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Part FourRegan watched the Harrises try to deal with the ramifications of the prophecy. Their daughter — her charge as Watcher — was due to die. She truly felt sorry for them — this was a lot to have to digest, so quickly — but there was really not the time for either emotional breakdowns or frantic searching for alternatives to the ending.
Not that Regan was happy in the least that Buffy was going to die. They hadn’t made the emotional connection that other Watchers and Slayers in the past had, but that was her personal failing. Regan did care for Buffy as much as she could care for anyone except Emily.
Emily, she loved.
Anyway. Xander Harris was making noises about defeating this prophecy the same way they beat the earlier prophecy as Cordelia hugged her daughter and gamely tried to regain her composure. Regan broke in with, “How did you beat the earlier prophecy?”
Xander said, “What. Oh. It said Buffy — the first one — was going to die in her confrontation with the Master. She — did. But —” he struggled for a word.
Willow broke in, “Angel and you found her lying in a pool —”
Angrily, Xander spat, “Never mention that bastard’s name!”
Emily started to make conciliation noises when Buffy dreamily said, “I had you to bring me back.”
Xander stared at his daughter. “What did you just say?”
Confused, Buffy said, “She had you to bring her back.”
“I don’t think so —” Xander said —
“LOOK!” Regan interjected. “So you resuscitated Buffy Summers. And you want to do that here?”
“Yes!” the Harrises said together.
This place was rapidly becoming the worst kind of madhouse. “I’m sorry to burst that possibility, but she’s scheduled to bleed to death. Mouth-to-mouth won’t do much good.”
“Tactful, aren’t you?” Cordelia snapped.
“It needed to be said,” Regan answered coldly. “We can’t go into this with any illusions.” Pointing to the Latin phrase on top of the document facsimile they’d brought, “Ea quae voli, coegit,” the Watcher continued, “This means, she who wills, controls. And I’m fairly sure this means that whoever chooses the sacrifice gets to control the resurrections the Orb of the Savior performs. If it’s the vampire’s choice, then she’ll obviously start bringing back dead vampires, but if the person sacrifices herself —”
“Hello!” Cordelia shouted. “How can a dying person control anything?”
“That’s something we haven’t worked out,” Regan admitted.
“We are not going to sit here and let Buffy kill herself,” Xander said.
Almost in tears, Willow said, “Do you think I like this, Xander? Cordy? Do you? I love Buffy as much as you do. Why do you think we’ve kept this secret for so long? We didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh?” Xander said coldly. “Exactly how long have you known our daughter was going to die, Will?”
“Um — ten years …”
“Ten years?” Cordelia shrieked. And then Xander and Cordelia started screaming, Emily, Willow and Regan shouted back, just like a fuckin’ sitcom — until Buffy got up and screamed a deep, wordless scream of pure pain. Everyone immediately stopped yelling and looked at the Slayer with tremendous concern.
She grinned briefly. “Sorry about that, folks,” she said. “But it got your attention, didn’t it …?” Her face got serious again. “Now, look. Mom, Dad. This isn’t much fun to think about, the idea that I might die; but if I have to save the world, again — what choice do I have? You know running away isn’t an option.” It struck Regan, and not for the first time, how utterly calm Buffy was about all of this. The first time they’d met Buffy was surrounded by four vampires — and was ready to fight them, unpanicking, even though she didn’t have a cross, a stake, or any kind of vampire-hunting stuff on her. She was utterly calm, as though she’d done it a thousand times before.
And again earlier tonight, when they’d explained the prophecy to her; and right now. She was far more calm and rational than any of the rest of them.
Regan suspected that, when Buffy Summers had given Cordelia Harris the power to have a daughter, she’d done more, maybe on purpose, maybe not. She suspected she’d imprinted experience, personality, etc, on the fetus. Little genetic engineering never did any harm, eh?
Except now it had. As Buffy calmed the other four adults in the room down, something else struck Regan. She took a good hard look at Buffy and her parents. Cordelia Harris was 5'7", Xander Harris 5'10", and both had dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair. Buffy Harris was barely an inch over five feet, with blue eyes — and hair a lighter brown. While she’d only ever met Buffy Summers for a total of about thirty minutes, Buffy Harris looked a lot more like her namesake than like either of her parents.
There had to be something there …
* * *
Spike and Siobhan made their way quickly through the fields and woods of the outskirts of New Glenbury. Spike was pleased; all the elements were coming together. The Orb’s location was his, more or less; he’d only told the current Slayer, a rather cheeky bitch like her namesake, that he had the stupid thing to throw them off balance a bit. They’d find out soon enough he was lying, but it might throw them off their game for a while.
That’s what he needed to do — keep everyone off balance. Including his partner here, whom he wished he didn’t need; unfortunately, while the mage who created the Orb of the Savior was powerful, and twisted, his soon-to-be-no-longer-deceased Dark Princess had been far more rational. There were more conditions for using the Orb than there were for using a damn space shuttle: you needed to sacrifice a Slayer, by spilling her blood; her death had to not be a suicide; and only a female could properly control the Orb. If a male, human, vampire, or otherwise, tried, it would only lead to their own destruction.
This did not mean he couldn’t be the one in control. That’s why he’d chosen Siobhan as an ally. She wasn’t stupid, but long-range planning wasn’t her long suit; and this she knew.
They were still walking. “Where is this bloody hideout of yours, Siobhan?” Spike demanded. “Which one of the cows are we hiding inside?”
“It’s that barn, over there, Spike,” she said, pointing to a creaky old structure that looked like his breath could knock it over. A half-dozen vampires milled around it, some satiated, some not. A sorry-looking bunch, really; except for Siobhan, not one of them seemed to have either the brains or strength to fight off a bank security guard. But he’d make do; within 24 hours, if he wanted to, he could have an army of vampires at his disposal. Of course, there was only one he needed to have back, and after that, Siobhan could keep the bloody stone, and with his compliments.
No, wait. There were two he wanted resurrected.
One, of course, was his beloved Dru.
But there was nothing saying he couldn’t resurrect a human and change her into a vampire, too …
… or, in Buffy Summers’ case, again.
* * *
Cordelia Chase Harris didn’t like any of this.
But that apparently wasn’t going to matter. Again, horrible things were going to happen, and again, she was powerless to do anything about it.
A prophecy said her daughter was going to die.
Her daughter was absolutely calm about it.
And Willow and Emily — her friends Willow and Emily — had kept this from them until it was too late to do more than cry about it. No escape.
None.
Cordelia had been alive too long, seen far too much tragedy, to let one more devastate her permanently, no matter how close to home this one hit.
But her daughter. Her baby girl …
The Slayer …
How was it possible for her not to care?
The rest of them — her husband included — had moved from screaming to an uneasy discussion about what to do. Cordelia just sat there quietly, still trying to swallow all of it.
“… no timeframe given, even though most of the conditions have been met.”
“Most?” Willow said.
“Yes,” Regan answered. “This invisible is not visible yet.”
“It will be, shortly,” Buffy said. “I’ve been having dreams —”
Willow and Regan exchanged looks. “Prophetic dreams?”
“Maybe. In one of them, I was fighting an invisible woman — to save you, Mom. But you looked a lot younger —”
Cordelia started. “Who was this woman?”
Buffy answered her mother’s question. “Marsha? No … Marcie Ross.”
Even through her grieving disbelief, Cordelia was stunned. They’d never told Buffy about Marcie Ross. A quick check around the room confirmed that Willow and Xander hadn’t said anything either, and Regan and Emily had never been told any details.
“Also, there’s this Spike — I’m fighting him in some abandoned church somewhere — to save someone’s life? That’s another one. And then … then there are the ones where I die. I drown … my soul is thrown out of my body … I explode?”
Regan whispered, “What’s going on here?”
Worried, Cordelia’s husband said, “These aren’t prophecies. These are dreams of the past. Dreams of things that the first Buffy did.”
Sharply, Regan looked at her daughter, “How long have you been having dreams like this?” Buffy didn’t answer. “How. Long.” Regan breathed menacingly. The psychopathic bitch would have made a great Nazi interrogator. Still, her daughter — her soon-to-be-dead daughter! don’t forget! —
“These kinds of dreams, off and on since I became the Slayer last year.”
Voice so low it was almost inaudible, Regan said, “And you never fuckin’ told me until now?” She looked angrily first at Buffy, then at Willow and Emily, then finally at Cordelia and Xander. “The two of you keeping any secrets from me?” she demanded.
“Only that I hate this!” Cordelia yelled. “I hate having my daughter go through —”
“Hardly a secret,” Regan interrupted. “Anything else?”
Regan’s callousness was hardly shocking anymore, but still, Cordelia couldn’t say anything to that. So Xander said. “No. We didn’t know anything about it, either.”
“Willow!” Regan said. “Why is Buffy the Double Slayer?”
“Beats me,” her auburn-gray-haired friend answered. “We — Emily and me, I mean — always assumed it was because of her name.”
“Doesn’t wash. Other Slayers have had the same names before. Look at Buffy Harris. Who does she remind you of?”
“What are you talking about?” Cordelia said desperately. But Emily was nodding her head slowly — like she’d understood something. But what was there to understand?
“Look at her. She’s shorter than both of you, her eyes are greenish-blue, and she’s having dreams about the old Buffy’s life.” Regan marched over to Xander, grabbed him by an arm, then, ignoring Cordelia’s squawks, dragged her over and forced them to look at their daughter. “Apart from that brown hair, she looks nothing like either of you. Who does she look like?” Cordelia couldn’t answer. “Who does she look like?” Regan demanded again.
From behind them came Willow’s voice. “She looks like Buffy Summers.”
“And do you know why?” Regan said, not giving them a chance to recover. “Look at her. Your daughter is Buffy Summers.”
And then the phone rang.