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Chapter 38
Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers
The Pub was in full swing again as Pubspace moved into its artificial night and a mood of celebratory optimism permeated Flynn’s crew in the wake of the latest victory against the forces of Darkness. The house band was covering the nineties — but as Buffy discovered, what that meant musically varied considerably from Reality to Reality. For instance, she didn’t know what a “Rob Zombie” was, but in at least one Reality he must have belted out some pretty hard rock, judging from the band’s energetic and loud rendition.Buffy watched as they finished their set and left the stage for a break. Without the music to drown them out, the sounds of the Pub washed over her — laughter, conversation, boasts, cheers and jokes. It was a profoundly comfortable place for her, she realized, a place where for the first time in her life she belonged, where she wasn’t different or strange or cast adrift by a society that could never fully understand who or what she was.
She smiled to herself and glanced at Angel next to her, looking twenty-five again, at Willow across the booth who appeared equally young, at the vampiric Cordelia Chase, her most unlikely friend — no, that wasn’t quite true. Her most unlikely friend was standing across the Pub at the bar, chatting with her daughter. Spike. Buffy had no idea what to make of that budding friendship. It bore watching. Like mother, like daughter, it seemed.
“What’s with those two?” asked Faith, who along with Mac and a still somewhat bewildered and newly youthful Oz rounded out the large booth’s seven-person complement.
For an instant, Buffy thought Faith was referring to Elisa and Spike, but then she saw who the other Slayer was looking at. At one table near the periphery of the Pub’s insanity sat Buffy Three Echo Foxtrot and a newly de-aged Xander, and they certainly didn’t appear to be talking about tactics and weapons. Buffy couldn’t recall seeing Xander laugh in a very long time. It was nice to see, almost heartbreakingly so, and in a small way it soothed some of her guilt for having ever involved him in her dark and violent life. And it was nice to see Buffy Three Echo Foxtrot acting … well … like a Buffy for a change.
“We’re all one, big, happy, dysfunctional family, aren’t we?” she asked.
“The Cleaver family as conceived by David Lynch,” agreed Oz.
“Makes Twin Peaks look like Mayberry,” said Willow.
“I’m just glad we’re all back together,” said Angel, squeezing Buffy’s hand.
She squeezed back. “Me too.”
“Well, and how are my happy few, my band of brothers — or sisters primarily, as the case seems to be,” said Flynn, who appeared rather suddenly at their tableside.
“Can’t we ever ditch the boss?” asked Faith.
“Faith, given your track record of mayhem, letting you out of my sight for five minutes would probably result in a cataclysm of unprecedented proportions,” said Flynn.
He turned his attention to Buffy and looked at her as if he were attempting to see through a shuttered window.
“As for you, Lillith, I know you can hear me in there. If you think I’m just going to pull you out and everything’s going to be sunshine and roses again, you’d better think again. It’ll serve you right to spend a few years in there. Next time maybe you’ll listen to me. Who knows, maybe a little time with Buffy will help tame the Elder Powers’ wild child.”
“A few years?” asked Buffy. “You’re keeping her in here for a few years?”
“Young lady, I’m not much happier with your behavior, either, so don’t you try my patience. A couple of years stuck with Lillith in your head might be good for you — it might help you get a proper sense of the scope of this war you’ve been chosen to fight.”
“You’re unhappy with my behavior?” asked Buffy incredulously. “Just what the hell did I do?”
“You know how important you are to the balance of light and darkness in this universe, yet you insisted on taking a foolish chance in going to Hell,” said Flynn.
“If you think for one minute that I’m going to apologize for going after my daughter, you’re dead wrong.”
Flynn rolled his eyes. “Humans.”
“And by the way, just who the hell made you my Watcher to lecture me on responsibility?” asked Buffy.
“Watcher. Now there’s an idea. You could stand one, I think, and I certainly don’t have the time to baby sit you. How about that Giles chap? Would he suffice?”
“Giles is dead,” said Buffy, suddenly feeling that loss keenly.
“Well, that’s all a matter of point of view, actually. This is Pubspace, after all, and almost anything is possible here. A veritable Fantasy Island, I’d venture to say.”
Buffy’s eyes fell on someone who had just entered the bar. He was standing near the door dressed in brown tweed, scanning the commotion of the Pub and looking more than a little bewildered. Could it be?
“Giles?” asked Buffy. A Giles, she reminded herself. Someone else’s Giles.
“Indeed. Rupert Giles Two Six Alpha to be exact. Your Giles,” said Flynn.
“But …” began Buffy. Her mind reeled. It couldn’t be, could it?
“Time enough for the ‘hows’ later …” said Flynn.
Buffy was already up from the table and past Flynn before he could finish his sentence.
“Buffy,” was all Giles managed to say before she gripped him in a tight hug.
“It’s really you. You’re back,” she said.
Giles, looking somewhat embarrassed at such a public display, said, “Yes, well, so it would appear. I could say the same for you, actually.”
Then his British reserve crumbled. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes speaking to decades of shared joys and sorrows and years of private pain and loneliness. He hugged her back and said, “I’ve missed you terribly, Buffy. You have no idea … I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you.”
“I have a bad habit of doing that to the people I love the most,” she said softly.
Willow, Angel and Oz had already started walking over to them. Xander and Elisa saw the commotion and they too began to head their way.
“You always did do better with your friends by your side than on your own,” said Flynn, a mischievous gleam in his steel-gray eyes. “So here you go. The clan has been gathered once more. Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.”
Buffy was suddenly suspicious. “This is all too easy. What’s your game, Flynn?”
Flynn looked exasperated. “Look, you want the happy ending or not? I’m flexible. We can go back to angst and pathos if you’d prefer, but I thought you deserved better than that.”
“You’re serious? You mean you’re doing this for me, not for any hidden agenda?”
“Of course there’s an agenda. The happier you are, the less trouble I expect to have from you. I have enough trouble controlling the rest of this gaggle of disgruntled reprobates and borderline psychopaths without adding you to that pool.”
“Is that what the nanobots were all about too? Keeping Buffy Summers Two Six Alpha in happy-happy joy-joy mode?”
Flynn shrugged. “It would have been sad if you returned to everyone you held dear, only to watch time take them from you. I’ve bought you a few centuries before you need to worry about that, at least. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. I know I can be a bastard sometimes, Buffy. That’s only because the price of failure is so incomprehensibly great. But I do care for you and it would please me very much to see you happy. I care about all the Buffies. And all the Faiths, and Cordelias, and Willows and Jennies. Sometimes I can’t help them without destroying them — I can’t give Angel back to Echo Fox without dooming her, for instance. But other times I can change things for the better, and it brings me great happiness.”
“Then I guess I owe you my thanks, Flynn,” said a subdued Buffy. “After what Elliot Lothair told me … after I realized I couldn’t go back to when I left, I didn’t dare even dream. I didn’t dare hope. I was so sure I’d lost everything for good. Thank you, Flynn. Maybe I’ve misjudged you.”
Flynn looked supremely self-satisfied. “Good. Then I suppose I can expect no further trouble from you two hellcats? Right, Lillith?”
“I think you know the both of us better than that,” said Buffy.
“Just try to keep the damage to a minimum, won’t you?”
“I’ll try to stop obliterating big chunks of Hell every few years, if that’ll make you happy.”
“And leave the Elemental Abstract for the final battle.”
“Cross my heart and hope to live a long, uneventful life,” said Buffy. “I’m swearing off fighting ultimate evil. Cold turkey. Quits. I’ve even joined a twelve-step program.”
“Terrific. Then we’re finished here. I imagine you’ll be wanting to spend some time with Angel and Elisa and Giles without any added distractions on my part. And I’m sure that after everything you could do with some time off yourself.”
“Yeah, sometimes it takes a whole couple of days to bounce back from getting killed,” said Buffy.
Buffy watched him thread his way through the crowd towards the door, then turned back to her friends and family, to all those people who made her Buffy Summers instead of simply the Slayer.
She smiled at them and said, “This is going to be so cool.”
* * *
Erin the Vampire Slayer was gazing out at the desert landscape from the top of Hill Tango while sipping a thermos of hot coffee to dispel the morning desert chill. It was peaceful now. The land was scarred, the smell of burned powder and charred vehicles still clung to the air, but it was peaceful.
The harsh cry of a hawk pierced the almost overwhelming silence of the desert as Sergeant Aston appeared beside her with his own coffee.
“Morning, Mick,” she said.
“And a nice one it is at that, I’d say. Being alive always seems to make for a good day,” he answered.
“Can’t disagree with you there.”
Aston’s eyes flickered over the sling on her arm and said, “You all right there, Ms. Delacey?”
Erin smiled. “Ms. Delacey is my mother. I prefer Erin. And the arm will be fine. I just tore up the rotator cuff a bit while I was fighting in the conduit. I heal fast.”
“So, you’ll be leaving soon, I take it.”
“The four of us will be leaving soon, actually. You and Hudson are part of the reason I’m here. You’re going home, Sergeant.”
Aston shook his head. “Take Hudson. I’ve got work to do here. These people could use my help. This war isn’t over yet.”
“These people will do just fine without you. The mutliverse needs you elsewhere. Buffy Summers, your Buffy Summers, needs you.”
Aston hesitated and his voice contained an undercurrent of emotion at odds with his typically stoic British exterior when he asked, “Buffy is alive?”
“The last I knew. Don’t ask. I’m just the messenger. I’m sure it’s a long and complicated story, and spinning compelling narrative was never my strongest suit.”
“I never even wanted to hope, you know,” said Aston.
“She means a great deal to you, doesn’t she?”
“She means a great deal to everyone who knew her, Erin. Rather a lot like you, I’d say.”
“Me?” asked Erin. “Nobody ever cared about me, Mick. Nobody except Xandra and Willow.”
“You are a very remarkable young woman, Erin. I think more people care about you than you’re willing to admit. Buffy is like that, you know. It scares her when people care for her. The responsibility can be frightening. But don’t keep everyone out. Life is only as meaningful as the people in it. Remember that.”
Erin put her good hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. She smiled. “Thanks, Mick. You’re a good man.”
Aston shrugged. “One tries, doesn’t one? I’ll leave it to others to decide whether I succeeded or not.”
Erin looked him in the eye and said, “You succeeded, Mick. You succeeded.”