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Dianna Wears Red

Final Test

Oh, I hate waking up in…strange…beds.

Um.

Collect yourself, Rosenberg. Deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Now. How did I…oh right.

The Hunter.

Yeah, gave us a ride out to the middle of nowhere and why is my bed so lumpy? Bad enough it's a strange bed but a lumpy, strange bed is just too much 'specially since….

Probably won't have any hot water wherever we are and where are we for that mat-

Where's Buffy?

"Buffy?" I say aloud. "Where are you?"

The covers twitch slightly, then move slowly, a particular lump rises, moves back and forth slowly like someone looking around, then it collapses among the other lumps with a slight grunt.

Reaching over I lift the edge of the covers slowly and peek into the darkness underneath. In the dim light coming through the window, what time is it anyway, I see two blue eyes glimmering slightly. Her steady gaze flickers for a minute when she blinks; she doesn't look away.

All I can really make out in the darkness under the covers are Buffy's eyes. She stares at me without a sound for a moment; the mattress creaks slightly when she shifts her weight, the blue, glowing eyes rock slightly. She pulls herself up. A hand reaches out of the shadows, the fingers curl into claws, sink into the material, and find purchase.

I can barely breathe, can't move; it's like being stalked or hunted. I feel like I'm her prey but at the same time I'm perfectly safe. It's actually kind of funny. But I don't laugh, sorta scared too. I remember those ancient eyes in the warehouse, the guttural voice, 'Buffy is resting'.

Which means she's not actually there.

Which means it's likely something else is.

Which means a something else that can go toe to toe with multitudes of horde-like demonic types.

Oh yes, the most important question: Why didn't I realize any of this until after she woke up?

Too late now.

Her face enters the dim light of the cabin and the blue of these wild eyes of her just flare, and she still doesn't look away.

I need to swallow.

That would involve moving though.

Can't do that.

Not yet.

Then she lurches forward, and she's pressing her face against the crux of my neck, rubbing her soft cheeks against my skin.

"Mmmrrrrrrrrrrr," she cooes.

Ah.

Now my voice works.

"Buffy?" Sorta. That was a bit raspy but then again she's pressing pretty much up against my voice box…in all sorts of wonderful, tingle-inspiring ways though.

Her rubbing hesitates for a split second, then she presses against me harder, I lose balance, fall onto my back and she's straddling me. Her hair hangs down all around me like a, uh, like a curtain that's, um, of shoddy workmanship, a litte matted, some, ew, dried blood most has fallen out  and…its still, she's still so beautiful.

She stares down at me, a small half smile curving her lips, she doesn't make a sound and I can't, I won't, I don't think I can afford to, either.

After a moment she bends over, her face gets closer and closer and all I can see are those bright, gorgeous eyes. Is she going to kiss me? Is she 'back', is my Buffy back, rested, healed from the nightmare of just last night? Please kiss me, Buffy, oh please, oh please, oh please, please, please, plea-

She licks my nose.

That was unexpected.

She's smiling fully now, a wide, face splitting grin like she played some joke that I'm not sure I quite get. She giggles, a slight creak of warning from the bedframe and she launches off. I tilt my head back in time to see her land on all fours, almost without a sound.

Like a cat.

I roll over on to my tummy, pull my legs underneath and put my feet on the floor.

Instantly I pull my feet up. The floor is freakin' cold!

Nervous laughter, right. In a cabin, location unknown, with my girlfriend who happens to be a destined warrior against the forces of darkness and also is now not actually in her own body and I'm freaking out because the floor is cold.

Rationale. Makes perfect sense.

Buffy rolls over onto her side, hugs her arms around her stomach, and rolls around groaning.

"Let me guess," I mutter. "You're hungry." My own stomach chooses that moment to add to the protests and growls. "This means I have to put my feet on the floor, why can't these far off, totally unknown locals have more wall to wall carpeting?" I wonder aloud. I put my feet down, eek, let's take a look around.

The layout seems simple enough. There's the bed in the corner, fur blankets, how unsurprising, table in the center of the room with a oil lamp in the middle. Behind the table, against the wall is a floor to ceiling book case, beside which is an easy chair, a small table with another oil lamp beside it. In the opposite corner is a cast stove with a pile of wood beside it and directly across from the bed is a doorway. The front door is beside the fireplace, I think it's the front door and I can see trees so that must be it. Widows on either side of it let the sunlight in. What time is it anyways?

On top of the table appears to be a small pile of books.

Around the table are two chairs, my pants are flung over one, a small bag on the other. Feh, investigate later. Food now.

I pad across the room, Buffy walks beside me.

I refuse to be freaked out that she's doing it on all fours. Nope, don’t mind that, not at all, lah de dah, nothing wrong here nosirree.

Aha, yes. It's a kitchen. Cupboards, shelves, drawers and another stove. There's a bowl of fruit on one of the shelves.

What?

No mocha?

I grab an apple for myself and toss one to Buffy. She snatches it out of the air, shoves the entire thing in her mouth, and begins to chew noisily. I carefully take a small bite out of mine. Can't taste anything. Apple is a good start I guess.

I head out back to the main room, on the table, underneath the books, I see a piece of paper. A note.

I pull it out, sit down and read it.

Willow,

You pretty much were dead asleep so I did all the driving; thanks for that by the way. The car is out front with the keys inside. On the other side of this note is a rough map that will lead you back to the interstate from their Sunnydale is pretty much straight south. You're in Northern California, the exact location is unimportant. You're in a cabin that no one I know knows about. I built it, and I didn't share that fact. I'm not good with sharing anything. I'm guessing you're reasonably safe there. The kitchen is fully stocked with canned goods; there's no running water or electricity.

Cope.

"Jee thanks," I mutter and continue reading.

To the left of the back door, through the kitchen, is a well. The pump is hand driven. It's full, replenishes quickly so no worry about the water running out. Behind the cabin is a small lean too inside is a six month supply of firewood so you should be fine, provided you have the brains to start a fire.

"Hey!" I exclaim.

The books on the table are a basic introduction to outdoor survival. Start with the top one if you're inclined to stay there.

Beside the lean too is an outhouse. That should be interesting; you'll get used to it if you're there long enough. There is also a stream with a waterfall about a three minute walk behind the cabin. You can bathe there. Soap I made and other toiletries are in a trunk under the bed.

We won't meet again.

                -H

PS. I couldn’t take the risk of Buffy waking up in the car in her current condition so I gave her a mild sedative. If she hasn't woken up already she will soon.

I'd be angry at that last bit except Buffy is awake, chewing on what was my apple, but awake. Ultimately no harm done I suppose. Still don't like that fur wearing little so and so.

I slip on my old clothes, yuck. Grimy feeling.

I go back to the kitchen and, after some exploring, find a can of soup, some matches, and a pot.

"Can opener, can opener," I mutter. "It would suck on a Hitchcocknian level if there were no can- ah, here we go."

I dump the soup into the pot. Oh yes, the stove.

Head back to the main room then, top book…title reads, 'How to Start a Fire'. Bet this is a best seller in LA.

Don't need it.

Beside the fireplace is a box full of old newspapers, I grab a bunch, go back to the kitchen. Buffy, this entire time has matched me step for step, waiting when I stop, moving when I move.

There's a box of dried twigs by the stove in the kitchen. Crouching down I open the stove, crumple up some paper, lay the twigs on top of them in a nice cross hatch and light a match.

Quick as a wink Buffy leans over my shoulder and blows it out.

"Um," I stare at her; she's grinning a big 'Ha-Ha' grin.

I light another, she blows it out.

Another, same result.

"Buffy," I say sternly. "I need to make a fire, okay?"

She's still smiling.

I pantomime lighting a match, she blows, I strike the head of the match quickly and thrust it among the papers. They ignite; a gentle puff of air from me and the flames spread up, quickly consuming the paper and leaping up, stronger to feed on the dried twigs. Gently, so as not to collapse the pile I lay on thicker and thicker twigs, and branches as the flames get hotter and higher. Satisfied I add two logs on top of the  brightly burning, fire and shut the stove with a flourish.

Yep, Willow Know-How does it again.

I brush dust and bark off my pants legs and stand up. "Ha," I say staring down at Buffy. Should I? Yes, I stick out my tongue at her. Buffy, still on all fours, rolls her eyes, becomes very interested in a piece of bark on the floor, and ignores me.

With the pot of broth I head out the back. There's the well. I grab the handle and pump it to or three times. There's a gurgling from deep beneath the earth and that's it. I pump the handle and the gurgling resumes, water is flowing up the pipe I keep pumping the handle of the well, up and down, up and down and God this is boring.

Pump, pump, pump, I've been working on the raiilllrooaadd-

Buffy's, sitting on the back steps, stares at me with this bemused expression on her face. A little grin, eyebrows just a little too high. The classic 'How Interesting!' look.

I stop.

"Oh no," I say. "No way, there is absolutely nothing innuendic about this. Get that phallic thinking outta you're blond head, slayer." I give the handle a defiant pump. "This is mechanics, not anything resembling anything. I push the lever up and down and water comes out the end of that-"

I cut off.

Buffy is still smiling.

"I'm going to be quiet now," I mutter and get back to work. A few seconds of quiet labor pass. The water spills out of the pipe into the bucket I placed beneath the spigot.

"There," I spin toward Buffy. "See? Just water for the soup. Get your head out of the gutter."

Buffy snorts quietly, and walks back inside through the still open back door.

"Phallic indeed," I huff, grabbing the pail. "I didn't enjoy it!" I shout through the doorway at her. "It was just work, we don't like that sort of thing anymore remember?"

Damn straight!

Back inside I add some water to the soup, set the pot of soup on the stove. Now, I need something to do because, as we all know, a watched pot never boils. Neither does soup, it's boring too.

I'll get one of the books off the table, this I do. Returning to the kitchen with my book I sit in one of the chairs. The title of the book reads: Common Sense in the Wilds.

I flip to a random page. There's a large pictures of a poison oak and underneath the caption reads in large letters, 'Do Not Eat'.

You've gotta be kidding me.

This is the extent of natural know-how?

Buffy pulls herself up and rests her head in my lap. "Mrphle?"

"Mirful?" I repeat. "You're mithry? Mirthical? Feeling happiness again?"

She pushes at the book I'm holding and repeats, "Mrphle?"

"Oh, it's a picture of a leaf," I say. I flip it one page back. "There's a bear."

She shakes her head, which rubs her skin against my pants legs, "Aaiiggh."

Better ignore those kind of feelings. Til later, when she's better.

I flip the page back to the big green leaf. Buffy stares at the picture and let's out a long sigh. "You like that huh, Buffy?" I ask her, my free hand absently starts stroking her hair. "Like the pretty, green leaf?"

She doesn't make another sound, just stares at the book, the big, colored picture of a maple leaf. I keep running my fingers among the strands of her hair, watching how easily they flow between my fingers. Even though her hair is a little dirty, a little grimy, its still beautiful.

She's watching the book, I'm watching her and no one is watching the soup, as it reminds me when it boils over and the hissing of fried broth fills the room. Buffy leaps up and growls at the stove.

"Easy there, slayer," I mumble. I grab a wooden spoon and stir the soup down. Placing the book on a table I head for the cupboards, grab two bowls and very carefully poor a healthy amount of soup in both.

Buffy sits on the floor, legs curled underneath her looking up at me.

"No way," I say shaking my head. "You may be acting kinda animaly but I'm not letting you eat out of the bowl."

She cocks her head to the side.

I grab an extra spoon and a dish rag I found hanging inside one of the cupboards. I stand behind her and tie the rag around her throat. "Nnnnnnnnn," she whines pawing at it clumsily.

"Don't care," I respond. "You're wearing it, gotta keep the place neat n'tidy and when did I become June Cleaver?"

She stares at me with a puzzled frown. "Rhetorical question, thing," I say shrugging. "Never mind."

I dip one of the spoons into a soup bowl, lift it, hey, doesn't smell half bad. I blow on it softly until the rising steam lessens.

"Say aahhh", I instruct bending over slightly. Buffy rolls her eyes. "Fine, be ahhhh-less, just open them pearly gates, Slayer." With a slight shrug she slurps the soup from the spoon. I give her another, and another, and another until her bowl is empty.

"My turn," I say. I dunk my spoon, lift it to my lips.

"Aaaahhhh," Buffy says.

"No fair," I reply. "You had yours already."

"Aaaahhh," she repeats, this time rubbing her tummy.

"Nuh-uh," I point to myself. "Mine, my soup. You had yours, you can have more later, let me eat mine now."

"Ahhhhaaahhhaaahhhaa," she intones, bobbing her head back and forth, back and forth. "Aaaaahhhhhaaaahhhaahhh."

My stomach grumbles loudly. "Sorry," I say. "Cutesy with equally cute tummy superseded by red-head's empty tummy." And I slurp up the soup. Buffy gives an audible 'hmmph', turns her nose up and lies next to the fire.

"I don't suppose you'd consider putting on some clothes," I ask between slurps of soup.

Buffy 'hmphs' again and doesn't move.

I finish my bowl, by now the remaining soup in the pot has cooled. My hunger is pretty much satisfied; I grab a banana from the bowl, peel it, break it in half, and offer it to Buffy.

"Want it?" I ask.

She eyes it closely. "It's a banana, Buffy, they're yummy. Watch."

I pop my half in, chew…urk! Bruise, soft gooshy, yuck!

I cough, gag, scramble for the sink, lean over, and spit the remains of the banana out. "Um, eheh," I turn to Buffy. "Bad spot; generally bananas are enjoyable." She eyes the half of the banana I dropped in my mad dash, gives a little shrug, picks up, and eats it.

I toss another log on the fire, close the stove back up, ow, hot, hot, hot handle, hot handle. Shaking my hand I stick the burnt fingers in my mouth. Buffy stares at me. "I'm okay, honey," I mutter around my fingers. Pop em' out, hold them for her to see. "No biggie, just a little red; see?"

She stares at my finger tips intently for a second then, carefully puckering her lips and staring at me from half lidded eyes, blows cool air across them.

Shoot, everything's gone blurry, not fair. Why do I have to love her so much? Why can't I have her back, I hate this, I hate this! I shouldn't be spoon feeding her like a child, she's not a child. She's strong, and gorgeous and soft, and loving and brave and lots of other really neat adjectives.

Child is not one of them.

Child is a noun.

Not important.

She shouldn't be walking on all fours; it's important how she should be hugged, not petted, important how she has an actual vocabulary and ability to talk.

To hold me.

To whisper to me at night.

I brush my hands across my eyes ignoring the dampness. Buffy tugs at my pants leg and stares at me. "No," I smile down at her. Her eyes are worry eyes. "No, I'm okay, baby."

"See?" I smile even wider and it's a real smile, I'm not faking it. "Everything's okay." I scratch the top of her head, she sighs contentedly. My hand only trembled a little.

"I know what we can do," I say. I crouch down; cup Buffy's face in my hands. "We can go for a walk! Explore the great outdoors, sound good to you?"

Buffy's eyes light up. Not sure exactly how much she can understand; she obviously got the meaning though. Her scrabbling across the floor toward the front door being evidence enough. I slip into my shoes, conveniently left beside the bed. "Let's go," I say to Buffy while holding the front door open.

Bang, she's out of there like a shot. I turn to follow and freeze.

It's beautiful.

The cabin stands on an incline, the clearing in the woods extends around it in a large circle. There's a porch and two big, comfy looking, rocking chairs on it. Before the cabin the ground just dips away, down the …mountain? Anyhow the ground dips away and stays pretty clear all the way down. I can see the dirt road that leads up here. The valley at the bottom is green, bright, far away and across the valley there's another rise, a mountain directly across from the cabin, miles away, far, far away and the sun, the sun is setting right behind it. Its orange fire peeks out from behind the opposing peak; the sky runs red along the entire horizon. Which isn't that much; looking into the trees beyond the clearing I can see the red sky flickering between the leaves. Above, dusk falls and the sky overheard is darkening quickly.

This will be a short walk.

Buffy is waiting by the car, as the Hunter said it's beside the cabin, thankfully pointing forward, toward the road. I'd hate to try having to back down. I can still barely shift gears.

Wow, nice car. No idea what kind it is. British looking; grey in color of course. The Hunter must have 'acquired' it from Buffy's kidnappers. Eh, why not.

Wonder when she got it? Maybe a bonus when she was doing that 'working for the bad guys' bit. Or she could have stolen it during that emotional slugfest with Giles and Mrs. Summers. Well, she got it, now I have it…and…hey.

I have a stolen car.

Eeek!

Now, wait.

Hold it.

Relax.

We're going to need it one way or the other. And those Council guys probably didn't leave a paper trail so it's not rented, or at least I hope not. Well, either way when the time comes we'll use it to get back to Sunnydale then get rid of it.

Or we could just drive to the nearest bus stop.

Later, that's for later when Buffy is better. When Buffy comes back to me entirely.

Behind the car I notice a small trail curving into the woods. "Let's go that way," I point. Buffy glances, shrugs, and follows my lead.

The trail winds around and around. I don't say anything, just walk past the trees, duck under the low hanging branches, feel the crunch of dry twigs under my shoes and I stay quiet. I watch Buffy, that's where all my attention lies. She darts from shadow to shadow, one minute to my left, the next, like a ghost, popping out from behind a trunk to my right.

I lose sight of her, a moment passes, another, a few minutes now. Starting to get worries, lots of worries; like gnats. Shoo, go away stupid worries.

Stupid things, they never listen.

No, she's playing a joke. I mean, she has to be, doesn't she? There are animals out here though… she's the Slayer she could probably take down a bear. Bear's are pretty big, no, she's fine just hiding somewhere. I'll close my eyes and count to ten, then I'll look for her.

Yeah, hide and seek. I can do that.

Here goes.

"One," I say. "Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

I open my eyes.

Buffy's big blue ones start right in my face from upside down, "Yurf?" she yelps.

"Aiiigghh!" I fumble, trip, fall over backwards, and land on my butt. Way to go Rosenberg, just scream like a …oh, right. Yeah okay.

Buffy, still hanging by her knees from a branch, giggles. I ignore her, I'm ignoring her, I'm not getting upset, not getting angry and most importantly I'm ignoring how her giggling, combined with gravity is doing all sorts of intre- lah, dee, dah, nothing wrong here.

Without effort Buffy flips down, off the branch. I pick myself up, brush myself off, get the mud off my butt as best I can. "Shall we continue?" I ask her. She smiles up at me.

I can see the dirt and grime from the woods starting to cover her. Her nails are caked in dirt, her face darkened by muddy streaks and there are leaves, looks like moss and seedling in her hair as well. The criss-crossing shadows from the leaves give her the appearance of clothing. White flesh flashing as she strides under wholes in the canopy, her skin briefly lit by the darkening skies. Only her eyes remain bright, only her eyes, watching me, watch her, remain unchanged.

She's more beautiful than I have ever seen.

The darkness increases, the shadows are spreading; I can still see the trail easily enough, the light grey of bear earth contrasts with the darker shifting of leaf and twig. Buffy isn't so playful anymore; as if the coming night is bringing out the more focused, more serious side of this part of her.

Maybe it is.

Maybe night is her time.

It always was when she was…all Buffy.

Either way she's not playing anymore. She walks, on all fours, by my side. Where my feet are clumsy, stirring up leaves, snapping twigs and generally making a ruckus, she is silent, without effort.

We move deeper and deeper into the woods. The sound is distant at first but grows louder and louder. I can tell where it's coming from, the sound of falling water. Before long we're standing at the base of a small, thin, but very tall waterfall. There's a pool of water at its base. I poke the surface with a fingertip, holy jeeze, that's cold!

Right. Mountain water.

This is my shower for who knows how long?

Some might call it 'bracing'.

Invigorating even.

I don't know anybody like that.

While I was thinking about the wonders of indoor plumbing Buffy has moved to the cliff side. She's standing directly under the waterfall, head flung back, eyes closed, still sitting on all fours. The falling water pounds down on her, there's the fact that it's really cold too but she doesn't seem to notice.

The sun has set. The sky is almost black; we have to get back to the cabin.

"Buffy," I call. "C'mon honey, time to go."

Buffy glances at me, slides into the pool and swims across. She wades out, shaking her head, then her left hand, right hand, one foot than the other. I try not to compare it to anything. She's Buffy, she's fine. She'll be back soon. I know she will.

"Let's go back to the cabin," I say to her and return to the trail, retracing my steps.

Where's Buffy?

Turn around, there she is. She hasn't moved, she's still by the pool. "C'mon Buffy," I wave in the direction of the cabin. "We can have the rest of the soup, start a fire in the living room. I'll read to you from a book till we fall asleep."

She still doesn't move away from the pool. She sits there, her wet hair hanging in strands around her face, a face that's deep in shadow all I can see is her eyes. She's smiling at me, I can tell. It's a sad smile though. Why is she sad?

"Buffy? It's getting dark, we really have to go."

She doesn't move.

"We have to go, Buffy. C'mon, we have too." I move toward her.

She shakes her head.

"No?" I ask her. "What do you mean no? We're here, together."

She shakes her head again.

"Yes we are," I protest, my voice is getting louder. "We came out here to get away from everybody, from everything. So you could get better, so you could come back to me. We came here so you could be-"

The word catches in my throat.

"No," I whisper.

"No, that's not fair," Squeeze your eyes shut. Don't look, don't see, don't hear. Deny it, make it go away. Never worked before; hey, first time for everything. "It's not fair, baby, we came out here, you and me. I can be with you can't I? I can stay with you, you don't have to leave me do you?" I fall to my knees, branches dig into my pants, cold mud filters through the clothing, chilling my skin.

I notice this, sorta. A distraction I ignore.

I'm holding out my arm to her, begging her, pleading with Buffy to come back to me. She's just smiling that sad smile at me. "You can stay with me. We'll have fun, really, I'll cook, we'll go for walks. Please, baby, please, please, I'll be good. I swear I'll be right. Don't leave me behind, please, tell me you don't have to leave-"

She nods.

She nods and a flicker of light through the branches reflects dimly off her wet cheeks.

"-To be free," I finish.

She nods again.

Slowly she walks, still on all fours, toward me; placing her hands on my shoulders she leans against me heavily and our faces our centimeters apart. Her breath rasps between her teeth; she takes my hand, places it over her heart, in the valley between her breasts. Her skin should be cold, chilled between the water and the night air but instead it's hot, blazing with heat. I can feel her heart underneath my fingertips, hammering away like a bird in a cage, fluttering against the bars, beating against its prison.

I understand.

I grab her face, kiss her, hard, deep, fast. It's hot, aggressive, I slide my tongue between her lips, I devour her as quickly and completely. She doesn't resist, she kisses me back, hugging me, clawing at my shirt her fingers digging into my flesh, she'll leave bruises. Something to keep me warm for later, for now I kiss her, she kisses me.

Then I stop. My breath whistles as I gasp deeply, inhaling her own breaths, tasting her on my lips, teeth and tongue, I taste her, drinking in her heat, because soon that's all I'll have.

We breathe, for minute, I feel her heart again; if anything it's beating even faster and harder. Understandable, so's mine. I mean, duh. I know though, I know hers is beating for a reason different than mine. She's going crazy, since she woke up earlier this afternoon she's been trying to resist, trying to wait but she can't.

She can't wait any longer. I have to let her-

"Go," I whisper in her ear. "Go, be free, Buffy."

She signs, relaxes, and then vanishes from my sight. Without a sound, without a moment's hesitation or even a glance back over her shoulder she disappears into the shadows between the trees.

I wrap my arms and hug myself tight.

"It's okay," I whisper to the air; I hug myself tighter. "We'll wait."

I know she heard me.

END-Dianna Wears Red: Secundus.