Ten Years Later: Part One
by Paul Leone
Disclaimer: Buffy, Faith, Giles, Willow, Cordelia, Spike, Oz and Xander are the creation and property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Mira Roukas is mine, however.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Teresa and Ra for helping me brainstorm and edit this. Also, I crave feedback. That's NovusSibyl@aol.com. Thank you. Push the button, Frank.

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Part I - Dinner at the Mayor's

The usual shakes start right after I turn off Route 17 and onto Miller Road. I keep telling myself that next time I'll take the main road through town, but every time I find myself driving right past Wayfare Lane.

As soon as I see the two-story house half-hidden by trees, the sobs start and I start remembering.

Stop it. I will NOT go through this again. Not tonight.

I guess all those therapy sessions weren't a complete loss. By the time I pull into the Mayor's driveway, I'm mostly composed. I take a minute to clean myself off and put on my game f - happy face.

Typically, I'm the last one to arrive. The Mayor's BMW is out front and that ratty old Ford that Pastor Bandera drives is on the grass. I can't help but smile at the little slice of chaos in an otherwise stiflingly impeccable front lawn. It's so typical.

And then I'm at the front door and that annoying little motion-sensor doorbell goes off inside about a half second before one of the butlers - Juan, I think - opens the door for me.

"Ah, come in, Professora. They are in the dining room," he says with a smile, holding out his hands for my coat.

I shake my head. "I'll keep it, thank you."

Juan - or whoever - nods and vanishes into the woodwork. Literally, I realize with a shudder. He's a phaser. I wonder if she - of course she knows. She's the Mayor.

And speak of the Devil. There she is, in all her trademark Saks Fifth Avenue glory. Drunk, too, ahead of schedule, judging by the embarrassed look on the Pastor's face.

"Hey, Willow darling," she slurs, confirming my guess, and clumsily hugs me. "You look - well, very Willowy. Very academic."

"Hello, Cordelia," I say, gently pulling myself out of her hug. God! She must have started early. Her breath reeks of alcohol. "You look good." Except for the bags under her eyes. I almost laugh. I could tell her about sleepless nights that would make her pretty hair turn white.

She smiles and staggers back, somehow managing not to spill the glass of wine in her hand. You have to admire the talent.

"It's good to see you, Willow," the Pastor says, squeezing past Cordelia and giving me a quick hug. Even after all this time, it's still awkward. But I return the hug, forcing myself not to think about bad memories.

"Hi." It's all I can manage.

The Pastor smiles sadly. She understands. I hate her.

As always, we start out with small talk. "So, how was the drive up here?" Cordelia asks in one of her more sober moments. "Did you see the new stadium?"

Wonderful. Such tact. The Pastor almost spits out her club soda - no alcohol for her, smart girl - and I just manage a nod.

"Yes, I did. Richard Wilkins Memorial Stadium." I hiss out the name. Old habit.

Cordelia nods brightly. "It's all politics, Will."

Will. "Could you - please don't call me that, Cordelia."

"Sorry, Will-ow," she says, stretching out the 'ow' with drunken finesse.

Mercifully, the Pastor changes the subject. "How's school, Willow?"

I smile for real. "It's great. I've got some wonderful students this semester. And it looks like the Dean will grant me tenure next fall."

"That's excellent news. You're doing wonderful work, Willow, really." She smiles at me and I wish she'd just shut up, and I hate myself for it. She's a priest, for God's sake. But why does she have to be so nice to me? It would be so much easier to hate her if she was even a little bit rude.

After that, things settle down a little. Dinner - Veal Parmesan - is served and we eat mostly in quiet. Naturally, the food is superb. Fringe benefits of being friends with the mayor - one night out of the month you can eat something that doesn't come out of a box. Cordelia sobers up a little, thankfully.

Naturally, it's when things are finally approaching normalcy that the Pastor drops the bombshell.

"I'm having dreams again."

Cordelia, as usual, reacts first. "Oh, that's so lovely, dear. I had this wonderful dream about Brad Pitt - "

"I mean *dreams*," the Pastor whispers, a pained look on her face.

That's when I catch on. "Prophecy dreams?" I ask, hoping against hope that I'm wrong.

Of course I'm not. She nods and stares down at her empty glass before speaking again. "They started last week. I didn't think anything about it, really. It's been so long since I had one, I half-forgot what they were like. But then I had the same dream again the next night, and the night after that." From the look on her face, they weren't happy dreams. I can't help but feel a little gleeful and guilty at the same time.

"Hey, wait. How can you have the dreams? You're not - you know. A stabby person any more," Cordelia blurts out. I guess she wasn't as sober as she looks. Still, it's a good question.

"Who can say? There must be a reason behind it...but I don't know what it might be."

"Tell me about them. What did you see?"

"Images. Crazy images all strung together. A house... vampires. I think. A lightning bolt. And a rainbow. More, but I can't remember them or put words to them."

She's right, it's crazy. I can't think of any supernatural phenomena relating to lightning bolts and rainbows. "Anything else?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I never was very good at that side of the lifestyle." She almost said 'as good as' and then caught herself, I think. Nobody here wants to bring that up.

"I'll dig into the books. There might be something useful."

"Thank you. I know that this is important somehow. A call..." her voice trails off and finally she just shrugs. "The way will show itself, I'm sure."

Proving she's not asleep, Cordelia chirps up. "Maybe it's got something to do with the new Slayer in town."

"New Slayer? Coulda mentioned that earlier, Cordelia," the Pastor snaps. Funny how she regresses whenever she gets angry.

Cordelia smiles slyly. "Mayoral privilege, sweetie. S'my job to keep things under control."

"You sound just like Snyder, Cordelia." Snyder and that bastard Wilkins.

"She's drunk, Willow, don't be too harsh."

"Don't you start! She's got no right keeping things like that from us of all people."

She squeezes my shoulder, just hard enough to push me down into my chair. Some things you never forget, I guess. "Willow, please. Arguing won't get us anywhere." Then, to Cordelia. "What new Slayer?"

Cordelia shrugs. Dammit, why can't she sober up? If the Pastor wasn't around, I'd magick the booze out of her. But things are tense enough without an argument, or worse, about witchcraft.

"What am I, a phone book? Some girl. The cops have seen her around town the last few days, killing vampires." She clumsily pantomimes stabbing. "Dark hair. Pretty. The usual."

"We'll have to find her. She must be part of it. It can't be a coincidence that my dreams started just when the Slayer arrives in town."

For once, I agree with the Pastor. Damn it, Cordelia, you should have told us earlier. Should have told us as soon as you found out. "I'll ask around. I bet Willie knows something."

"Willie? Oh, please. I ran that sleazeball out of town," Cordelia sneers.

"Ran him out of town?"

"You bet. Do you have any idea the kind of clients that cesspool he ran attracted? He's lucky I just revoked his liquor license." Her eyes light up with genuine disgust. "We don't want that kind of people in the new Sunnydale."

"You're drunk," I finally manage to say. The Pastor just sighs and shakes her head. It must be hell for her. Cordelia sounds just like that snake.

"You know that Willie has helped us in the past," the Pastor adds, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

Cordelia sneers at both of us. "I don't care about your little after-hours crusade. I have to keep this town neat and tidy."

"There are some things more important than looking good for the Triple A Guide, Cordelia."

"Oh, please. Grow up. This isn't high school any more. This is the real world. I don't have time to run around playing Slayerette," Cordelia hisses. "Some of us have non-fantasy jobs."

"I don't think there's any point in continuing this conversation," the Pastor says after a ten-count. "I wish you luck in November, Cordelia."

I should stay and try to talk some sense into Cordelia, but I know it wouldn't do any good, so I just mutter a goodbye and follow the Pastor out into the front lawn.

She's already inside her car by the time I get there.

"Hey! Wait!" Very suave.

"I thought you'd try to wring some details out of Her Honor," the Pastor says after rolling down the window.

"Why bother? She's changed."

The Pastor grins and doesn't remind me what a moron I am. "Yeah, I've heard that can happen to people. Look, it's late. You should go home. Hit the books or something. I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe I'll have another dream tonight." Her grin fades as she considers it. Obviously the dreams weren't very pleasant.

"I could hack into the police network, see if they have any files on this new Slayer."

"Yeah...be careful, okay? I have a bad feeling about this."

"Don't worry. I'm still Net Girl." I feel like it's high school again.

"Just like old times, huh?" she asks, echoing my thoughts.

"Yeah. Just like...I'll be in touch if I find anything out."

"G'night, Willow."

"Good night, Faith."

I'm actually in good shape on the drive home until I see a teenage girl pounding the crap out of a pack of vampires in an alley behind what used to be The Costume Shop.

To my credit, I'm switch into autopilot mode instead of breaking down again. I'm out of the car, wooden stake in hand, before I even realize what I'm doing.

Not that my hesitation makes a difference. There were eight vampires when I slammed on the brakes and only three left when I finally start moving again.

The nearest one never sees me coming. I trip it with a garbage can and stake it. I can just feel my adrenaline pumping like it hasn't in ten years.

As for the last two vampires, I can't help myself. I stop and watch.

At first, it looks like the usual John Woo duel, but then the Slayer jumps back and pulls out a gun, some kind of big bore machine pistol. The vampires don't have a chance - whatever kind of bullets those are, they do the job. Both vampires are dust in as long as it takes her to pull the trigger.

Look at me. I'm feeling sorry for vampires now. But still - Buffy never ever needed a gun. Except against the Judge, but that doesn't count. Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned staking?

Aside from that, it's a decent technique, but where are the puns? Kids these days.

And there we are, staring at each other. Mexican standoffs give me the creeps, so I break the silence.

"So...I take it you're the Slayer I keep hearing about?" Not my best line, but I have gotten better since the old days. At least that's what I tell myself.

She nods and stows the gun in her coat. Leather. What is it with Slayers and leather? "You should go home. It's not safe after dark." Funny accent - Greek, mostly, but there's something else there I can't place. Macedonian, maybe, or Albanian, or something.

What the hell should I say to her? Hi, I used to be best friends with a Slayer, but she died saving the world and now I teach Computer Science?

Fortunately, maybe, the girl takes advantage of my hesitation to do a backflip right over the chain link fence behind her. I'm still gaping like an idiot when she hightails it around the corner.

Well, that was brilliant. I can't help laughing. She must have thought I was completely out of my mind.

Great. This is all too much for me. I'm going home, where it's safe and comfortable.


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