the gym, showering and cleaning the blood out of her clothes as best she could. Her wound was deep, and she hadn't slept nearly as long as she needed for her body to heal. She'd wrapped a sheet tightly around her middle, knowing that it would still be hours before she could allow herself the luxury of a good night's rest.

And then she waited. Dawn came and went, and the lot soon filled with cars. It was the end of the school year, so there were plenty to choose from, with many of the seniors showing off their graduation gifts, just as she'd been promised so many years ago. But she wasn't looking for something new. She needed something older, something that could get her from Point A to Point B without drawing any attention. And she needed it to be unlocked, with the keys inside, since she was obviously lacking Faith's talents at larceny and grand theft. What she needed was a miracle.

It came in the form of a grey sedan, peppered with dents and filled with half a tank of gas. The keys were in the grass a few feet away, dropped in haste as a student or teacher rushed off to class. It was the kind of good luck that Buffy wasn't used to having.

Which was probably why everything started going wrong.

Just as Buffy stooped to pick up the keys, the car's owner came outside looking for them. When the woman realized that Buffy wasn't playing the Good Samaritan, she yelled for security, which, of course, attracted the attention of the entire student body on this side of the campus. And when the woman had screamed out her name, her full name, Buffy Anne Summers, she'd dropped the keys again in surprise.

Buffy barely managed to grab the keys and get in before the woman was pounding on the driver's side window, yelling at Buffy to open the door and that she'd expected nothing less from the girl who'd murdered all those kids.

"All those vampires," Buffy had yelled back, pulling out of the spot and out of the driveway before the security guard could close the gate. She gripped the steering wheel as faces and names flashed through her head, people she'd lost a lifetime ago and hadn't given a second thought since. She couldn't. Not without the weight of their deaths bearing down on her, making it harder and harder to breathe.

Ten minutes later, she was on the side of the road, gasping for air, blood seeping through her shirt again. It was another half an hour after that before she could take her first steady breath. And here she was now, at a freeway off-ramp trying to calm herself down by gulping in the hot, dry desert air. She cursed herself for deciding to head east instead of driving north. But that would take her back towards Giles and the others, and she couldn't risk being in the area in case Willow decided to do a locator spell. Going south would only get her as far as San Diego unless she crossed the border into Mexico. But her Spanish was no bueno.

Buffy pulled out the map she'd found in the glove compartment in the hopes that the distraction would keep her focused long enough to pull herself together. She'd spent more time in L.A. than she'd wanted, stopping in the bank to pull out her meager savings. There was no house payment to make, no bills to worry about. Dawn was with the others, who'd be able to provide for her much better than Buffy had. And closing out the account meant one less tie, one less way to track her down. But it also meant several hours filling out paperwork as the branch manager tried to get her to reconsider.

According to the sign at the off-ramp, she'd already passed the 40, which would have taken her through Arizona to New Mexico. Her only real option was to continue on the 15 to Vegas. As she put away the map, she felt a sense of déjà vu, like she'd done this before.

When she saw the lights of the famous Strip, she passed them by, taking another exit a few miles ahead, instinct leading her through the sprawling suburbs north of the city to a house that looked like any other on the block. There was nothing to distinguish it in any way, but there was something hauntingly familiar about it.

She got out of the car, unaware of her labored breathing or the wound that had opened once again. The light on the front porch was off, but she knew that he'd be there. She took a few wobbly steps towards the house, and sure enough, the door swung open, light streaming around a figure in the doorway.

"Hey," the man said, "we don't want any trouble, so whatever you're mixed up in, meth, coke, or whatever, you can take it somewhere else."

She reached out, his name forming on her lips, the shape of it was so close, but something wasn't quite right.

"Buffy?" He drew closer, but his features wouldn't settle. His hair shifted from brown to gold and back in the wavering light. The cheekbones, though, were still as sharp as when she'd first laid eyes on him. "Buffy, you're hurt. Let's get you inside."

"'Pike?" The upward curve of his thin lips was the last thing she remembered before the light faded and her world went black.

o)O(o

"Foolish girl," a voice hissed. The words echoed through Buffy's head, although she was fairly certain they hadn't been spoken aloud. "You play with power as if it were a game."

Buffy opened her eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness of the desert landscape. Only this wasn't Nevada or anywhere she'd ever been before. At least not physically. But she knew every rock and grain of sand that surrounded her. Which could only mean one thing – she was dreaming.

"Foolish girl," The First Slayer said again. She crouched a few feet away, dreadlocks blowing gently in the non-existent breeze. Rough cloth was wrapped around her chest and waist, and the smooth expanse of her black skin was marked here and there with white paint.

"Why?" asked Buffy, pushing herself to her feet. "Because I didn't play by your rules? Because I chose to share power instead of grasping for more?" She stood her ground, crossing her arms and glaring at her predecessor. "The First Evil is gone because of what I did, and there are thousands of Slayers all over the world now. Thousands of girls working together to fight demons. And that's a problem for you how?"

"Foolish girl." The First Slayer tilted her head as she repeated the words for a third time, though her lips still hadn't moved. "The First can never be gone. It is eternal. It will return."

"And when It does, we'll be ready."

"You do not understand." Her arm lifted, and she was suddenly holding the Scythe in front of her, the axe head pointing to the left while the thick wooden stake pointed to the right. "She has awakened. She is coming."

"Who's awakened?" Buffy reached out, her hand closing over empty space. "Who's coming?"

"I think she's waking up," said an unfamiliar voice. But she sounded relieved, whoever she was. "Go get him and tell him that she's awake."

Buffy opened her eyes, this time to a forest of green and brown. Except this one was painted on the walls, and she was lying on a soft mattress instead of the desert floor. She turned her head to see a woman staring at her from a rocking chair across the room, brows pressed together in concern.

"Ollie's been so worried ever since you passed out in front of our house," she said, tucking a wayward strand of light brown hair behind her ear. "I finally convinced him to get some sleep while I sat with you. Benny's gone to get him."

Ollie? Benny? The woman rambled off the names as if they should have meant something, but Buffy was as confused about that as she was about her surroundings. She raised herself up to look around the room for anything recognizable.

"Oh, your wound!" She rushed over, gently pushing Buffy back onto the bed. Buffy let her, dimly realizing that she was wearing a t-shirt instead of the button-down top she'd had on before. The woman pulled the sheet aside to inspect the place where Buffy had been stabbed. "It's-it's gone."

"Liz," said a man's voice from the doorway, "I'll take it from here."

The woman looked at Buffy, her brown eyes full of unanswered questions. Buffy tried to smile back, something to reassure the woman who'd obviously taken care of her, but her lips refused to cooperate. All she could do was lift her hand in a vague sort of wave. Liz nodded and turned, pausing at the door to exchange a meaningful look with the man standing there.

"Thanks," he said as he closed the door behind her. He dragged the rocking chair closer to the bed and sat down, leaning towards Buffy with his elbows on his knees. "Buffy, it's been a long time."

"Pike," said Buffy, staring back at him. Of course. Ollie was short for Oliver. "How did I—How long have I been…"

"You've been asleep for about thirty hours or so." He reached over to grab a glass of water from the nightstand beside the bed and waited until she sat up to give it to her. She took a few sips until she realized how thirsty she was and gulped down the rest. "As to the how… well, I'm just as surprised as you are that you remembered how to get here."

"What are you talking about?" She clutched the glass to her chest as her eyes traveled around the room. "I've never been here before."

"Buffy, we spent two months here." His finger spun in a little circle. "I know it looks different, but this used to be your room. That's why I put you in here instead of the guest room. I thought you'd be more comfortable."

"I don't-I don't remember." Closing her eyes, she searched her memories, but Las Vegas eluded her even after she'd opened them again. "The way I remember it, you dropped me off at my house and then took off for Vegas alone."

A frown formed on his lips as he cocked his brow. "We rode here together with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Hell, you were still wearing your dress from the dance, even though it was torn and covered with vampire dust."

"It's all so fuzzy." She stared blankly back at him, although she knew that he must be telling the truth. What reason did he have to lie? "So, we were here for two months?"

"We stayed in a motel the first week or so, but we moved out here so you could have your own room."

"My own room?" asked Buffy, cursing the fact that she was starting to sound like a parrot.

"Well, I didn't-I mean, you'd just killed Lothos and found out you were a Slayer and burned down the gym with a bunch of your classmates in it." He shook his head as if it was still too much for him to take. Hell, it was too much for her to take, and she could feel her heart start to beat a little faster before she forced her mind from it. "I know I wasn't exactly a good guy, but I wasn't about to take advantage of you when you had all that to deal with."

"You were a good guy, Pike. You listened to me, you believed me, even when none of my so-called friends did. Even when I was so mean to you when we first met." Although their time in Vegas was still a blur, she remembered Los Angeles and how she'd felt about him back then. "I guess I should be thanking you for keeping your head straight. I had such a crush on you."

"It definitely wasn't easy. But you were fifteen! Talk about jailbait. Why do you think I went out and found a place so quickly?"

Buffy blushed, infinitely thankful that he hadn't let things get to far between them. Although maybe if her first time had been with Pike instead of Angel, she wouldn't have nearly as many trust issues with men as she did now. "If we were friends, why did I leave?"

"Actually," he said, shifting uncomfortably, "I left."

"Did we fight?"

"No. We didn't."

"But?"

"We were on patrol and came across a nest of neck-biters."

"How many?" she asked, watching him rub the back of his own neck.

"Four or five, maybe."

"Even when I was just starting out, I could usually handle that many."

"I know," he said, ruefully. "That's how I figured out I was the problem."

"What's that supposed to mean?" A flush rose in her cheeks, and his response irritated her even though she had no reason to be.

"You were so worried about protecting me that you almost ate it." His eyes drifted to the rust-colored stain on her borrowed t-shirt that they both knew wasn't rust. "I figured you'd do a lot better if I wasn't there to drag you down."

"I did alright," she said, twisting the shirt until the stain disappeared. But just because it was hidden didn't mean that it wasn't still there. Besides, this was Pike. He'd been there for her in the beginning, the only person she'd been able to count on after Merrick died. At least, he was until she moved to Sunnydale. "Actually, that's not true. I kinda died. Twice."

It was as if a dam had been broken, and the words came pouring out of her. She laid out her life before him, as candidly and openly as she could. How Sunnydale had been so different from her carefree days at Hemery. Her parents' divorce. Her relationship with Giles and how she'd come to love him like a father, only to watch him leave. Just like her own father. The friendships that she'd developed with Xander and Willow. The love that blossomed between her and Angel, and the horror that it turned into. The pain of killing him. The pain of losing him after he'd come back. Her chaotic relationship with Faith. Her torrid affair with Spike and the weird affection that had grown out of it.

When it came time to talk about her mother's death, her voice cracked. He took her glass and left the room to refill it, giving her some time alone. Buffy took a few grateful sips as he settled back in his chair and waited for her to continue, as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered right now even though she'd seen the ring on his finger and the look that had passed between him and the woman who'd been here earlier.

"So, tell me how you and Liz met."

"I'll tell you my story when you're done with yours," said Pike, raising an eyebrow at her suspiciously bright tone.

"Come on. It must be boring having me ramble on and on about my life."

"Well, aside from summers and a couple of weeks in the winter, your life seems like it's a non-stop, action-packed thriller. Way more exciting than mine." He leaned forward and took the glass from her, setting it on the nearby table before clasping his hands around hers. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to. But I get the feeling you've kept a lot of this stuff bottled inside. And I'm here to listen if you want to let it out."

"I do. It's just…" She raised her eyes to his, a weak smile on her lips. "When Mom died, it was hard. I felt so helpless when she was sick and going to the doctor all the time. But we were doing something. We were fighting it. How do you-how do you fight an aneurysm? How do stop a blood vessel from bursting in someone's head?"

Her eyes closed, and she squeezed them tighter to hold back the tears she thought would come. But they didn't. There was no pain, no anger, no sadness at all. Just the knowledge that her mother was gone and the empty place in her heart for the girl who used to just be the daughter of Joyce Summers.

The bed shifted as Pike came to sit beside her, draping his arm around her and giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. Maybe it was because he wasn't sitting across from her that made it easier to talk about the more painful things that had happened, things that needed to be spoken of in hushed tones, like Tara's death or the social worker who'd threatened to take Dawn away. Or maybe she gained some strength from the warmth of his presence beside her, something to give her courage as she told him about her second death and resurrection. Whatever the cause, she kept talking and talking until there was nothing left for her to say.

The silence stretched long after her last words had been spoken, until she thought maybe Pike had fallen asleep. His hand was clasped over hers, though, and his thumb was rubbing absentmindedly over the skin on the back of her hand, so she knew he was still mulling over everything she'd told him. To be fair, it was kind of a lot to handle. "Man, your life sucked," he said, finally, as he blew out a breath. "But I guess I should be thanking you. Sounds like you've saved the world a couple of times."

Buffy chuckled, a bit relieved that he'd broken the silence. And a lot relieved that he wasn't doing anything to coddle her or make her feel better about her past. The last thing she deserved was pity. "Riley said he had to learn the plural of 'apocalypse' after he started dating me."

"Riley? Riley Finn?"

"Yeah. How do you know him?" asked Buffy, uneasiness slipping under her skin. She hadn't mentioned Riley at all. Not that he hadn't been important to her. It's just that in the scheme of things, with Dawn and her mother, Glory and Spike, and everything else, he was little more than a blip on her radar. A good guy that went down a dark path because of her.

"Promise you won't freak out?"

"When you say things like that, it kinda takes the whole freak out process and throws it into overdrive." She pulled away and angled her body so that she faced him. At least that was one thing she'd finally learned: the best way to deal with a problem is to take it head on.

"I headed to Reno when I left Vegas," he said, folding his legs under him and sitting across from her. "I figured it was close enough that I could come back if I changed my mind. Which I did. I wasn't even halfway there when I turned my bike around. Problem is I turned it right into a trap. A Sand Demon trap. I guess once you learn the truth about the things that go bump in the night, you can't exactly go back to unknowing."

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this, Pike."

"Not your fault. Lothos is the one who turned Benny."

"Benny?" The name rang a bell, but it wasn't until her eyes landed on a picture of little boy riding piggyback on Pike that it finally clicked. "You named your son after him. Your best friend, the one you had to stake?"

"The gym wasn't the only thing that got burned that night." He shrugged, a casual acceptance of the way things had happened, but Buffy knew that he wouldn't have chosen that name for his son if it didn't mean anything to him. "Anyways, some Army guys pulled me out of the pit. They brushed it off as quicksand or a sinkhole. At least, they tried to until the Táni·l'ái popped its head out of the sand and sliced one of the guys in two. Luckily, I had a sword strapped to my motorcycle because their bullets kept bouncing off its shell."

"So, the Initiative recruited you," she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied him and the room more carefully. Pike didn't really fit the stereotype of obedient, straight-laced soldier that she'd usually come across when dealing with Riley's old covert government agency, but he was a good fighter, resourceful and level-headed. The Initiative would have been lucky to have him.

"The Initiative? Nah, that branch was just in Sunnydale. Experimental science or something. I heard some crazy shit went down there." His eyes widened as he looked up at her. "That was you, wasn't it?"

"No. That was the government giving a monster free rein and getting angry when her victims decided to fight back. With a little help from her own Frankenstein." She shrugged, echoing his earlier gesture and attitude. "I was just there to clean up their mess."

"Which means you're also the girl Finn was pining after."

"I never pegged you for the military type," said Buffy, pointedly ignoring his comment.

"I'm not. Which they weren't exactly happy about, but they let me go on my way. By the time I got back to Vegas, you were gone. I thought it would be better if I stayed here." He twisted the ring on his finger, spinning it around and around. "Liz got your old job as a coat-check girl at the casino. We started dating, and she got pregnant. The military tapped me as a contractor whenever they were short-handed on the demon-fighting front, and they paid pretty well. Better than what I was making at the casino."

"And that makes you… what? A demon-hunter for hire?"

He shrugged again, but his shoulders were stiff this time, defensive. "I do what I have to for my family."

"Does Liz know?" she asked, remembering the look in the woman's eyes when she saw that Buffy had healed way more quickly than a normal person should have.

"She knows some of it," said Pike, cautiously. "Sam and Finn were in our wedding party."

"Your wedding party? Wow, I never thought…" It was one thing to have Riley and his new wife swoop in with their color-coordinated combat gear and talk of adventures that happened anywhere but Sunnydale. It was quite another to think of them in formal wear, celebrating the marriage of someone she knew. That Riley didn't exist until this moment, although she knew he had a life after her. And it was apparently a happy one.

"Buffy, I never told anyone… Your identity was a secret, one that wasn't mine to tell. I'm sure Finn felt the same way."

"My identity is probably one of the worst kept secrets, at least among the demons," she said with a bitter laugh. "And after closing down the Hellmouth, I have a feeling that Buffy Summers is going to be at the top of nearly every demon hit list."

"You're safe here, Buffy," Pike said, placing a hand on her shoulder when she made a move to get up. "Stay as long as you need."

"Thanks, but I should go. Trouble seems to follow me, and I don't want your wife or your son to get caught in the crossfire."

He nodded and let her go. Maybe she was imaging it, but she thought he looked a little relieved at her decision.

"You and Liz are about the same size. I'll have her pack you some clothes." He got up from the bed and went to the door. "For what it's worth, I was wrong."

"About?"

"I thought caring about me made you vulnerable. From everything you've told me, caring about the people in your life only made you stronger, more determined. It made you a better Slayer."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure if it made me a better person."

"You're a hero, Buffy. Isn't that the best kind of person you could be?"

"I guess."

She forced a smile herself to smile at him as he left, even though she wasn't really convinced that being a hero meant she was a good person. Or even if she was a hero. But she had to play the part for a little while longer now that Pike was on the other side of that great big wall between herself and the rest of the world. Because heroes did what was right instead of what was safe and comfortable. They protected others, even if it meant getting hurt. And when Superman died, people from all over the galaxy came to his funeral, but only Lois Lane mourned the loss of Clark Kent. Maybe it was time for Buffy Summers to die again.

Crossing the room, she reached in the pocket of her jeans, which had been folded and placed neatly on a dresser. The slip of paper that Faith had given her was still there. A new name, a new life. The end of Buffy Anne Summers. She wondered how much it would cost and how long it would take to get to Philadelphia.

Up next: Dean – As a rule, he doesn't start bar fights. They tend to draw unwanted attention. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. Especially when the other person is a lying bastard.

A/N: Thank you so, so much for sticking around through the very long hiatus. Depressed Buffy is difficult to write when you're a depressed Tiki. Although I do intend to finish this story (thanks for asking!) I can't promise regular updates, but I will try to give this story, and my readers, the attention that it, and you, deserve.