The Chosen :: A Buffy virtual series continuation





The sun had already disappeared below the horizon and night was fast approaching as the clomping of boots made their way along the forest trail. Lugging three extremely large and over-stuffed duffel bags, Faith struggled a little beneath the cumbersome weight but adopted a more sprightly step as she came into view of the campsite and its waiting inhabitants, as though the load were nothing more than a mere hindrance. Willow lost no time in coming to greet her, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Yay, nummies!" she declared with undisguised enthusiasm.

Faith inclined her chin toward the bags. "Where d'you want—"

"Ah, thank you, Faith," interrupted Giles with a broad smile. "Yes, I think all of that should hold us over quite nicely." He nodded his approval.

"Glad to hear it," acknowledged Faith. "So where should I—"

"I've been working on a rudimentary pulley system to keep our food safe from- from any marauding bands of thoroughly disgusting creatures," Giles told Willow as the pair moved into the center of the clearing.

"And Xander," added Willow wryly.

"And Xander," Giles agreed. "And I was wondering if you'd lend your opinion on—"

Faith watched their retreating backs. "On where you want this crap?" she suggested, raising her voice a little.

"What?" asked Giles, half-turning. "No ..."

"Sure. I'll be happy to take a gander. This is gonna be so great, guys," Willow announced to everyone within earshot. "I checked online before we left and packed all the staple goodies." She checked the items on her fingers. "Weenies and marshmallows and raisins and weenies and granola and yet more weenies. Oh, and for breakfast?" Her smile grew even brighter. "Kosher sausages and—"

Deciding enough was enough, Faith unceremoniously dumped her burden on the ground. The bags landed with a solid thump and one of them toppled over. The task completed to her personal satisfaction, Faith also made her way into the middle of the campsite. Willow blinked at the discarded load with wide-eyed distress.

"—eggs!" she whimpered.

"I take mine scrambled," Faith informed her without a backward glance before inspecting the progress made in the tent department while she'd been absent.

One had been fully erected, while another appeared to be somewhere between completion and chaos. Faith approached the finished tent. A rustling came from within and she rapped on the canvas flap as though it were a door.

"Nice, B," she said with approval. "Kills me a little to admit it, but I'm impressed."

Tara's head emerged through the opening. "Thanks. Buffy's next door though."

Registering surprise, Faith turned her attention to the nearby shambles. Someone was moving beneath the mostly-fallen tarp. The way it was draped on and around the figure made it seem as though a ghost haunted the campsite. Tiny grunts could be heard as the unseen Tent Specter apparently struggled with every inch of the contraption. Gradually, the muted utterances became more aggravated and the thrashing more frantic. Tara and Faith shared a look.

"I'm sleepin' with you," announced Faith, hands on her hips.

But then, Willow suddenly materialized from nowhere, complete with narrowed eyes and crossed arms.

Faith didn't miss a beat. "I'm sleepin' with Buffy," she immediately amended.

An amused frown creased Tara's forehead at the implication behind that declaration. At first, Willow simply nodded emphatically but then, her nods began to slow and the corner of her mouth crept upward in a wicked smile as Faith's proclamation took on a whole new life.

"And me without my 7 megapixel digital camera with night vision technology," Xander said with a sigh from somewhere nearby.

He was in the midst of constructing the third and final tent arrangement – although it was truly still more a heap of random parts rather than anything remotely resembling a temporary dwelling. Several metal poles had been rammed partway into the ground, but they leaned at odd angles and one of them shimmied precariously with the wind. A crumpled tarp, covered with muddy footprints, has been tossed to one side, and in the middle of the disaster stood a very forlorn Xander, brandishing a mallet. He wielded it as though it were a weapon, obviously desperately hoping, praying, that he could use it on something – anything – with a modicum of success, if only the appropriate recipient would be willing to step forward and volunteer.

Hair disheveled and face flushed, Buffy crawled out from beneath her own personal wreckage to jab an accusing finger in Xander's direction.

"You are sick."

"And you girls are my antibiotic," replied Xander, voice as smooth as silk.

The remark earned him a healthy dose of all-around glares. He hastily pointed to the ruin at his feet, anxious to divert attention. "Hey look! Tent!" he said before throwing himself wholeheartedly back into the fray of failure.

The next object of Buffy's accusatory digit was Faith. "And you are taking a turn."

Brushing her palms together, Buffy marched away from the mess, leaving Faith to gawk in disbelief. Joining Willow and Tara, Buffy sighed deeply.

"I can fight off hundreds of super-evil primal vampires, but I can't put a piece of canvas on a hollow rod. What does that say about me?"

"That your talents are precious and unique," said Tara, patting Buffy's arm.

A rattling clang of metal was quickly followed by Faith's exasperated, "Dammit!"

Buffy chose to ignore the outburst. "So fess up." She eyed the witches critically. "You guys use a little mojo muju?"

"This is one hundred percent solid hand craftsmanship, baby!" Willow told her with an affirmative nod.

By way of emphasis, she slapped proudly on the canvas. In response, the tarp buckled and the tent very nearly collapsed on one side. Willow's panicked hands fluttered helplessly over the cave-in for a moment, but she seemed afraid to touch it any further. She looked around fearfully, but her unfortunate show of confidence appeared to have gone unnoticed. She sidled in front of the damage and stood there, nervously blocking the view.

"Besides, that's just cheating," Tara was telling Buffy, oblivious to Willow's mishap.

Willow was more than eager to enhance the distraction. "And hey, magick all over the place already. Why add, right?" She smiled a little too brightly.

"All you need is a little practice and patience," Tara agreed.

A violent string of expletives burst from nearby.

"Thankfully, there's enough of those to share," Tara tossed over her shoulder as she hurried away with a warning shout of, "Faith, don't slay the tarpaulin!"

Willow and Buffy watched her rush to the rescue, then faced each other. Buffy's brows knitted as Willow treated her to a radiant smile, shuffling a few degrees to make sure she was shielding anything that might be incriminating. Buffy leaned a little to the right. Willow immediately followed suit. Buffy leaned to the left. Again, Willow tracked the movement. Buffy feinted back to the right, faked Willow out, and caught an eyeful of tent dent.

"Solid, huh?"

Willow seemed unwilling to sacrifice any more dignity to the matter. "In that it's neither a liquid nor a gas, yes."

Mission accomplished, Buffy began to move away and Willow rushed to catch up.

"So what's this about magick everywhere?" Buffy asked.

The two of them soon fell in step. "Oh, it's, you know." Buffy clearly didn't know, so Willow tried to explain. "Big woods, lots of nature. Get some magick as a bonus gift. Pretty much a given."

The pair strolled leisurely past Faith who, with Tara's aid, had now refrained from trying to inflict bodily harm upon the tent and was actually making progress with its construction.

"But nothing serious? We're living evil-free?"

"We're on the Tri-Mouth, Buff," said Willow with a chuckle. " Everything's at least a little evil. But i-it's nothing major. It's more sort of ..." She thought deeply about the correct description, carefully feeling out the exact terminology. "Neutral?" She finally decided, still not absolutely sure. "Like it hasn't made up its mind yet?"

Willow's expression indicated she wasn't entirely satisfied with the explanation, but she seemed at a loss for any other way to put it.

"You think it's safe though?" Buffy pressed.

"Oh, yeah," dismissed Willow easily. "We're A-O-peachy-K fine."

"Easy for you to say," Xander told them as they reached his tent – or what would have been his tent, if a camper were supposed to sleep wrapped in tarpaulin like a butterfly in a cocoon. Xander's tone was a testament to his mounting stress. The two women exchanged a glance of undisguised amusement.

"Are you sure that's right?" criticized Giles, sitting on a nearby log and studying the instructions. He peered from the booklet balanced on his knees to the dubious fruits of Xander's labor and then back again.

"Yes," snapped Xander. "This is exactly how it's supposed to look. It's the latest in camping fashion, you nutty British guy."

Giles seemed mildly affronted. "There's no need for sarcasm."

"The only things shielding my damaged pride here are a piece of blue plastic and sarcasm," responded Xander. "So, I'd say my need is great."

Willow bit her lip to stifle a giggle while Buffy gazed heavenward, mouth twitching.

"Need some help, Xan?" she asked, giving a little cough to disguise the chuckle.

"As much as I wish no – yes."

But that didn't seem quite enough. "What do you need help with?" Buffy asked, as though the sight of Xander wrapped up like a giant cigar didn't provide enough hints.

"My final shred of dignity?"

Buffy's response was to nudge Willow, who was unable to smother her giggle. They glanced at Giles, now trying valiantly to straighten a tent pole with one hand, while he scrutinized the instructions clutched tightly in the other. His expression was one of abject confusion.

"What exactly do you need help with?" asked Buffy, clearing her throat as she and Willow worked very hard to subdue their bubbling laughter.

"Finding a new career, because my ability to build things has been thrown into serious question," Xander grumbled, his patience well dissolved by now.

Willow pretended to have not heard. "What was that?" she asked innocently.

"I need help pitching my tent, okay?" Xander finally exclaimed.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Buffy and Willow dissolved into a fit of giggles. They clung to each other for strength, and at that moment, Giles lost his grip on the pole. It hit the ground with a resounding thud, and the sight served only to set the girls into another fit of laughter.

Xander was not a happy camper. He glowered at Buffy and Willow, now gasping for breath as tears rolled down their cheeks.

"Hear they make a pill for that, Harris," Faith told him, as she and Tara joined the group.

The remark did nothing to lighten Xander's mood. "Perverts," he muttered darkly, looking very much as though he wanted to leave, but lacking the ability to move more than a few exposed fingers.

No comment was made on the grand irony of Xander making that statement. It took some effort, but Willow and Buffy were able to bring their laughter under control, and together they all set about untangling Xander from the mess he'd gotten himself into. The undertaking created something of a silent disagreement about whether to wind clockwise or counterclockwise, whether to push or to pull. The process wasn't made any easier by Xander's semi-frantic yet feeble efforts to shake and hop free. Still, surprisingly, no tempers flared.

The situation also seemed to have stirred a memory in Buffy. "Hey, do you guys remember a few years ago when—" she began.

But her story was cut short as Xander, no longer encumbered, exclaimed, "Oh sweet Mother Freedom!"

In his exuberance, he promptly seized Willow's face and planted a kiss atop her head with a loud, "Mmmwah!" Still exalted, he turned to Buffy and did exactly the same thing. Moving down the line, he "Mmmwahed!" Tara and then reached for the next person – Giles.

Recoiling from Xander's outstretched hands, Giles wore an expression of horror. Xander's reaction was similarly violent, accompanied by a note of disgust. Instinctively, he sought another party and found Faith. No hesitation this time, except that Faith thrust a balled-up fist between them. Xander was thwarted, but there was still a "Mmmwah!" that cried out to be delivered, and he opted to give it to Buffy.

The moment seemed over, but Xander apparently had more to give. He attempted, and connected, with a third kiss, but as he went in for a fourth, Buffy squirmed out of reach.

"Okay, affection overload."

"I was thinkin' much the same thing," Xander agreed. "But hey, momentum."

With both Xander and the parts now free, the group set to work assembling the final tent. Willow and Giles conferred over the directions, turning the booklet this way and that in an effort to make sense of the illustrations. Tara, on the other hand, worked on instinct alone and seemed to be making remarkable progress.

"So once upon a time," began Xander without preamble, as he retrieved his mallet, "there were these brave little Boosklies."

Buffy shook out the tarpaulin. "Hah?"

"Little what?" queried Giles, looking up from the booklet.

"Boosklies," repeated Xander.

"What's a Booskly?" Willow asked with a frown.

"I've never heard of them," Tara replied, relieving Xander of the mallet and pounding a peg into the ground.

"Well now you have," replied Xander, putting the remaining pegs in a neat pile.

Willow was still frowning. "Giles, what's a Booskly?"

"No idea," he replied with a puzzled expression.

"It's fun to say though, isn't it?" said Buffy, shaking out the tarpaulin. "Booskly, booskly—"

"Yeah, move your 'booskly'," Faith told her, "you're standin' on my rope."

Perplexed, Willow looked at Xander. "Xander, what's a—"

Xander raised a forefinger. "Momentum, people," he advised. "Look it up with 'patience'." He waited until he was sure there would be no more questions for the moment and then continued. "Once upon a time, there were these brave little Boosklies. They had the hardest job in the whole Booskly village, because they had to guard the pit of Hell...er...mou...ncia."

A few of the Scoobies exchanged glances, but nobody broke the silence.

"Hellermouncia," Xander repeated with more gusto this time. "Not a nice place to visit. Lots of bad stuff came outta there, like dead Boosklies and giant bugs and infomercials. But the brave little Boosklies protected it with their lives. If they didn't, who else would?"

Most of the group were catching his drift by now, but there were no interruptions as work on the tent continued.

"It was a tough life, being a brave little Booskly," Xander continued, helping Giles pull the canvas taut. "Sometimes it was no life at all. Literally. But they stuck it out together. Whatever the Hellermouncia threw at 'em – even when it got bigger and eviler, moved to another village and started calling itself the Triplehellermouncia – they faced it. Took it all on and beat it every time. You know why?"

"Destiny said so?" offered Buffy, helping Tara and Faith tie down the ropes.

"Because it's the right thing to do!" announced Willow, neatly folding the instructions.

Taking a step back, Xander eyed the now fully-functional tent and bestowed his seal of approval. It appeared more sturdy than either of the other two and seemed very well constructed indeed. Draping one arm around Willow's shoulders and the other around Buffy. Xander smiled.

"Cuz the Boosklies knew that there wasn't anything they couldn't do, so long as they did it together," he told them.

There was a brief pause as everyone absorbed Xander's tale.

Giles polished his glasses. "That was very sweet," Xander."

"Why thank you," said Xander, taking a small bow.

"Utterly lacking in subtlety," Giles amended, "but sweet."

Faith looked vaguely ill. "To the nth degree. Ugh, I feel like I need a shower after that, I think you got some schmaltz on me." She stepped away from the group, heading toward the rear perimeter of the clearing.

"So what's next for the Boosklies?" asked Tara.

But before Xander could reply, there was the sound of a loud rumbling. With a grimace, Buffy regarded her stomach.

"Let's hope dinner," she stated firmly.

"After felling this mighty beast," said Xander, gesturing toward the newly-erected tent, "I'd say we earned it."

Willow led the way toward the food pulley system. "Who's on cooking duty?"

"I thought I'd try my hand," said Giles, untying the ropes. "When I was much younger, some friends and I used to spend days, even weeks, in the woods around the Forest of Dean. It's been a few years, but I became quite proficient at cooking over an open flame."

Xander at least was in total agreement. "Sounds like a volunteer to me."

Giles nodded quite cheerfully. "Buffy, why don't you ..."

As he began to assign tasks, Tara leaned across to Willow.

"I'll go get Faith," she said. "You know Slayers, if they go without food for a few hours, they get really grumpy."

With a smile of acknowledgment, Willow turned her attention to Giles, listening to what he needed done. Leaving the gathering, Tara began to trace Faith's path. She moved beyond the campsite into the wooded area. It was dark with only the minimum amount of moonlight filtering through the tree branches. Still, Tara didn't appear particularly nervous or apprehensive as she made her way over the dense brush. It wasn't long before she arrived at a small, peaceful clearing bordered by a stream. Sitting on the bank, leaning against a tree, Faith was watching the reflection of the shimmering stars in the calm water, its surface broken only occasionally, courtesy of the ripples created by the wind. Faith's elbow rested on her knee and a cigarette dangled from between her fingers.

Tara smiled. "Doesn't that sort of ruin the 'pure and tranquil' part of all this?" she asked softly, obviously referring to Faith's cigarette.

"Sums me up in a nutshell," said Faith. There was no trace of bitterness, just a simple statement of truth.

She took another drag, followed by a long pull from a bottle at her side, and then sighed a satisfied sigh. A plume of smoke trailed lazily from her lips. As Tara came closer, Faith continued to gaze upon the water.

"It's very beautiful," Tara observed.

Faith nodded. "Yeah, it is. Last time I saw a forest like this, I had a whole pack'a vamps on my tail. Funny how much nicer it is when you're not runnin' through it at thirty miles an hour."

Tara moved next to Faith and made as though to sit down. Faith moved her outstretched leg to give Tara more room and sat Indian style.

"So," began Tara, settling herself comfortably, "are you enjoying yourself?"

Taking another pull, Faith turned away from the water and looked at Tara for the first time. Exhaling through the corner of her mouth, she gave a tiny shrug. "What do you think?"

"I think," replied Tara with a twinkle in her eye, "that you're having a blast."

Faith grinned. "Who am I to argue with the empathic one?"

She lifted the bottle and took another swig. "It's good you're here," she told her.

The implication of the statement had a moment to settle before Faith thrust the bottle into the other woman's hands. Arching an eyebrow, Tara studied it. It was of a smoky-brownish glass, but otherwise entirely nondescript, revealing nothing of its contents. Tara turned to Faith with a questioning expression.

"What's this?"

Faith flicked the ash from her cigarette and grinned even wider. She gestured with her chin. A clear and open invitation for Tara to find out for herself.

"Family recipe."

In the kitchen of the Scoobies' house, a female derriere was protruding from the open refrigerator as foraging noises came from within. Before too long, Dawn withdrew her head, balancing several assorted jars in her hands. Amazing, she managed to get them all to the counter without any breakage. Placing two slices of bread on a plate, she slathered both with peanut butter while peering at a study guide and muttering to herself.

"'The East Coast Hamstaz was a terrible rap and R&B group in the early '90s; its music was dull and its lyrics ...'" She scanned the multiple choices. "Well it's not thaaat ..." she stated confidently, marking through one of the selections with a thick black pencil. In order to do so, she had to cross her right hand awkwardly over her left, which was still busy wielding a knife laden with peanut butter. "Or thaaat ..." Dawn continued, and then grimaced. She stared at the remaining options, pencil hovering. Apparently, she wasn't too sure what her next move should be.

"'Truculent'?" she scoffed. "Now they're just making stuff up." Chewing on her lower lip, she declared with as much certainty as she was able to muster, "E, fatuous."

Flipping through the incredibly thick book, she found the answer section and quickly scanned down the page. Her resulting expression was delighted triumph.

"'E'! You're a smarty every day, Me," she congratulated herself. "Got this SAT thing in the bag. I think you deserve ..." She surveyed her range of possible consumable rewards. "... more peanut butter!"

Bolstered by her performance thus far, Dawn scooped out another heaping knifeful of peanut butter, managing to get most of it all around the plate, but leaving sufficient to coat her fingers as well. She dealt with the latter dilemma by attempting to lick it off as she eyed the other items to determine which ingredient should next be added.

Her gaze rested upon a bottle of mini-pickles and then flitted to the in-progress peanut butter sandwich. Instinctively, she wrinkled her nose, but the sneer transformed into an expression of contemplation. Finally, she gave a shrug.

"If it was good enough for Mom ..."

Wiping her hands on a paper towel, she twisted off the cap and started to fish out the little pickles. Shoving one whole into her mouth, she talked around it.

"'Courf, fhe wuf prenant wif 'uffy fo you know fhe wuf profufly crayhe," she mumbled knowingly.

Pleased with such a wise observation, Dawn pressed onward. Jamming several pickles into the liberal mound of peanut butter on one slice, she balanced the other in her palm and then smooshed the entire sandwich together. Snaring a few more pickles as a side order, Dawn then picked up the plate and the study guide. The kitchen countertop looked a little worse for wear, with its smears of peanut butter and puddles of pickle juice, to say nothing of an open bread wrapper, sticky knife, balled-up napkins and discarded jar caps. But cleaning was a later task for lesser mortals, and Dawn didn't spare it a glance as she made her way toward the living room.

As she walked, she peered into the open book in her hand and couldn't entirely suppress a sigh. "Saturday night, and it's me, a pickle, and a thousand pages of boring. Oh yeah. Beware the coolness of me."

Raising the plate to her lips, she snagged a pickle between her front teeth and then jumped as the doorbell chimed. Since she was already closer to the front door than anywhere else, she looked around for a place to deposit her burden – but there wasn't enough room on the small foyer table and she had no spare hand with which to answer the door. She quickly began to succumb to the blind panic that often rises when communication devices become demanding. Consequently, she did the first thing that came to mind. She draped the open book atop her head. As she threw the latch, the bell rang again.

Dawn blinked at the visitor, eyes wide as she stood there, wearing her SAT prep guide like the most unattractive hat ever and holding a messy plate full of peanut butter-and-pickle sandwich. There was a tiny dab of peanut butter on the tip of her nose and a thin stream of green juice dribbled down her chin from the pickle clenched between her teeth.

Outside, standing on the threshold, was Grip, his finger still poised over the bell.

"Grih!" stammered Dawn, nearly dropping the pickle in her surprise.

And that was as far as she got. Surprised seemed to have struck Dawn mute, and paralysis soon followed. She could only watch as Grip lowered his hand and thrust it into his jacket pocket. He looked Dawn up and down for a few seconds, his expression inscrutable.

"Is that a pickle in your mouth," he asked deadpan, "or are you happy to see me?"

Dawn continued to simply stand in the doorway, as the SAT book slowly slid from her head and toppled to the floor.

Underneath a dark sky, over which an ever-stiffening wind drove the clouds like a herd of grey cattle, three young men sat huddled around a campfire. One was spinning a tale while his two companions listened intently, gaze fixed upon the storyteller whose own eyes darted quickly from one to the other as the words spilled from his mouth.

"Luke walked down the road as fast as he could. He swung the empty gas canister at his side and tried to focus on the outline of the cabin he could see in the distance. He tried not to think about the news reports. He tried not to think about Betty Kirkwood's funeral just two days ago. Get to the cabin, get gas, get the hell outta there."

His friends were listening intently, willing passengers along for the ride.

"He was so busy focusing on everything else that he never saw THE CHAINSAW KILLER RIGHT BEHIND HIM!"

It was difficult to say if it was the story or the sudden increase in volume that scared the audience. But they jumped, and the storyteller seemed to feel that was really all that was important.

"Luke screamed and screamed before turning and running away. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he HAD TO GET AWAY! It didn't matter how fast he ran though, he could still here the ROAR of the CHAINSAW and the sound of the killer's boots – the boots that looked a little too much like Betty Kirkwood – getting CLOSER and CLOSER!" The storyteller paused briefly to suck in a much-needed breath. "He ducked to get around a tree blocking his path, but THE CHAINSAW KILLER WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF—"

But the tale ended abruptly as the area was suddenly engulfed by the deafening whine and whir of a chainsaw, and as the towering figure wielding it crashed through the foliage and into the campsite.

The three young men shrieked in terror, but the piercing roar of the machine quickly suffocated their sounds.

As the distant buzz of a faint but unmistakable chainsaw reached their ears, Buffy, Willow, Xander and Giles looked up with quizzical expressions.

"Little late to be lumberjackin'," observed Willow.

Buffy frowned. "They can't cut trees down here, can they?"

"Well they sure got enough of 'em," said Xander. "They'll never miss one."

The sound attracting no particular alarm, Giles turned his attention back to the iron skillet he was holding to the fire. He gave the contents one final shake and then nodded in satisfaction at a job well done.

"Dinner's ready," he declared with a cheery smile. "We just need Faith and—" He noted the sound of approaching footfalls. "Ah, here they come."

Indeed, it was Faith and Tara who emerged from the forest behind the tents. They were conversing in voices just a tad too loud, but nobody seemed alarmed at this – until the pair was within the illuminated area of the site. Then, it was all too apparent that the only reason Tara was maintaining an upright position was due to the fact that Faith was holding her there.

"Tara!"

Willow was the first to reach them, but the other three weren't far behind, all of them anxious at the appearance of their seemingly wounded friends.

"Are you okay?" asked Willow, frantically searching for signs of blood. She turned to Faith. "Is she okay? What ha—"

Upon hearing Willow's voice, Tara threw both arms around her girlfriend's neck and leaned forward, all her weight how coming to rest on the unprepared Willow. She staggered, and would have fallen, had Buffy not been behind Willow to offer support.

"Tara?" queried Willow with a worried frown.

Stirring, Tara looked up at Willow with a huge and goofy smile. She inhaled deeply, as though she were about to impart something of paramount importance.

"Hey," was the grand announcement.

"Hey?" echoed Willow, utterly confused.

Then she got a hearty whiff of Tara's breath.

"Hey!" she muttered, as her eyes narrowed in Faith's direction. "Hey!"

"Yeah, hey," acknowledged Faith. "Heard you the first time."

Giles hovered like a mother hen. "What's the matter, is anyone hurt?"

"Not yet," an amused Buffy told him.

Emergency over, Xander had returned to the fire. He dipped a large spoon into Giles' culinary masterpiece and scooped himself a super-sized helping. "Dinner and a show? You shouldn't have."

Meanwhile, Tara still beamed adoringly at Willow. "Hey," she repeated huskily.

Having regained her equilibrium, Willow was now able to sustain Tara without assistance, but the totality of her attention was focused on Faith.

"She's drunk!"

Faith nodded. "You're welcome."

Unconcerned and as steady as ever on her feet, Faith deftly took the spoon from Xander and began to load her plate. Spying an aluminum tray of rolls, she snared two and sat cross-legged on the ground.

"'Mnot drunk!" denied Tara vehemently.

She struggled to straighten. It was a valiant effort to make her declared state of sobriety more convincing, but she was unable to pull it off. She flopped back into Willow's waiting arms and then lolled her head toward Giles.

"I am soooo drunk," she confided in a loud and not-in-the-least-confidential whisper.

"Yes, so it would appear," Giles patiently acknowledged. "Willow, perhaps we should..?"

He gestured to the logs that formed benches around the campfire. Firmly taking an arm while Willow took the other, they escorted Tara to the seating area, where they gently placed her down. But Willow wasn't about to let Faith get off so easily. She continued to toss glares, which Faith blithely ignored as she pushed food onto her fork with a piece of bread. Standing nearby, Buffy was ready to lend a hand if need be, but it seemed Giles and Willow had it under control, and she leaned down to Faith.

"She's gonna kill you."

"Nah," returned Faith through a mouthful of crumbs. "We don't do that any more. It's in the Reformed Bad Guy charter."

Once Tara appeared safely situated, the entirely of Willow's wrathful attention was directed at Faith. However, now devoid of any support, Tara leaned back too far and slowly slid from the log with a piercing yelp, her legs flailing desperately in the air. Immediately, Willow, Giles and Buffy hurried to assist the hapless Tara, while Xander quickly disposed of his plate and rushed to add his contribution to the rescue attempt. Entirely unmoved, Faith relieved the aluminum tray of another bread roll.

"Let her be," she recommended cheerfully. "She's fine."

Willow was incensed. "Fine? Fine?"

"The ground looks funny!" giggled Tara, lying flat on her back, head resting on a pile of dry leaves.

"That's fine?" asked Willow, eyes blazing.

After some rapid organization, Tara was once again righted and placed upon the log. For a second, it seemed she might take a second tumble, but Buffy was in attendance and Tara simply slumped backward an inch before coming to a stop.

"Nah-ah. We like our Taras up here, not down there."

Tara gave this statement serious consideration as she craned her neck in order to stare up at Buffy. Finally, she grinned.

"Okay."

"Okay," confirmed Buffy, patting Tara's head.

"God, Will," sighed Faith. "Give the girl some space. She's packed in so tight she's gonna crack."

Willow's brows knitted. "But—"

"She needed it to be okay to not be Tara for like two seconds," continued Faith, mopping her plate and then stuffing the last remnant of roll into her mouth. "So calm the hell down and let her have that."

Willow wanted nothing more than to formulate some scathing response, but found nothing coming out of her mouth, no matter how many times she opened and closed it. It was possible she would have kept trying all night, had she not felt a hand slipping into her own. Looking down, Willow saw that Tara was now sitting upright all by herself, albeit a little wobbly. Taking a more firm hold on Willow's fingers, Tara started to tug. Willow put up no resistance and allowed herself to be pulled down. As soon as she took her seat, Tara flung her arms around Willow's neck again and planted her with a resounding and smacking kiss to the cheek. Deep in thought, Willow absently brushed away tiny twigs and leaves that had become embedded in Tara's hair.

"Tara, you okay?" Willow finally asked.

Tara snuggled against Willow's shoulder. "Am now," she assured.

As though that settled everything, Willow gave a curt nod. "Okay then," she said, without a trace of her previous anger. "So let's get you settled with a few yummy carbohydrates and lots of water ..."

She delivered a squeeze to Tara's fingers and then moved to the fire, beginning to prepare a plate for each of them. Tara watched for a moment and then loudly announced, "I looooove you."

"At least she's a happy drunk," Xander noted. "Not that I've ever actually met a happy drunk. It's a Harris family tradition to get hateful and psychotic."

Tara's eyes drifted lazily in Xander's direction. She had a little trouble focusing, but then smiled. "I looooove you."

"This? So much better."

Faith stretched out her legs. "So what's next?" She held aloft a glass bottle, smoky-brown in color, and tipped it upside-down to show it was empty. "I'm all outta fun."

"We could break out the marshmallows?" suggested Willow.

Xander rubbed his palms together. "Marshmallows and storytime, sounds like a plan."

"Oh, I've got one!" said Buffy, bouncing up and down.

But Tara wasn't much in the mood for polite decorum. "Once there was—" began Tara, choking back a bubbling laugh. "There was this- this liiiiittle bitty bananan...anana, and he—" She almost fell off the log in her merriment. "The banana, not the captain!" She made a series of odd wheezes as she tried to hold in her amusement. "And, and, and when he painted the couch he said, he said ..."

It seemed that what "he said" would forever remain a mystery since Tara, now consumed with infinite jest, was unable to continue. Her laughter was of the open-mouthed, soundless variety. She flapped her hands helplessly and drove her heels into the dirt again and again, before finally holding her stomach and rocking back and forth in silent hilarity.

Willow's face showed no sign of emotion. "Can we have another bottle of water please?" she asked in monotone.

Giles was quick to comply.

"Your girlfriend's weird," commented Faith, which earned her one of Willow's finest glares.

"So Giles!" declared Xander, hoping to ease the mounting tension. "You used to go camping a lot, you must have lots of stories. What were you lovely lads up to in those deep, deep, dark, dark, deep dark woods?"

Handing the bottle of water to Willow, Giles reclaimed his seat. "They weren't that bad," Giles told him. "It was quite a pleasant place, really. But where I always preferred to go on holiday was the seaside. I remember one trip in particular when I was a small boy."

He settled his glasses on his nose and opened a large bag of marshmallows. As he spoke, he impaled them on long sticks and distributed them all around.

"My grandmother went with us that year," he recalled, "which was something of a rarity in itself. One night, much as we're doing now, we all gathered around the fireplace and told stories. Most of them were probably rubbish. I'm quite sure mine was, at any rate. But even now, I can remember hers."

He cleared his throat as the flames crackled.

"In a time not long ago, there were two best friends. As fate would have it, they were also sisters, and princesses. Everything they had was shared, and they shared everything they had. Until one day, when a handsome young man visited their castle and began courting the eldest princess."

The bulk of her attention on Giles, Buffy paid no heed as her marshmallow began melting horribly and dripping into the heart of the fire.

"For several months he would call upon the family, wooing the elder sister. But it was the younger who began to win his heart, and he hers. Still, he asked for the elder princess's hand in marriage and she, delighted, accepted. A wedding date was set and all was well."

Tara's eyelids began to droop a little, but she hiccupped happily.

"For a time. Until the elder princess discovered their true feelings. Blinded by rage, the elder sister dragged her younger sister to the ocean and pushed her into its hungry depths. She stood on the shore, watching her sister drown, and did not leave until she was certain of death. The body gave feast to the creatures of the deep, until finally nothing but bones and hair returned to land some distance away."

Xander impaled an ambitious three marshmallows on his stick. Feeling up to the challenge, he added a fourth, and continued to pass the bag down the line.

"A traveling harper chanced to see the remains," continued Giles, "and fashioned them into a grand new harp. His travels continued until he arrived at a castle, where he had been commanded to play at the lavish wedding between a handsome suitor and the now sole heir to the realm. Despite a pall of sadness, the festivities were magnificent, and the harper played with his new instrument as never before. After his performance, he set the harp on stage and went to join in the feast."

Giles paused for effect.

"And then the harp began to play itself, and sang to the entire kingdom the truth of how her older sister and best friend had murdered her."

There was a subdued silence as the tale came to an end. Willow was the first to speak.

"Good story, Giles! Really ... freakishly disturbing, but- but good!"

"Though you make me fear for your country," mumbled Xander, gooey marshmallow clinging to his mouth and fingers.

Giles calmly regarded the marshmallow he was currently roasting. "We've been fearing for yours since you destroyed a criminal amount of tea," he said curtly, "so that seems fair."

With a final resentful pop, the wood in the campfire curled, and the flames dipped well below prime roasting levels.

"More firewood time," Buffy announced, getting to her feet. "And a chance to reaffirm why I Just Say No to harps."

She stretched her muscles and then headed toward the woods. Tara, who apparently hadn't been asleep after all, leaned toward Giles.

"Mr. Giles?" she whispered – and this time it was in fact a whisper.

"Hm?"

"You didn't tell us what you and your friends were doing in those woods."

Giles continued attempting to roast his marshmallow. "Tara," he said quite pleasantly, "do shut up."

"Okay," she agreed amicably, voice still hushed.

Buffy, meanwhile, was moving through the undergrowth, gathering what she considered to be suitable kindling. Initially, she hummed softly to herself but, the notes slowly died away, the deeper she went. Her gaze shifted constantly, taking in her surroundings. Everything seemed as it should be. She continued to collect firewood but her instincts remained on high alert. Bending down to retrieve a large piece of tree bark, it seemed that something rustled in the foliage to her left. It was impossible to be certain since the only available light was courtesy of the moon – intermittent at best, given the increasing cloud cover. Still, Buffy frowned. Her posture grew tenser as she straightened and faced the direction of the vague noises. She strained her ears but heard nothing. With a slight shrug, she returned to her foraging. There it was again. Out of the corner of her eye, it seemed as though shadows were moving in the dense bush. She straightened immediately, but the shades, if indeed they had ever been there, evaporated before she could be sure. Moving stealthily, she made her way forward.

So focused was Buffy on what she thought she saw, she completely failed to notice the vampire stalking her every step, coming closer and closer until within striking range, silently poised for the kill.

  Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all such related things, © Mutant Enemy and many other people with big scary lawyers.
We're borrowing them without permission, but you said you were done with 'em, so we're hoping you won't mind so much.
Stories, images, characters you don't recognize, those are all by 4Paws. Yes, we'll take the blame.
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