The hot California sun beat down on Buffy's already bronzed skin,
baking it closer to the ever-elusive perfect golden-brown tan. She
sighed as the soothing warmth soaked through her, stretching out a
little more on her beach towel. *This is the life!* she thought,
smiling a little under her closed eyes, as she listened to Dawn's happy
squeals coming from a few hundred yards down the beach, where she was
playing in the surf with Xander and Anya.
She realized with contentment that the little nagging worry-voice that
had plagued her ever since she had discovered her calling was blessedly
silent. *After all,* she pointed out to herself. *What would I have to
worry about?*
In the past year since Riley had left to go join the Initiative Version
2.0, in their new location, wherever it was, the crime rate in
Sunnydale had gone steadily down, specifically the unexplained murders
and missing persons reports. On patrols, the number of vamps and
monsters Buffy ran into had steadily decreased until she rarely ran
into anything. She still did a quick patrol--*most* evenings—but never
turned up anything. She would have worried that the vampires were
simply getting wise to her routines, except for the steadily dropping
number of deaths and disappearances.
She remembered the argument she and Riley had had when he had told her
he was going back to the Initiative. She had insisted that he was
making a stupid mistake, that even under new leadership, the Initiative
was going to follow the same path it had before, and surely end in at
best failure, at worst another attempted apocalypse. Riley had believed
that this was a new start for him and those among his comrades who had
joined the Initiative for good reasons, and still wanted to make a
difference in the fight against evil. He had argued that this time
around, it was going to be different. It was going to work.
*Guess he was right about something after all,* she mused.
Willow and Tara had been taking a leisurely stroll along the beach,
hand in hand. They reached her and sat down on their own towels near
hers.
"How goes the sunbathing, Buffy?" Willow asked in an exceptionally
cheerful voice.
Buffy lifted her sunglasses just long enough to give her a pointed look
from under her raised brows. "Wonderful," she replied, drawing out the
word to express just how "wonderful" it was. "How goes the...strolling?"
Willow blushed...or it might have been sunburn...*instant* sunburn?...no,
definitely a blush. "Also wonderful," she admitted with a shy smile,
and a quick glance at Tara.
Buffy smiled. It had taken her a little while to get used to the idea
of Willow and Tara as a couple, but now it seemed so natural to her.
And they were so happy. "Happy" seemed to be the word of the moment.
Xander and Anya seemed to be getting more and more serious every day,
Willow and Tara were still in the "honeymoon" phase, although they had
been officially dating for almost a year now, and Buffy could honestly
say she was happy being single, having a little Buffy-time, no
boyfriend to have to worry about keeping happy, no vampires to slay...
She *was* happy. Really.
She enjoyed having free time to just spend with her friends for once.
Wasn't this what she had always wanted? To be able to just be a
"normal" girl? Of course, she was still the Slayer, but lately the
title seemed to mean less and less. After all, what's a Slayer with
nothing to slay? And shouldn't she be happy about that? she wondered.
She *was*. She *was* happy about that!
But deep down, she had to admit, although she never missed it, there
was a certain pleasure to be found in slaying. The thrill of the hunt,
the sense of power and excitement she got when she felt that slight
tingle at the back of her neck that told her that her appointed prey
was near; the satisfaction of actually making the kill, and knowing
that she had a calling, a destiny, that transcended every other part of
her life...
A destiny that had been handily taken over by a group of military types
and their high-tech weapons for monster-hunting.
Ok. Maybe she missed the slaying. A little.
The admission to herself made her suddenly feel a little depressed.
Standing up and wrapping her cover-up around her waist, she began
folding up her towel.
"Leaving, Buffy?" Willow asked with a small frown that was
almost-concerned. Only almost, because Tara had just taken her hand,
and the frown was warring with an uncontrollable beaming smile.
"Yeah, I'm kinda tired, Will. I think I've over-baked myself," she
winced slightly as the towel brushed against her dry over-exposed skin,
which was beginning to show just a tinge of pink over the golden brown.
"Ok. We still on for the Bronze tonight?" Willow asked.
"Of course." Buffy's smile covered the hint of sadness she was feeling
well, she thought. After all, there wasn't that much to cover up. Just
a *little* sadness.
Loading up her towel, sunscreen and various assorted snacks and other
small items into her beach bag, Buffy headed up the beach to the
parking lot.
*There's another perk of not having so much slaying to do,* she
reminded herself eagerly. *That shiny little red sports car in the
parking lot that belongs to you, which you have a legal license to
drive!*
Driving had never been Buffy's "thing" before, but since the slaying
responsibilities had dropped off, she had had the time to really
practice and actually get pretty good at driving, and when she had
passed her test, her mother had bought her a brand new, shiny red
convertible.
*See,* she continued to point out to herself as she turned the key and
pulled out of the parking lot. *You wouldn't have this to enjoy if you
were still spending all your free time in cemeteries.*
*Cemeteries...crypts...DON'T GO THERE!*
Buffy turned on the radio to try and head off her thoughts and the
scary direction they were trying to take.
She reached her house, let herself in, and went straight to the
bathroom, where she dropped her beach bag, stripped out of her swim
suit and stepped straight into the shower. The steaming hot water stung
a bit on her slightly sunburned skin, but it still felt good, and she
took her time getting out. Wrapping herself in a towel, she headed for
her room. Her mom was still at the gallery, and Dawn was with her
friends at the beach, so the house was empty.
She opened her closet and began running hangers along the rod,
searching for something soft and comfortable to wear. She reached the
back of the closet without finding anything, but was not really
thinking about it anymore. There in the back of her closet was an
unpleasantly familiar item.
A long, black leather duster, worn in places from years of use into
buttery softness, though torn and ragged in other places from the
incredible amount of violence it had been through.
She thought back to the day she had put it here. The day Riley had
left, she had found herself, unexplainably, walking through the
cemetery where she knew *he* was staying. Without knowing why, she
found herself at his door...and found it wide open.
Feeling uncomfortable, knowing that was just *wrong*, and at the same
time wondering why she even cared, she had entered the crypt. There had
been no sign of its inhabitant. However, there was a mug of dried blood
sitting by his chair; she had grimaced in disgust, while still noting
what that meant. It had sat there for days, untouched. Even more
disturbing to her—and *why* disturbing, she wondered—was the black
leather duster, lying in a heap on the floor.
At that point, she had not seen him since he had fled after helping
them defeat Adam and his vile creations in the old Initiative building.
Of course, he had also helped *Adam*, and played a significant part in
giving them a need to fight at all. Hence the fleeing. In fact, that
was her first thought on seeing the deserted state of the crypt.
Perhaps he had finally left town, once and for all, fearing retribution
from the Slayer and her friends for his betrayal. It seemed like a
reasonable explanation.
Until she saw the coat.
There was no way in the world that he would have left the coat there if
he was leaving town. Which left only one explanation: he had not left
of his own free will.
Over the next few weeks as the new and improved Initiative began to
show its worth, its efficiency in dealing with Sunnydale's undead
menace, Buffy had come to the conclusion that he had probably been
re-captured by them. Which was no less than he deserved, after what he
had done to them. What he had done to *her*.
Then why did she feel so bereft, when she realized that he was not
coming back? Why did she take the coat with her and hang it in her
closet when she left the crypt that day?
Suddenly irritated with herself, Buffy quickly swept her clothes back
in front of the coat, blocking it from her view again.
No, she decided. She *didn't* miss the slaying all that much.
And she certainly, definitely did *not* miss *him*.
A/N: Not too much action this chapter, basically set up for the rest of
the story; keep reading, it'll get better :) lol