Disclaimer: As much as I dream, they're not mine and never will be.
CHAPTER ONE
Night. Willow Rosenberg hated the night. It brought vampires, demons and other craziness into her life, and she hated the way the departing of the sun controlled her thoughts and actions. She spent every bright, beautiful day worrying about the approaching darkness, and whether she and all those she cared about would see it through. With a sigh, she slung her knapsack of weapons over her pale, slender arms and trudged wearily out to face another night.
Buffy Freeman flicked idly through the cable channels, groaning at infomercial after infomercial. She knew it was only a matter of time until baby Natalie demanded her attention again, and was trying to catch up on rest during a quiet spell. Her apartment was untidy, with a sort of lived in and homely look. But Buffy could never call it home. With a sigh, she switched the TV off and wearily set off to attend to her daughter.
Willow met up with her long-standing girlfriend Tara Maclay outside Starbucks, but they were not meeting for a quiet coffee. They were going to slay vampires. Willow and Tara regularly patrolled, as did Xander Harris when he wasn’t visiting his girlfriend in hospital. They were fairly effective, but they all knew they would be inadequate against any threat bigger than a vampire. The former Watcher, Rupert Giles had been isolated from his former friends before his move back to London two years previously, and had not made contact since. Once inside the cemetery walls their everyday chatter ceased, and both were on pre-vampire alert. Willow always kept a check on the recent Sunnydale deaths that the coroner marked as ‘due to severe neck trauma’ so she knew basically which graves to head for. Noticing slowly shifting earth beside one headstone, Willow nudged her companion and they positioned themselves each side of the grave. By now their tried and tested routine was fairly successful with the new-borns. Willow would grab the vamp from behind as it emerged, and Tara would immediately plunge the stake in, before any violence occurred. After this textbook slaying, the girls began to move towards the next new grave *depressing or what?*
As Willow leaped the four steps over to her girlfriend she could hear the snarling creature approach her right shoulder. She shoved Tara out of danger and regaining her balance, she turned to face the vamp. The creature glared at her, and then actually leaped back in surprise when it saw her stake.
“You’re not Buffy.” He said. Willow gulped,
“Uh, nope…” The vamp howled and turned to run, muttering
“Bloody hell, another Slayer. Give us a break!”
Willow stared after him. Tara picked herself up from the bushes, and grinned at Will,
“Wow, it thought you were the slayer!” Then she saw Willow’s face. “What’s the matter, baby?” She asked.
“Buffy. Haven’t said that name in a while.” Tara wrapped an arm round the redhead’s shoulder,
“You miss her, don’t you?”
“More than I realised, I think.” Willow tried to swallow her tears. She sagged into Tara’s arms and let them fall, two years of pent up emotion came pouring out amongst the gravestones and the dark silhouettes of the trees.
Natalie was cranky. Buffy had no clue as to why, and as she cradled her daughter despondently it occurred to her that it was her 23rd birthday the day after next. Natalie was approaching her first birthday in August. Another year.
Buffy had always dreamed of having a summer-born, to underline the distance her child would have from the darkness and evil. She had got her wish and hadn’t slain for two and a half years. Why, then, was she so miserable?
The answer to that came down to birthdays also. She had thought her birthdays were jinxed during her time in Sunnydale, but the last two spent alone in her apartment had brought her a sadness of a depth she never knew existed. Natalie finally ceased crying, and accepted her bottle. Buffy resumed her place on the sofa and continued to watch infomercials. She didn’t see or hear any of them. A round, fat tear rolled down her cheek and soaked into her collar. The first of many.
Spike approached Willow and Tara from behind.
“Hi witches,” he greeted them, then noticed Willow’s tears. “Hey, red, what’s with the waterworks?” Tara answered for her.
“It’s Buffy’s birthday on Monday.” She said, quietly. Spike’s face turned grey.
“Oh.”
The group always remembered Buffy’s birthday. They remembered her 17th when Angel had turned evil, her 18th and the ordeal of the Cruciamentum, her 19th and Giles demonic adventure, and her 20th when Dawn had discovered she was the Key. Then they remembered those they had not shared. Were they better or harder, happier or more disturbing? Willow was desperate to find out.
Her impending birthday made up Buffy’s mind. She wanted out of this life. She remembered the pain and wanted to leave it behind. She realised that she would only ever find happiness in the arms of her friends. Sunnydale. The best and the worst place she had ever been. She was going back.
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