tamingthemuse | Prompt #104 - Cuisine - Notice - Alex Foster

Title: Notice
Fandom: BTVS -- Season Eight Comic
Prompt: 104 - Cuisine
Word Count: 1,940
Warnings: Spoilers for issue #16, slight Batsu
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Mutant Enemy, Dark Horse, and Joss Whedon. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
Summary: Late at night Buffy deals with the death of slayers in the castle attack.

When she was little, before moving to Sunnydale, Buffy Summers used to admire her mother’s desk. Large, old, with a locking roll top it would fascinate preteen Buffy. She remembered sitting in her mother’s oversized chair, listening as her parents dealt with the cries of her baby sister, and playing at that desk.

She would slide her small hands over crisp sheets of white paper, imagining all the important letters she had to write. The aged smell of wood was captivating and would forever stay with her. The phone was off limits (at six years old she accidentally dialed long distance), but she would carefully touch each button while inventing stories and people just waiting for her call.

In young Buffy’s mind she was important and in charge and couldn’t wait for the responsibilities of living a grown up life. Over the years the desk was lost to time, changes, and several moves, but she never forgot it was from that roll top she ran her imaginary empire.

Presently Buffy Summers—now grown, alone, and chosen to lead the fight against evil—sat behind another, smaller desk in a different part of the world than her younger self ever imagined. The house was out of the way and hurriedly setup as a base of operations. One of the many boltholes around the world she and Xander established never thinking they would actually need.

Buffy’s simple wooden chair creaked as she leaned back. Over the desk was a small window that looked out at the calm moonlit night. She was the slayer—a slayer, she self-corrected—and wanted to patrol. That was what her kind used to do. Hunt, kill, home. No paperwork entered the scene. If the girl died her watcher would grieve but move on. The lack of notes on that subject in the journals was proof of the absence of ceremony.

But things were different now, thanks to her. Slayers had family, they had each other, and had emergency contact numbers. There were more people than just record keepers to grieve. By her order slayers deserved more than just a quick death and a dog-eared page in a history book. In all her speeches on the subject, it never occurred to her that along that same vein there were others requiring an explanation.

Sheets of freshly printed paper sat stacked in front of her. Sealed envelopes, stacked higher than her hand was wide, sat off to the side. Those were the notices she’d already completed. Unlike her mom’s paper, fake letterheads adorned these sheets. Highland School for Girls, Cambridge Institute of Secondary Learning, and several other official sounding names for the army’s cover.

Not every potential had a watcher, in fact those that survived the First’s holocaust mostly didn’t. Giles theorized Caleb had a spy on the Council that fed him the locations of the known potentials. The idea of a school was Xander’s. For the parents that didn’t know, it was an easy lie. Full scholarship and all the privileges of boarding school.

Buffy rubbed her tired eyes. During the setup of their army, she never thought this would be one of her duties. Handwritten letters that started with the line ‘I’m sorry to inform you’ along with a generous check from a fake insurance company.

A gas explosion in the castle housing the school. Happened without warning. Old pipes. She died very fast and did not suffer at all.

Those were the things Buffy spent the past several hours writing. None of it was enough, she knew. There was no check amount big enough.

She felt herself start to nod off and pulled her hands away from her eyes. No time for sleep. The notices had top priority and after that the army could think about revenge. Buffy wanted to hit Twilight back. Hard.

The rest of the girls shared her anger, as did Xander. She felt another wave of tiredness pass over her as her cramped hand began repeating the familiar sentence. The loss of Renee was awful for him, but the entire squad on top of that…there was a hard line edge to him now. She wasn’t sure how long it would take for her normal Xander to come back. If he ever did.

She wasn’t sure how to write that letter of condolence. To the Harris’ I’m sorry to inform you that your son now carries shadows in his eyes and menace in his spirit. I’m afraid he’ll never smile again. Please accept my sympathies for your loss.

Buffy choked back a laugh at the tragic absurdity of it all. She won the war with the First just to find herself in the middle of another deadly conflict. Every girl empowered with strength and destiny was now a target for a mass murderer.

She pushed away from the desk again and looked off to the side. Xander had sent food up to the office several hours ago, but Buffy left it untouched. The cooled red lump on the tray might have once been pasta and sauce. Even from across the room she could smell the staleness of a military ready to eat meal.

Here in the temporary bolthole MREs were the cuisine of necessity. Not quite her usual taste, but that wasn’t the reason for the avoidance. In the mess hall with the rest of the girls she would eat to show them life went on and that they were not down, but here in private she had no appetite. After Japan, after Scotland, food was the least of her worries.

Buffy turned away with a disgusted grimace.

She caught herself looking at the phone shoved to the corner of the desk. It wasn’t as large or nice as her mother’s and didn’t quite hold the same mystique as when she was six. Plus, now she was responsible for paying the bill.

Nights like this one she missed Giles. Buffy the person wanted the strong quiet presence he offered and Buffy the slayer at war needed the council of a watcher. That too was different, she knew. In a turnaround there were now too few watchers to handle all the slayers. Instead of being responsible for a single girl’s training the new watchers had to manage entire squads. Much like Xander had with alpha team.

But Xander as her watcher couldn’t help. He would put together a battle plan, give advice on targets, help her strike back, but those were not the sides of a watcher she needed right now.

Buffy had the phone to her ear without remembering lifting it from the cradle. She listened to the buzz on the other end of the receiver. The European dial tone was oddly different than the one she heard in California. Sharper, more electronic. Not even that was the same in her world.

She thought again of Giles out somewhere at a bolthole of his own with Faith.

Buffy’s fingers lingered against the keys a moment before dialing. She wondered if maybe she shouldn’t call. Let more time pass, give wounds a chance to heal. But who else did she have to talk to? Then the phone was ringing on the other side of the world and she was past backing out.

A voice answered on the sixth ring. “Hello?” She sounded foggy and half asleep.

Panic suddenly rose in Buffy. What time was it there? What time was it here? She’d been working in her quarters for a while and all she knew for sure was the sun hadn’t come up yet.

“Hello?”

Time zones never made sense to her. What if it was wildly and inappropriately late there?

“Um…it’s me,” Buffy said. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

Cloth rustled as the person at the other end sat up in bed. God, it was tucked-in-bed late. “Is everything okay, ma’am?” Satsu asked.

“Yeah.” Buffy shook her head. Definitely in bad idea territory here. “I don’t know why I called. It’s late and I’m tired. I’ve been writing…notices.”

“It’s okay. How many?”

Buffy hesitated. “A lot. Some of the girls survived the explosion…but…”

“Even one is hard.” Satsu still sounded groggy, but there was also a weight of understanding in her voice. “I had to call Aiko’s parents.”

Buffy sat up straight. “I—”

“It was my first act of command. It’s part of the job.”

“Yeah.” Buffy relaxed slightly at the idea of someone else understanding. “Doesn’t make it easy though. Never used to be like this.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, ma’am.” There was a faint click on the other side of the line and Buffy imagined Satsu turning on a bedroom light. “My trail came preblazed.”

Buffy looked at the stack of envelopes. Tomorrow she would begin planning the offensive with Xander. Twilight wanted a war and she foolishly let him make the first strike. Of all the slayers in the world, Buffy understood the extent of her power better than everyone else. She would feed the bloodlust in the part of her girls that was a slightly less than human and unleash them.

They would take more losses. It was just a fact in their line of work, it was an accepted part of the mission. It wouldn’t just be her squad that would take the heat—every girl across the globe would have to fight.

“Ma’am?”

“Do you ever wish you had a choice, Satsu? About being a slayer?”

“Buffy.” The lack of appellation sounded softer and more intimate now that they were closer on the command level. “I did have a choice. You didn’t draft us into service. I want to be here, just like the girls you’ve been writing about wanted to be there. We all know what we signed up for when we joined the army.

“We were born Potentials, Buffy. You made us slayers but you never forced us to be anything. No matter what story you are telling the families you can know that is truth.”

Buffy smiled a little. She didn’t fully believe the words, but they were good to hear. “Thank you. So you’ve already gotten the speech part of leadership down, huh?”

“I’ve learned from the best, ma’am.”

“Step up the training, Satsu. I’m going to need those slayers.”

The voice at the other end of the phone was sure and strong. “Just let us know. We are here when you need us—all of us.”

Buffy nodded. “I’m sorry to call so late. Next time I’ll—”

“—Call whenever you need to,” Satsu finished for her.

“Okay.”

Silence stretched over the line for several moments and Buffy realized she should say something to end the call. She was unsure of what to say however.

Satsu decided for her: “Do you still have notices to write?”

“Just a few.”

“Get started. I’ll stay here and keep you company while you write.”

Buffy started to protest, after all this wasn’t high school where she would stay up late talking on the phone. She was an adult running a global army.

“We’re slayers,” the small voice said from the earpiece. “We fight together and grieve together now.”

She couldn’t think of a sound argument against that. Exactly when did Satsu become such a good commander? Blinking bleary eyes, Buffy reached for another sheet of paper with a fake letterhead and began to write.

I am sorry to inform you of a tragic accident at your daughter’s school…

The scratching of her pen against paper along with Satsu’s steady breath was the only sound in the small room. Working through her morbid task, Buffy felt a sense of peace settle around her.

End