Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Joss.

Notes: This story is set during season 7, though I plan to deviate significantly from canon, particularly with the Kennedy character and the relationship between Buffy and Faith. The title is borrowed from the W.B. Yeats poem "The Second Coming." Additionally, I drew inspiration from the recent movie The Eye.

Chapter One: La Bella Muerte:

"Kennedy," Eli whispered harshly. "Kennedy, you have to wake up!" Kneeling beside her bed, he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, regretting each word that would potentially disturb the peace she was experiencing in sleep, but determined to wake her none the less. "Kennedy!" He wished that he could touch her, but he knew that if he tried, his hand would pass through her bronzed, sculpted shoulder like a beam of light through water. "Come on," he said urgently. "Wake up!"

Kennedy's eyes shot open. At first, she thought that she was alone. Heavy silence hung about the adobe colored walls of her bedroom. Slowly, a tingle started in her chest and she knew. Someone was watching her. "Who's there?" She called, her voice a mixture of fear and bravado. She turned her head, saw Eli, and sighed. "Oh, it's you."

"You have to get up," Eli said forcefully.

"What for, Eli? I just laid down. Isaiah had me training all day. All I want to do is sleep."

"You can sleep when you're dead," Eli said, then smirked, flashing his straight, white teeth. "Well, if you're not stuck like me."

Kennedy settled back among her blankets and smiled. If someone had asked her if she believed in ghosts before she found out she was a Potential, she would have laughed. If someone had asked her if she believed that ghosts could have a sense of humor, she would have rolled her eyes. Yet, Eli was kneeling next to her, apparitional proof that all of life was just shadow upon shadow layered into reality. She had met Eli the day after her Watcher contacted her family and explained to all of them that she possessed the capacity to become something truly amazing and heroic. Rather, she had walked right through Eli as she was wandering down the street contemplating her new life.

Eli had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Ahead of him was a car accident. An SUV had smashed into a sports car. People were gathered around the wreck, a man was performing CPR on someone lying on the ground. The closer Kennedy approached to the accident, the colder she began to feel. Her skin numbed as though someone was rubbing ice along her flesh. She remembered looking up at Eli and then down at the body, which bore his face. When she walked through him, she knew that he was dead. Eli was the first spirit that she ever saw, but he wasn't the last.

"Seriously," Eli said, wrenching her from her thoughts. He ran a hand through his short, black hair. "You need to get up." Something in the way his hand shook almost imperceptibly and the way that his voice bordered on panic told Kennedy to listen.

"Eli," she said slowly as she sat up again, "what's going on?"

He stood and paced over to her bureau, moving his hand through the brushes and perfume bottles littering its surface. "They're coming," he replied vaguely.

"They?" Kennedy asked. Flinging away the covers, she slipped her feet into her boots and messily tied them. "What kind of 'they' are we talking about here?"

"La bella muerte," he murmured.

"The what now?" Kennedy questioned.

"Death," Eli replied mournfully, gazing back at her with stony, gray eyes.

"For me?" She asked, that feeling of numbness spreading through her again.

"No," Eli shook his head.

"For Isaiah?" She asked, her breath hitching.

"I'm sorry," he answered sincerely. "You can't save him. You have to save yourself."

Kennedy strode across the room and slipped on her jacket over her red spaghetti strap top. "When?" She asked, sliding a stake into her jacket pocket and a knife into her boot.

Eli turned to her and smiled, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Now," he whispered. Kennedy heard the splintering crash of the front door blowing off of its hinges. When she ran toward her bedroom door, Eli tried to grab her arm to stop her, but his hand went through it. "Kennedy!" He shouted.

She opened the door and watched as a group of blind monks with daggers swarmed into the room. Isaiah was on his feet, loading a crossbow. He looked back at saw her. His eyes were worried. Kennedy couldn't speak for the fear that paralyzed her. She could see what he couldn't. The shadow had surrounded him, the black, smoky aspect of death. "Kennedy, run!" Isaiah yelled. "Run now."

"Do what he says," Eli whispered into her ear as he stood behind her. She back through him and shut the door, locking it. The hissing twang of a bolt flying through the air accompanied the whine of her window as she yanked open the glass. She heard Isaiah cry out moments later and one of the monks started banging on her door. Kennedy crawled through the window and onto the fire escape. Sneaking out of the London flat she had shared with her Watcher for the last time, she dropped to the ground. Fog hung over the city and its dampness gnawed at her bones. She started running down the alley, her feet sloshing through the puddles of that afternoon's rain. When she reached the front of her building, she saw her Watcher standing on the sidewalk. But he wasn't alone. The shadow was inside of him and, when he opened his eyes to look at her, they were black. Black smoke poured from his mouth. Half of his face had been slashed away and his normally crisp, ironed, white shirt was soaked through with blood. He turned from her and followed the smoke as it curled away into the night.

"It was his time," Eli said, striding up behind her. "He'll be alright."

"But where's he going?" Kennedy asked.

"Someplace I can't go yet," Eli replied and shrugged. "He'll walk the pathways of the dead until he reaches the clearing."

"And you?" Kennedy asked.

Eli's face clouded. "I don't know.

"I could have done something," Kennedy said angrily. "I could have fought. What good am I to the world if I just run?"

"No," Eli stated simply, "you couldn't have done anything. If you would have fought, you would have died."

"How do you know?" Kennedy asked, crossing to the other side of the street. A car honked at her as she cut in front of it and she flipped off the driver.

"I'm dead, remember?" Eli said. "I know these things. Your Watcher was marked. Once the mark of death comes upon you, there's no stopping it."

"What do I do now?" Kennedy asked, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill. Eli wished that he could comfort her. In the years he had spent watching over her, she had become like a daughter to him.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But I wouldn't stay around here."

Kennedy nodded and started walking briskly down the sidewalk. Eli followed obediently behind her, knowing instinctively where she was going. He followed her everywhere; he had nowhere else to go. She was the only person he had ever encountered who could see him and speak to him. Being around her gave him the chance to pretend like he was still alive, even if he wasn't. "Are you sure that drinking is such a good idea right now?" He asked quietly.

Kennedy sighed. "Probably not," she said, fighting the urge to cry. The woman walking next to her looked over at her with surprise and suspicion. "But I can't think of anything better to do." The woman started walking faster. To her, Kennedy was just some drugged out teenage girl wandering down the street at night talking to herself. She couldn't see Eli; she didn't know what existed when the curtain was pulled away and everything was laid bare. Kennedy had grown accustomed to people thinking that she was insane. In fact, she often wondered if she was.

She had never told anyone about what she could see, not even her Watcher, who she had trusted with her life. She knew that most people couldn't see what she could see, but she didn't know if anyone else in the world could. If she was the only one, those visions of ghosts and death were most likely a product of some abnormality in her brain. If she wasn't, those visions were a peak into the spiritual world. But Kennedy didn't want to know which category she fell under. It was easier to believe that she was sane than to accept that she might not be.

When she arrived at the bar, the Bouncer opened the door for her and smiled. "Hallo again," he said, his thick British accent obscuring his words. Kennedy had found it difficult to understand anyone for the first few weeks she had been in England, until her brain learned to translate things for her. She nodded to him and passed through the door, into the loud, hazy atmosphere. Her feet guided her to the bar, where she ordered a shot of whiskey and sat. Eli stood next to her.

"This isn't smart, Ken," he said. "Those guys didn't just come there for Isaiah."

"How do you know that?" Kennedy asked.

"Isaiah was just some old, British guy," Eli replied sharply. "You're the one who matters."

"I don't matter for shit," Kennedy shot back, lowering her voice when she noticed a couple of other bar patrons staring at her openly. "I'm just a Potential. God knows if I'll ever become a Slayer…probably not."

The bartender sat the glass down in front of her and poured. When he moved away, she picked it up and slammed it back. Without flinching, she swallowed and motioned for another. "Kennedy," Eli said exasperatedly.

"No," she cut him off. "I've been seeing crazy things since I was thirteen years old and they're getting worse. I see death everywhere, Eli," she whispered harshly. "It's everywhere I go, it's in everyone I see. Half of the time I don't even know who's living and who's dead. And on top of all that, I just saw my Watcher die. So leave me alone."

"You know I won't do that," Eli said, moving into the shadow of the corner of the room. "I'll be here when you're ready to go."

When Kennedy emerged from the bar at dawn, she slowly made her way back to her apartment building. She knew that she couldn't go in, but she didn't know where else to go. As she stood, staring up at her former home, a man cleared his throat behind her and spoke.

"Excuse me," he said, his accent not so pronounced. He sounded like he had been living in the United States for some time. "This may sound like a strange question, but does your name happen to be Kennedy, by any chance?"

"Don't trust him," Eli whispered, eyeing the man suspiciously. "He could be working with them."

"Who's asking?" Kennedy replied as she whipped around, studying him closely. He was tall, with brown hair and glasses. Her stake and knife were both within reach. If he approached her, she would use them.

"My name is Rupert Giles," he said, taking a step back as if he sensed her unease. "I'm a Watcher. I believe that means something to you."

"Yes," Kennedy replied, "it does." Her muscles remained tightly wound, tensed for action.

"I'm here because I believe that something, or someone, may be coming after you," Giles explained.

"You're a little late," Kennedy shot back.

"How so?" Giles asked, concern evident in his voice.

"A bunch of blind monks killed my Watcher last night," she replied. "I've been wandering around, didn't know where to go."

"But you got out alright," Giles said more to himself than her. "Thank God for that."

"What do you want?" Kennedy asked.

"I'm the Watcher to the current Slayer, Buffy Summers," Giles explained. "I'm here in England to collect what Potentials I can and bring them back with me to California."

"What for?" Eli asked, though he knew that Giles couldn't hear him. "Ask him what for."

"What for?" Kennedy said, echoing the words that only she could hear.

"Protection," Giles replied gravely. "You're in danger, so is everyone else like you."

"How do I know I'm not in danger from you?" Kennedy asked.

Giles smiled wryly. "You don't, I suppose. But I was rather hoping you would take me on my word."

"What do you think?" Eli asked, glancing over at her.

"I don't see that smoky, shadow thing," Kennedy whispered under her breath, too low for Giles to hear, though Eli heard her clearly. "Okay," she said louder. "I'll take you on your word. But if you try anything, I will kill you."

"I'm sure," Giles replied dryly. "Come," he said, extending his hand. "We need to get moving."

…………………………………………..

Faith slid a quarter into the pay phone and picked up the receiver. A blank dial tone greeted her ears and she punched in the all-too-familiar number. A few rings later, someone picked up the phone. "Hey, fang," she said.

"Faith," he replied evenly. She knew that he hated that nickname.

"Are you sure I have to do this?" Faith asked. "I mean, isn't there something else I could be doing?"

"No," Angel replied. "We've been through this, Faith. They're going to need you up there."

"I'm not sure Buffy's gonna see it that way, big guy," Faith said, irritation bordering her voice. "And I don't really want to get the shit beat out of me just for showing up."

"She won't attack you," Angel said, rolling his eyes. Faith could practically hear it over the phone.

"How do you know?"

"Because she's different and you're different and honestly, who holds a grudge for that long anyway?" Angel replied.

"Those Summers women are stubborn," Faith mumbled under her breath. "Okay," she said. "But if she starts hitting me, I'm leaving."

"No, you're not," Angel replied stonily. "You have to do this, Faith. Redemption doesn't come easily."

"I know, I know," Faith shot back.

"Listen, I would've called Giles to tell him you were coming, but I haven't been able to get a hold of him," Angel said.

"Well, what about the others? Why can't we call them?" Faith asked.

"I don't want to give them enough time to come up with excuses for why you shouldn't come," Angel said. "They won't be happy to see you and they won't particularly want to include you, but you need to be there. Something big is coming, something evil. They can't fight it alone. Two Slayers are better than one."

Faith sighed and rested her head against the plastic wall of the booth. "Okay," she said finally.

"Where are you anyway?" Angel asked.

"At the Sunnydale bus depot," Faith replied. Angel chuckled. "I just wanted to check one more time to make sure you still thought this was a good idea."

"You know," Angel taunted, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you were afraid."

Faith gritted her teeth. Angel knew which buttons to hit. "I'm not afraid, especially not of little-miss-princess."

"Prove it," Angel shot back.

"Fine," Faith said angrily. "I will."

"Good," Angel returned, his voice losing its edge. "And check in every once in a while, would you?"

"Sure," Faith said, her anger dissipating as she smiled into the receiver. It was nice to have someone who cared about her. Hanging up the phone, she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and exited the phone booth. "Home sweet Hell," she muttered as she lit up a cigarette and started walking.