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Chapter 11
Turning Back the Biological Clock
After the third retelling of the same seventy-five year odyssey in one day, Buffy was getting a little tired of it, even if it was for Willow’s benefit. She didn’t want to spend time on that, didn’t want to spend time on Cade or anything having to do with Slaying or Evil or Destiny. She just wanted to run out with Willow to a coffee shop and dish until sunup. She wanted to rush off with Angel and rediscover the heart and soul of the man she loved. She ached to see her daughter, an almost desperate desire countered in almost exact proportion by a stark terror at the prospect. But she could do none of those mad, impulsive things because as always and ever, her unwanted, unavoidable role in the great universal scheme came first.Still, even with all that, seeing her best and dearest friend after so long was an energizing, thrilling joy, with none of the dark uncertainties and ambiguities that marred her reunion with Angel. But that was the thing with friendships. Love was too complex a feeling, darkness and light mingled into a tessellation of conflicted passions, primal desires, and lofty, selfless impulses. Friendship was so much simpler, neater, easier to resume after long absence and divergent lives.
Buffy finished her story with Willow and Angel both listening raptly in his office. The police had been by to collect Gantz and take statements before Willow arrived, and things were quieter in the building again. Beyond the windows, the sun was setting red and soft, plunging the Hackensack River Valley into velvet shadow.
“This is all so cool,” said Willow, sitting cross legged on Angel’s desk and sounding like a teenager again.
That thought arrested Buffy’s attention for some reason. Unless she’d suddenly forgotten how to do simple addition, Willow should be in her early fifties, Angel biologically a bit older. But Willow looked not much older than when Buffy disappeared — late thirties, early forties tops. And Angel didn’t look more than forty five.
Why it just suddenly dawned on her now, she didn’t know, but now that she noticed it, it was glaring.
“What’s the matter?” asked Willow, seeing the strange look on Buffy’s face.
“I was wondering if there was some kind of new anti-aging drug or something introduced in the last fifteen years. I just realized that you two look damn good for your ages. I mean, I’ve got an excuse for being over a hundred and looking thirty. You guys don’t,” said Buffy.
She didn’t miss the glance that passed between the two of them.
“Better tell her,” said Angel. “She has to find out sooner or later.”
“What? Am I missing something here?”
“We’re getting younger, Buffy,” said Willow.
Buffy blinked. “You’re what?”
“Getting younger,” Angel reiterated.
“At first I thought it was just me,” said Willow, “but as I started trying to isolate what was going on, I realized it’s Oz and Angel too. My preliminary blood analysis indicates something in our bloodstreams — Elisa’s as well, although she doesn’t seem to be regressing back to adolescence.”
“Thank goodness,” said Angel. “I can really do without Elisa’s teen years again.”
“What’s the cause?” asked Buffy.
“I’m trying to pinpoint that. I’ve haven’t been working on this very long. I could really use an electron microscope. About the only thing I’m pretty sure of right now is that it’s some sort of nanotechnology.”
“Nanotech? Molecular machines? I didn’t think you guys would be that far advanced at this point in this Reality’s timeline,” said Buffy.
“We’re not. Not even close,” said Willow.
Buffy sighed.
“It’s always something,” she said beneath her breath. Then, in a normal tone of voice, she asked, “Any downside?”
“Not that I’ve been able to determine. Hard to tell without knowing the exact mechanics of the thing, but from what I can tell, it’s not so much of a de-aging process as it is a restorative process. In other words, we’re still the same old cars, but all the parts seem to be getting a thorough reconditioning. So I don’t think we have to worry about regressing back to infancy,” Willow explained.
“Any who, why or how regarding this?” asked Buffy.
“No, nothing,” said Angel. “It’s the damnedest thing. Maybe if we could trace the point of initial exposure we could figure it out, but that’ll take time.”
“Well, keep me informed,” said Buffy. “Who knows, you guys may have stumbled upon the biggest pharmaceutical cash cow since Viagra.”
* * *
“Left you out of the loop, too, did they?” Spike asked Xander.
The two of them, along with Lillith and Cordelia, were sitting in the café on the ground floor of the DH Group offices. Cordelia and Lillith sipped cappuccinos while Xander and Spike drank black coffee and ate cheese Danishes.
“I guess trying to kill your best friend’s husband and accidentally shooting your other best friend kind of makes for an awkward social vibe,” said Cordelia, who had heard the whole story already.
Xander glared at her. “You never change, do you? No matter what Reality you’re from, you never change.”
“Well, Xander, you know there’s really no need to change once you’ve achieved perfection,” countered Cordelia.
Xander scowled and glanced down at his almost finished coffee.
“Hold that profoundly modest and self-effacing thought, Cordy. I’m going to get another cup of Java,” he said.
Cordelia playfully ran her finger along the bruise on Xander’s jaw.
“Mind what you say. You wouldn’t want the guy at the counter to slug you like Willow did,” she said, twisting the knife.
“I had it coming, although it might have been nice if she’d led off with at least a ‘Hello Xander’ before hauling off with that right hook of hers,” admitted Xander as he rose with his cup and started for the counter.
“I could use a refill, too,” said Lillith although her latté was only about half empty. She followed Xander to the counter.
“Oh, dear,” she said to Xander as she arrived at the cashier. “I seem to have left my purse at the table. Would you be a love and get it for me. I’ll take care of your coffee.”
“Yeah sure, whatever,” said a decidedly surly Alexander Harris as he headed back toward their table.
Xander’s coffee arrived on the counter a few seconds later and Lillith said to the cashier, “He’ll be back. Just wait a second.”
She picked up the paper cup and using sleight of hand worthy of David Copperfield, added a small amount of a grayish powder from a small packet she produced from her pocket. She glanced around her. No one seemed to have noticed.
Damn you, Flynn, she thought. I don’t need this stress in my life.
Xander returned and handed her the “forgotten” purse.
“Why Alexander Harris, you are indeed a gentleman and a scholar,” she said, adopting a southern belle drawl and batting her eyes at him.
“Save it, Lillith,” said Xander.
Something in his brusqueness irritated her, and she leaned close to his ear.
“I’m quite aware you’ve always wanted her, you know. You’ll never get the real thing, but I’m a damn good substitute. But if you continue with the attitude, you won’t even get the stunt double.”
On that note she paid the cashier for both of them and sashayed back to the others with a deliberately provocative hip sway.