Dust Swirled Around Her

A/N: This fic looks at how things would have turned out if buffy had went back to L.A. at the end of Dead man's Party, after slaying the zombie. In this fic the scene at the end, with Willow in the cafe, never happened.
This is a work in progress, so I really don't know exactly what the pairings are going to be. As a precaution I've put up all the ratings that may apply. I'll probably put up a guide on each chapter. Also, for anyone looking for random senseless porn, this isn't for you. This is a piece of fiction that has sex in it, so the scenes may be few/far inbetween. I hope you'll stick around anyway.

Disclaimer. I don't own these characters. They belong to the smart men and women who created Buffy and Angel's respective shows. Please don't sue. It's not worth it.


Dust Swirled Around Her

Her throat burned. Her face held a brief look of discomfort and then the shot glass hit the table again. A grinning man motioned to the bartender and the glass was filled. Amber liquid poured from the bottle in the man’s hand, splashing lightly into the glass below. The little blonde’s hand rose again, bringing the drink to her lips. She knocked it back again, doing the shot with a growing ease. Her grimace was less this time.

Her hand fell again, cracking the glass against the counter. The weakened glass strained and then shattered as her grip tightened. Little prickles of pain shot through her hand. Her hand uncurled, revealing the little rivulets of blood staining her palm.

Blood. That was what it was all about wasn’t it. Blood was life and that controlled her life. She didn’t have a choice. She was bound by the bloody lives others lived. Cursed to fight, cursed to die. They wanted her to just watch as the blood kept spilling. But she was done, you see. Really done. She wasn’t going to be there, no one was gonna make her feel unwanted, cause she wasn’t going to let them. She was her own woman, completely independent. She could do just fine without all of ‘em. So what if they hated her? If she stayed they’d all die. Their lives would fade as her wounds did, slowly at first, but surprisingly soon nothing would be left.

Staggering to her feet, she ignored the things her eyes saw. The room was not spinning because that didn’t happen. There were not two identical bartenders. She was not drunk, cause she was the slayer, and she said so. She wasn’t in this crappy little bar in L.A. trying to forget, but despite that fact every time she bumped into a table that wasn’t there it hurt. She didn’t want to hurt. Hurting was of the bad. Her so called friends had made her hurt. She’d wanted to come back, but they didn’t want her. Well she didn’t need them. So she’d saved their lives and left. She was always doing that. The warm night air of Los Angelus met her as she left the bar. She stumbled down the narrow street.

A hand slid around her mouth, attempting to stop her screams. She didn’t scream. She didn’t feeling like screaming, she felt like teaching the buy behind her some manners. It wasn’t nice to cover up people’s mouths. It was icky and disgusting. Her slender hand grabbed the one around her face. Bones cracked and broke as her grip tightened. A scream filled the street, but it wasn’t hers. Once free of the hand she stumbled on, leaving the man who’d paid for her drinks behind.

The narrow side street opened into a bigger one. Turning onto the larger street she kept up her stumble through L.A. Foot steps echoed behind her. A hand gripped her shoulder pulling her back, turning her to face the man she’d left behind as it did so.

“Where do you think you’re going bitch? Those drinks weren’t free.”

In the light of the street she could make out the bumps and ridges along the once handsome face. Two fangs waited to sink into her flesh. Her reaction was instinctual. Her right knee shot up sending pain through his body. Her left hand sank into her jacket, pulling Mr. Pointy free. The curved wooden stake slipped into the vampire’s body with ease. A wind picked up as the vampire vanished into a cloud of dust.

A pair of eyes stared at her. She was beautiful in that second, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. He was enraptured as the dust swirled around her, it created a small sparkling aura around her, the kind that he saw all too rarely. The spell broke only when she moved on, stumbling forward.

She made her way down the streets, swaying slightly. Her world swam in and out of focus. Room, her room she needed to find it. It had to be around here somewhere. She hadn’t gone far. Her legs carried her forward and her mind assumed that was okay. They must know where they were going, not that it really mattered. She just wanted to sleep. She could do that anywhere, even on this nice street corner. The thought died just as soon as she had it. She didn’t want to die, not yet. She was tired of death. It was why she left. That and her yicky fake friends. And then she was
there. Her apartment loomed in front of her.

She made her way up the stairs, climbing up the old building. One foot fell in front of the other, even as her arms braced against the wall. She moved higher and higher, until finally she reached the fifth floor. She stumbled forward, her apartment waiting for her. Finally, she reached the door. Her hands searched for the keys, delving deep into her pockets. They came away empty. Then the world span one final time before she lurched forward, striking the door with her skull. A young woman opened the wooden barrier, and spotting the girl dragged her inside.