Chapter Text
…beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…
The noise cut out. Someone, a nurse, shook her head sadly as her hand dropped from the switch on the heart monitor.
“Call it,” a doctor sighed.
“Time of death, ten-fifteen.” A different nurse.
“Okay, Lewis, can you get started on the paperwork? Bring it by the duty station, and I’ll sign it.”
“Miss? Miss?” A concerned face blocked Buffy’s view of… of—Buffy drew in a deep breath, blinking furiously to keep her eyes clear of tears. She couldn’t fall apart now. She couldn’t.
“Y-yeah?” Was that her voice? All raspy and small? God, what had gone so wrong? He’d been better. They’d made him better. Hadn’t they?
“Do you have someone who can take you home?” the nurse—Georgette—asked kindly.
Did she? Riley had always driven her around. She supposed she could call. Mom? No. Giles. She would call Giles. “Um, yeah, I—is there a phone I can use?”
“Of course, sweetheart, this way.” Buffy let herself be shuffled around, but she couldn’t help looking back over her shoulder as if she could make the scene be any different. Could change how they were drawing a sheet up over his face, could change how they were unhooking him from the machines, could change everything. She would be better. A better girlfriend, a better girl.
Buffy made the call. She sat and waited. Minutes ticked by. All around her, nurses and doctors went about their shift, saving everyone else’s lives. Not his. Riley, he was… he was—
“Oh, Buffy, I am so sorry,” Giles said. She nodded. Yes, he was sorry, sorry for her because she hadn’t been good enough to save him. That seemed… correct. “May I ask what happened?”
She raised her head, blinking. It was coming back to her now. Spike, Spike had taken the doctor, had nearly let Riley die. It was his fault. Him and his stupid chip and his evil. His selfish, screaming evil (and her stupidity for letting it all slip, letting her worry and her fear take over and giving Spike the exact information he needed).
Anger, white hot, ran through her blood. She felt like she was bubbling, boiling, brimming over. That feeling seared away everything else she might’ve been feeling. Buffy stood to her feet, hands curled into fists. The sharp press of her nails against her palms was grounding. A point of not-quite-pain that kept her in the world.
“Spike,” she spat. “The doctor thought he got to Riley in time, but Spike’s little game must have delayed him just enough. Giles, I’m going to kill him.”
Giles pursed his lips and gently took her elbow and guided her away from the busy duty station. “While I think it is high time you put an end to Spike’s existence, I strongly caution you against doing so right now. Undoubtedly, he will anticipate your actions, and might make some preparations of his own, if he has not already left town.”
“I don’t think he knows what just happened. I had to—” Buffy grimaced, hating to say the words, but they had to be said. God, she wasn’t just a bad girlfriend, she was a terrible Slayer. How many times had Spike slipped through her grasp? Slithering away like the little vile snake that he was? Her mouth worked silently, the words bitter. Eventually, she managed to whisper, “I had to let him go. Riley needed that operation. I really thought, the doctor said it had all gone well. But then he just… went.”
Buffy put a hand to her face as her throat threatened to close up and tears made her vision watery again. Giles put a hand on her shoulder, and Buffy leaned on him. And he let her, he always let her lean on him. His arm went around her, and he held her as she cried in a hospital hallway. Slowly, the tears ebbed, and Giles drove her home.
The porch light was on. Buffy stared at it, feeling seventeen again, dreading going inside and feeling like she’d just killed her boyfriend.
God, would it ever stop? Would she ever stop destroying the people she loved? Because it was her fault, all of this. She should have been smarter, better. She was smarter and better. But how could she be a better Slayer and still be the girl (and girlfriend) Riley deserved? No, it was too much for her to figure out.
“Get some rest, Buffy, and then we’ll make plans tomorrow,” Giles promised. His voice was soft, gentle. But she heard the steel in it. Right, Giles would help her finally, finally kill Spike. A thing long overdue.
“Right, yeah, I—Giles, how am I going to tell everyone?” she asked, voice high and thin. As if it—she—was about to snap in half.
“Don’t worry about that right now. You need to sleep.” The message was loud and clear. Buffy nodded, and after she said goodnight, she trudged through the darkened house. Buffy paused at Mom’s door along the way, debating waking her up and letting it all spill out of her. Her knuckles rested lightly on the wood. She let her hand fall away and went to her room.
As if on autopilot, she changed, went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and then slid under the covers. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get to sleep. Gazing up at the black ceiling, Buffy ricocheted between wanting to scream and sob. She held both inside of her so tightly she thought her ribs might crack. But somewhere, her pillow held over her own face to muffle whatever whimpers escaped her, Buffy surrendered to exhaustion, and for a little while she didn’t have to think about her dead boyfriend.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy woke up feeling gritty all over. She sat up and stared at her alarm. It was buzzing away like the annoying thing it was. She rolled over and shut it off, then she lay back down and contemplated her tasks for the day. It would have to start with telling Mom and Dawn about Riley. Or, it should. She wasn’t sure she could make the words come out of her mouth. Trying to figure out how to tell them, to tell everyone, Buffy watched as the square of sunlight on her wall moved.
“Buffy,” Mom called, “you better get up if you want breakfast!”
“Or don’t get up!” Dawn yelled. “More breakfast for me!”
Buffy’s heart felt like it was seizing up. She could do this. She was just going to tell her mom and Dawn that—that—
Clenching her jaw, she decided to not think those words so she could at least get out of bed. Also, if she never got out of bed, she couldn’t kill Spike. And oooooooh, she was very much going to kill Spike.
She got ready methodically. Face washed, hair brushed, clothes picked out. Somber clothes. She couldn’t bring herself to wear anything bright or pretty. Not today. Buffy drew in a breath and braced herself for going downstairs and saying those words. The words that would make it all real.
“Oh Buffy, honey,” Mom said, voice bright for a moment until she saw what Buffy was wearing. Mom frowned. “Honey, are you alright?”
Dawn noisily chewed her cereal. Milk dribbled out of the spoon and plopped into the bowl. “What?” she asked with a full mouth.
“N-nothing,” Buffy said haltingly, glancing away. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell them. Mom was still having those headaches and Dawn—Buffy wasn’t sure what Dawn would do, but she wasn’t sure she could handle it.
It would be better to talk to the gang first. They could come up with a plan, kill Spike, and then she’d tell Mom and Dawn. Once the threat was gone. She didn’t want them to worry.
Buffy left without eating anything—she made up something about meeting Willow before class. Breakfast of brainy champions. That earned her an eye roll from Dawn, but it barely registered. Dawn being a snotty brat was so far down her list of problems it was almost funny.
She didn’t laugh.
On campus, she went through the motions of her day in a daze. First up, she had Comp. Lit., but—Buffy frowned. The professor speaking in the lecture hall wasn’t her professor. Buffy stepped out, looked at the room number, then stepped back in.
“In or out, but pick one,” the unfamiliar professor told her shortly. Buffy surveyed the bored and disdainful expressions of the students. None of them were familiar.
“Sorry, I—wrong room,” she said thickly. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving her alone in the tiled hallway.
Buffy walked one step, then another. The heels of her boots clacked loudly. She turned around slowly. This was Hutchinson Hall, that was room 110. Today was Thursday. She had Comp. Lit. in that classroom. She was sure of it.
“Buffy!” Willow’s voice bounced off the walls. Buffy whirled. Willow jogged toward her. Buffy’s knees wobbled. This was it. Willow knew. She was coming to find her, to help. There was a flicker of relief that Giles had told the gang. It had saved her from doing it herself.
“Willow, I—”
“You silly goose, you’re missing our history lecture!”
“I—what?”
“You know, the French Revolution. Reign of Terror. Lots of blood and drama, which, you know, not that unusual for you, but all past-tense so not on the Slayer agenda!”
Buffy felt as if she was in a daze. In the lecture room, the one that she’d been in yesterday, she ducked her head as Professor Delchard gave her and Willow a nod and went back to slides that, again, Buffy was pretty sure she’d seen. Yesterday. Buffy sat heavily, pulled out her notebook and stared in confusion at the page. It was blank. The page she remembered taking notes and doodling on—it was entirely blank. She flipped back through the pages. There were her notes from last week, but nothing past that.
“Buffy, are you okay?” Willow whispered.
“Uh, yeah, Wills, yeah, I’m fine,” Buffy whispered back. She took notes. She followed the course of the day. When she got to the Magic Box and everyone made sure she went to the back room, she was starting to get a terrible, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Like yesterday (or was it today?) Riley barreled into her from the side, only this time some part of her knew what to expect and the day changed. She kept her feet and threw Riley to the ground. He landed on the mat with a heavy thump.
“Whoa! Hey, uh, Buff, I thought, um… surprise?” Riley. Riley, her boyfriend. Riley, her boyfriend whom she’d seen die in the hospital yesterday, was alive. He was alive and here, and she hadn’t failed. It must have been a dream! A freaky, freaky dream.
Oh! A Slayer dream.
Buffy laughed, a smile breaking across her face for the first time all day. Tears ran down her face as she hugged him as tightly as she could.
“Hey! Hey! Buffy, um, air?!” he gasped.
“Oh! Right!” Buffy let him go, but couldn’t stop smiling up at him. She hadn’t failed. She hadn’t let him die. (She hadn’t killed another boyfriend. She wasn’t cursed. She wasn’t a failure.) All the horror and terror went right out of her. She’d been warned; she could fix everything. Which was great timing, seeing as she had a totally sweet new training room to work out in.
“This place is amazing!” she enthused, unable to take her eyes off it. “Thank you, thank you so much.” She turned to Giles, feeling tears welling up in her eyes again. “It’s like a dream.”
Because it really was.
“It's just a start. You need a proper space to train, so—” Giles said, removing his glasses. She smiled.
“I love it.”
“So come on, let's test this puppy out. Think you can take me?” Riley threw a few fake punches in her direction, smashing the moment. Buffy sniffed and pushed that thought away. That was not a Good Girlfriend thought. It had to be banished. “What's the matter? Afraid of a little competition?”
She gave Riley a smile because, uh, she did not know what to say to that last question. Instead, she turned to Giles and Xander, still beaming. “It must have been so much work.”
“I'm the dummy man,” Xander said proudly. Then gestured at the dummy. “I mean, I made the dummy. The thing that you hit that doesn't hit back. That, I made.” He shrugged, looking embarrassed. This was all exactly like her dream. Only this time she hugged Xander.
“Best dummy guy in the business,” she said. Xander hugged her back, one arm around her shoulders. “It’s great, guys, really. It’s all great.”
“Well, you've earned it. Truly,” Giles said as he put his glasses back on.
“Thank you guys so much. You're like my fairy godmother and Santa Claus and Q all wrapped up into one.”
Riley frowned, confusion furrowing his brows.
“Q from Bond, not Star Trek,” she clarified. Then she tilted her head, even as Xander nodded. Right, bestie-knowledge transfer. “I’m gonna go change!”
Buffy felt the pep back in her step. Now, when she knew exactly what to do. Once Dawn listened to Riley with that cute doctor’s stethoscope (after Mom had collapsed, and she had to figure that out too, but one emergency at a time), Buffy would make Riley get fixed up ASAP. No arguments, no letting him avoid it. And she’d be Super Supportive Girlfriend. She wouldn’t let him freak out about her being all untouchable. She was all of the touchable. She’d prove it!
And she’d make sure Spike never knew about that doctor.
That night, deep in the Initiative caves, she found Riley’s body. It was cold. He was so cold. There was blood on the wall of the cave, blood on his knuckles. Buffy knelt in the dirt. Her fingers traced the lines of his face, contorted in shock; it didn’t look anything like him.
Tears ran down her cheeks, dropping into the dirt. Buffy let herself cry for a little bit longer, then she rubbed her nose and put it away. With a grunt, she heaved one of his arms over her shoulder, then stood. Awkward, ungainly, she dragged her boyfriend’s body out of the caves, not sure where she’d let it go so wrong.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy woke up feeling gritty all over. She sat up and stared at her alarm. It was buzzing away like the annoying thing it was. She rolled over and shut it off, then she lay back down. Then she sat up again. Calendar, she needed a calendar.
She dashed out of her room and practically ran down the stairs.
“Someone must have gotten a good sleep,” Mom sing-songed.
“Uh-huh, yeah, Slayage is known for being easy on the sleep cycle,” Buffy replied as she rounded the doorway into the kitchen.
“Did you know that if you don’t get enough sleep, you can die?” Dawn asked around a mouthful of cereal. Buffy didn’t even spare a glare at her sister for the totally morbid fact. There it was, the calendar. The day wasn’t crossed off yet: Wednesday, October 18th. It was still today. “No one knows what causes it, but I read about it.”
“And that’s why you need to keep to your bedtime, honey,” Mom said as she sipped her coffee. “Now, Buffy, since you have time today, breakfast?”
Buffy faced her mom and her sister. Her mom uncollapsed, and out there, Riley was still alive.
“We’re going to the hospital,” she declared.
Mom set her mug down and came around the kitchen island to press the back of her hand to Buffy’s forehead. “Sweetheart, are you alright? You hate hospitals.” She looked Buffy in the eyes, searching for signs of being sick. Buffy took her mom’s hands in her own.
“Not for me. Please, Mom—Slayer thing. We need to go, all of us. And we need to pick up Riley on the way.”
“Buffy, honey, are you…” Mom trailed off meaningfully.
“Is she what?” Dawn asked.
“No!” Buffy said quickly and firmly, shaking her head, but still not letting go of her mom’s hands. She had to make Mom believe her. She had to. “No, not that. God no, but for real, it’s a Slayer thing. Mom, you and Riley both need to get to the hospital. Now.”
“Hello? Is Buffy what? A freak? Wait, can you get that medically tested? Awesome!”
“Mom, I mean it.”
Buffy held Mom’s gaze and put all the truth she could into it. Mom nodded slowly. “Alright. Okay. If you say it’s a Slayer thing, we go. Dawn, sweetie, we’ll get you to school first.”
“Ugh, I never get to do anything.” Dawn let the spoon drop with a plop back into her bowl before going upstairs in a huff.
“Thank you,” Buffy whispered. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Buffy, oh of course,” Mom said, folding her into a hug. Buffy let herself cling to her mom for a little while.
When they went by Riley’s apartment, he was just coming back from the gym. He tried to get out of going with them, saying he should shower. Buffy wouldn’t hear of it. She let him sit in the front, of course, and he sat in the passenger seat, a sweaty, grumpy lump—boyfriend. But Buffy could endure his anger. Anger was better than death.
In the hospital, Buffy pulled Riley forward and pushed and bullied and didn’t care that she wasn’t being polite or letting the doctors speak. She’d lived (or dreamed, it was all kind of loopy for her) this day three times now, and she wasn’t going to go through seeing her boyfriend dead. Again. Luckily, the cute doctor—Ben—humored her. One little listen to Riley’s heart with the stethoscope and that got the medical staff on her side. Buffy was keeping an eye on Mom, too. So far, so good. Mom was sitting calmly in the waiting room with no sign of a headache. At least if she did collapse, they were already at the hospital. One impossible thing at a time. That was her motto right now.
Riley tried to get out of it, tried to say he didn’t need the doctors messing with him.
Buffy didn’t let him get away with it this time. Sooner was better. She gave him an ultimatum—get the surgery or we’re through—and it twisted her guts to do it. It made her want to curl her shoulders forward, to shy away from him. It took everything she had to stand there and face him down, but she did. And he went into surgery.
And he died on the table.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy woke up, and it was still Wednesday. Or, no, it was Wednesday again. Perpetual Wednesdays. Awesome. Great. Wednesdays where her mom collapsed and her boyfriend died. This wasn’t a dream, and no one else seemed to notice. Or if they did, Buffy didn’t notice them noticing—no, no, she couldn’t go down that weird train of thought.
It had to be magic. Magic meant Giles and Willow. Buffy sat up, threw her covers back, and called a good old-fashioned Scooby meeting.
By the time she got to the Magic Box, Willow and Tara already had books open on the table and coffee cups for themselves. Xander had left the box of donuts open on the counter, and even Anya was helping. Granted, the store wouldn’t open for another three hours, so Buffy supposed this wasn’t cutting into her profit-gathering time. It made her heart squeeze to see everyone helping without a second thought.
“Ah, Buffy, good,” Giles said as she took a jelly from the box. “We’ve done some preliminary research, but if you could elaborate on your experiences, that could possibly narrow down our search.”
Buffy took her time chewing her mouthful of donut and braced herself. Then she sat up straight and told her friends the truth. Or as much of it as she could stand to tell them. She kept some things close to her chest, so close they felt like they were sticking in between her ribs. How she’d felt ill forcing Riley to get the operation, how she’d felt like such a failure each time he died. Buffy stuck to the facts. Even with the facts, there was no escaping the sympathetic worry on her friends’ faces.
“Well, that’s um—Buffy, are you okay?” Willow asked, reaching for her hand. Buffy gently squeezed Willow’s fingers and then let go.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she said (lied). She had to be good. If she wasn’t good, she’d freak out. That was the last thing she should do right now. “I figure this is a chance to fix it, right? That’s what this is?”
“Very Groundhog Day of you, Buff,” Xander said, offering her a wan smile. Buffy forced her lips to move into a grin-adjacent shape she didn’t feel.
“I’m hitting all the classics,” she agreed. “So, those are the deets. That help narrow it down?”
“It could. It’s possible that the loop is connected to Riley’s… death, of course, but we should not rule out other possibilities,” Giles said. “If you are the only one who remembers, it is most likely connected to you specifically.”
“Oh, that—” Buffy never got to finish her sentence. The phone rang.
Anya jumped up. “That could be our supplier!” She answered it with a chipper, “Hello!” which then became a less friendly, “Yes, she’s here. Buffy, someone is calling for you.”
Anya held the phone out. Buffy stood with a frown and went to answer it. “Who is it?”
“Not your mother. A man.”
“You didn’t get his name?”
“It didn’t seem relevant,” Anya replied with a shrug.
Buffy rolled her eyes, but took the phone. “Hello, Buffy speaking—”
“Buffy, it’s Graham.” Wow, she was getting tired of being interrupted. First her life, then her week, and now even her trains of thought. Awesome.
“What is it, Graham?” She couldn’t help the tart tone that slipped out. If the Initiative was back in town, that was the last thing she needed.
“Look, I’m sorry to tell you this, Buffy, but it’s Riley,” Graham sighed. Sadly. Buffy’s breathing hitched, and she felt suddenly far away from her own body. There was a strange ringing in her ears. Underneath the tone, she could hear, “Don’t know how it happened. Looks like the landlord did a botched repair job on the bathroom fan. He got electrocuted. I was still listed as his emergency contact, so—”
“Oh.” The word was so small in Buffy’s mouth. But that was all that would come out. Then she said again, “Oh.”
“I’m sorry, Buffy, I—there’s—well, I guess it doesn’t matter now. We’ll take him back to his folks in Iowa, and I’ll let you know when it’ll be, if you want to attend.”
“A-attend?” she asked. It all felt so far away.
“The funeral.”
“Oh. Right. Thank you, Graham.”
Buffy hung up the phone, barely hearing the faint “Bye, Buffy,” from the receiver. The phone clicked as she settled it back into the cradle.
“Buffy? Who was it?” Willow asked.
Buffy stared at her friends, then she stared at the phone. Then she took it in both hands and ripped it out of the wall, screaming.
At least no one would remember her freak-out.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Morning. Wednesday. Buffy had things to do. And she was going to get it done. First, she was going to write everything down. Second, she would make sure the Scoobies knew what was going on. Third, she was going to meet Riley during his morning run before he went back to his apartment to shower.
Buffy breezed out of the house, didn’t even stop for a mocha, and caught up to Riley easily. She found him running along the exact same track he followed every day. He had just come around Elm Street when she saw him. Buffy brightened and waved at him. Riley smiled at her, that sweet, farm boy smile that she liked most about him.
Her heart beat a little faster. She was going to save him. She was.
Riley picked up his pace, and suddenly she wondered if this would do it—would this kill him? Would he have that heart attack that killed him the first three times? Would it be her fault again? Buffy’s heart lodged in her throat, and she tried to wave him off. Don’t push yourself! she wanted to scream at him.
Confusion drew his brows down, and he shook his head. Speeding up even more, Riley began crossing the street. A horn sounded. Buffy gasped, and for once her whole body tensed. Her eyes went wide, and a pickup slammed into Riley. There was screaming. The driver slammed on the brakes—some guy already screaming, “Oh fuck!” and running his hands through his hair in a panic.
Buffy walked to where Riley lay on the street, his sightless eyes fixed on the sky. She patted the driver’s arm.
“It’s okay,” she said calmly. “I won’t distract him next time.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“Aquarium day!” Buffy declared that morning (the next morning, the still morning, the perpetual morning?).
“Buffy, what has gotten into you?” Mom asked.
“Can I come?” Dawn asked.
“Yes! Yes! Sure! Why not?!” Buffy knew she was probably acting a little unhinged, but who cared? She figured out the problem. She’d been coming at the whole situation head-on. Trying to prevent the bad thing, when she should prevent the whole day. That sounded good, right? Right.
It took all her pleading and cajoling, but she finally got Riley and her family to the aquarium. Family day! Dawn studied each placard, calling out weird facts. Mom walked through the exhibits slowly, her face peaceful in the blue-lit dimness that suffused the whole place. And Riley held her hand the whole time. She swung their clasped hands together as they wandered through the place.
“I gotta say, this is a little unlike you, Buffy, but it’s nice,” he said, smiling down at her.
“Unlike me, how?” she asked. There was a bright, bubbly feeling behind her chest, though it deflated a little at Riley’s take on the day.
“Well, I mean, just taking off like this? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to spend the day with you. I can’t help but think you must be stressed. Between Slaying and school, your family. You’re doing too much. This day, it seems like it’s a result of it all getting to you a bit. It’s good to take breaks, Buffy, and I’m glad you’re doing that, but I could help more, you know. Help more with patrols.”
Riley squeezed her hand, a classic Reassuring Boyfriend Move, except it felt… not good. Exactly how it felt, Buffy couldn’t tell, just that it made her tummy squirm, but not in a good butterflies kind of way.
“Patrols,” she echoed. “You’d help more with patrols?”
“Yeah! I mean, I have the training.” He grinned down at her as he straightened up more, making Buffy crane her neck even further back.
“You do, but—”
“You shouldn’t feel like you have to do it all. Relationships, they’re a partnership. I can take some of the load.”
Buffy nodded. She knew that. That was what people in Good Relationships did. They helped each other with the heavy stuff. Except, Slaying was kind of her job, right? It wasn’t like a boyfriend would be expected to help her if she had, like, some kind of paid job. That would be insane. Oh, can my boyfriend fill in for me today, boss-person? I don’t feel up to it. But Slaying wasn’t even like a real job. She didn’t get sick days or vacation days. She didn’t know where that left her, though. Was she being unreasonable? Refusing help?
“Hey, Buffy! They have a dive with the fish experience!” Dawn enthused, barreling into Buffy’s side. She let go of Riley’s hand to catch her sister before Dawn’s momentum got someone not Buffy hurt. “We could do it together, and that way Mom will let me do it. Please, please, please, please! Buffy, I promise I won’t take any of your clothes for like a week.”
“Not even if you offered a full month of thief-free living,” Buffy quipped, grinning. “Getting my hair in that fish water? Big no thanks.”
“God, you’re so lame,” Dawn groaned, rolling her eyes.
“Hey, what if I go with you, kid?” Riley asked, all big-brotherly. Buffy’s heart melted a little. Riley really was a good guy. He was pretty good with Dawn. Though her other bar for that was either Angel or Ted, which, yeah, neither had been that great with her little sister.
Maybe she needed a better metric?
Dawn shrugged, suddenly much less perky. “I guess.”
Mom agreed, though, so long as Riley was with Dawn. Buffy sat next to Mom in front of the soothing blue glow of the big central tank. Riley had even paid for his and Dawn’s dive tickets.
“This is nice, Buffy,” Mom said softly.
“What? Sitting on a bench while Dawn and Riley shimmy into wet suits?”
“Well, this bench is quite good for my posture, but no. Today. It reminds me of when you and Dawn were little and I wasn’t working. I could just… take you both somewhere. Somewhere fun and happy. I’m glad you suggested this.”
Buffy slipped her hand into Mom’s. “Me too.”
They watched together as the aquarium employee guided Dawn and Riley around the tank. Dawn waved at them. Buffy and Mom waved back. Bubbles floated up to the surface of the water, and brightly colored fish swam in schools, while sharks and rays meandered through the tank in lazy loops. It was so peaceful. Maybe she should get a fish?
Though no, fish were bad. Willow might get sad, and ugh, there she went thinking about Angel again.
Mind wandering, it took her a second to register the worried murmur growing around her. Buffy sat up straight, eyes flickering from point to point, looking for any kind of suspicious activity. The room was mostly open with a wide walkway allowing visitors to meander through, with no real entrance or exit but an entire wide walkway that people meandered through.
“Oh no,” Mom gasped. Buffy turned, arms out, ready to catch her. Was Mom’s collapse always going to happen too? But Mom’s gaze was fixed on the main tank, her hand to her mouth. The murmuring around them turned to fast, panicked whispers and confusion. With a sinking in her guts, Buffy turned and watched Riley struggling in the tank. He was reaching for his lines, but something was wrong. The aquarium worker who was with them was trying to do something, but Buffy couldn’t tell what from her viewpoint.
“Mom, I—”
“Go!”
Buffy ran toward the staff door. She bulled her way through it, clattering up the stairs toward the opening of the tank. Employees shouted that she shouldn’t be back here, that they had it under control.
They didn’t.
By the time Buffy got to the top of the tank, Dawn was out, her diving mask off. Her face was twisted up in terror, and she was crying in great, heaving sobs. “Buffy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry—”
“No, Dawnie, no,” Buffy said as she pulled her sopping wet sister, still in her diving suit, to her body and held her as tightly as she dared.
Below, in the public area of the aquarium, Buffy heard the screaming. Kids and parents alike, watching whatever was happening in the tank. From her current vantage, all Buffy could see was thrashing and a telltale stream of bubbles.
When the employees hauled Riley’s body out, still awkwardly tangled in his own lines, they started CPR. Someone was sobbing and speaking to a 911 operator. Buffy turned Dawn’s face away. Dawn didn’t resist.
So. This plan hadn’t worked. God damn it.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The vampire tore into Riley’s neck—savage, vicious—as Buffy watched from fifty feet away. She shouldn’t have let him come! He’d been too slow after surgery. Her fault. This was her fault. She’d let him get too far away. The vampire let Riley’s body fall to the ground.
“That’s for what you bastards did to Harry,” it said. Buffy staked it. She didn’t feel any better.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“Buffy, I’m sorry. It was a misfire at the range.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“I’ve never seen a case of botulism like that. Can you please bring me whatever he ate so we can determine if it’s a new strain? Oh, and I am sorry for your loss, Miss Summers.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Buffy tried to get up, but her head was swimming. The Fyral demon snarled, lowering its head and slamming its horns into Riley’s chest. She heard the crunch of bone and knew.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
That was it; she officially hated Wednesdays. All Wednesdays from now until the end of the universe. By her rough count, she’d lived Wednesday, October 18th nine times. She was on the tenth round now. If this went on long enough, she’d petition to skip an equal number of Wednesdays. That made sense, right? A cosmic Wednesday balance sheet?
Or maybe she was totally losing it.
Today (it was always today), Buffy wasn’t sure what she could do differently. She’d tried everything she could think of, but it didn’t seem to matter. Riley always died, Mom always collapsed, and the day always reset when she went to sleep. She tried staying up, but then there’d been this weird moment where her eyes had closed, and nope, she was back at the start. It was like she was a game piece on a board, and every day the board reset.
Maybe that was the problem? She kept trying to do things differently. She didn’t know what the real trigger was. That meant—Buffy grimaced. If she wanted to get more information, she’d have to not change the day.
She tried to remember what she’d done on that first day and did her best to keep to the script that everyone else was following. When Mom collapsed, and then at the hospital when Dawn put that stethoscope to Riley’s chest, it went against everything that was in her to let events unfold. It was as if her whole being was being squeezed, banded by iron bars around her chest, her legs. Frozen in place and forced to watch things unfold.
There were things she couldn’t bring herself to let happen, though. She didn’t go to Spike. She didn’t give him the chance to get his chip out—what if this Wednesday was the Wednesday it worked?
Regardless, the day played out in a way that was pretty similar, she thought. Riley refused treatment, ran to the Initiative caves, protested that he wasn’t enough for her if he was normal (and it was getting really exhausting to have that argument on repeat), and Buffy eventually convinced him to get seen to. The doctor performed the surgery, and she tried to tell him she was still touchable even though she felt so far away. Far away from this moment, from herself. She was watching from behind her own eyes, trying to look for any clue, any hint about why this day was on repeat.
When Riley began to seize and froth at the mouth while he was still holding her, Buffy let the nurses usher her out of the room. Instead of staying and watching—because how many times did she need to watch someone die?—Buffy drifted away. Doctors and nurses passed her by as she walked. Walked through the hallways to the elevator and then out of the hospital.
The doors whooshed open, and Buffy breathed in the clean, crisp night air. October, starting to be jacket weather. It was nice. The lights from the hospital were stark and bright, glaring out into the darkness. Buffy kept walking. She walked, and she kept turning the day over and over in her head. There had to be something; there had to be. If there wasn’t, if there was no way out—
Buffy stopped, her boots scuffing on the cement of the sidewalk, and drew in a shuddering breath. She’d find a way, she would.
Then something grabbed her. Grabbed her and pushed back, back, back. Buffy flailed, but it was strong, it was—
“WHY DOES THIS DAY KEEP STARTING OVER, SLAYER?!” Spike's face was mere inches from hers, blue eyes burning in the night. It was him—he’d shoved her, was holding her by the lapels of her jacket.
For a second, she felt relief. Relief that she wasn’t alone. That she wasn’t the only one caught in this never-ending loop.
“You’re in it, too?” she asked. The pleather of her jacket squeaked as his fingers tightened for a second before uncurling. He let her go.
“Yeah,” Spike answered, taking a step back. Tension strained his voice, like he’d been screaming a lot. She could, oddly, relate. He laughed without a trace of humor. “And it’s torture. I have to listen to Harmony prattle on the exact same way over and over and over.”
For some reason, that cheered her. Spike was in the same shitty boat. Good. It gave her a little pep back in her step. Metaphorically. She taunted, “Oh, how sad for you.”
“Bugger you, Slayer,” he spat. “Got a real problem here.”
“I have bigger problems. Riley keeps dying!”
“Good.” The word was vicious. Bitter.
“Not. Good,” she bit out. “This is… this is something I can fix! I have to fix it!”
“Great! Brilliant! Let’s go find the witches then. Let’s make with the spell, end this, and we can go back to wanting each other dead. No, wait, always want you dead. …Wait a ‘mo. You have tried to tell your little mates about this, haven’t you?”
“Do you think I haven’t? Of course I have! But they don’t remember, and they can’t figure it out in time! And everything physical resets. I’ve tried writing myself notes, writing notes for Willow and Giles! But they’re all gone when it’s today again. This is not the fun times Bill Murray had!”
Spike tilted his head at her, frowning. Then he spoke to her slowly, almost patiently. “Slayer, he tried to kill himself several times in that movie. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh, um, no?” She really didn’t. Bill Murray tried to kill himself in Groundhog Day? That seemed kind of… grim for a movie she’d watched as a kid. Then she had a flash of Bill Murray with an obvious groundhog puppet driving off a cliff. Oh. Oh no.
“Buggering, bloody fuck,” he muttered to himself. Buffy tuned out the rest of the swearing. He paced, scratched his eyebrow, grimaced. It was all kind of a big production. Then he sighed and faced her as if it were the last thing he wanted to do. “Look, if you and me are the only two who know what’s going on, that means whatever’s happening is targeting us, right? Now, what out there would be right bloody pissed at the both of us?”
The wheels in Buffy’s head turned, following his line of thought. It was a mark of how desperate she was for an answer that she didn’t have even one internal quip about that questionable activity. When she reached the obvious conclusion, she couldn’t quite believe it. Scrunching up her nose, she said, “You think the US government is, what? Playing with time tech? That’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?”
“In this town? Not really.”
“That, or they finally accepted that magic is a thing. But if it was the government, or whatever’s left of the Initiative, why would they experiment on us?”
“They’ve done it before.”
“On you, maybe—”
Spike moved quickly, sinuous as a snake and in her space again. His voice was low and dangerous. “You think that lot weren’t studying you, Slayer? They weren’t cataloguing everything you could do? No, pet, they were very much paying attention. They wanted a super soldier, and if they could figure out how to make more of you, they would. Think of it: a legion of little obedient Slayers at their beck and call. It’s the Wanker Council’s sodding wet dream.”
“Ew,” she declared, pushing him away. It was vile, what he was saying. The way he was saying it. Spike let her push him, boots scraping across the ground.
“Oh, don’t go prissy on me, love, it doesn’t fly. Unless,” he drawled and ran his tongue across his teeth in that obscene way he had, “your boy can’t take care of you right. Still gotta look after yourself? Or you just let the naughty dreams keep you hot and bothered?”
Her fist was fast and sure; the crunch of bone and his yelp deeply satisfying. “Don’t.”
“I hate you,” he seethed, glaring at her over his once-more broken nose.
“I hate you, too, but guess what, sweetheart?” Venom dripped from her voice, caustic and burning. Then she smirked at him, a vague sense of satisfaction unfurling in her chest. “I’m all you’ve got.”
“Goes both ways, Slayer,” he said, voice low. His fingers touched his nose, and with a wince and a crack of bone, he reset it. He scrunched up his face in a way Buffy knew all too well; the standard I just reset my nose face. “So. The plan is we hunt down whoever is doing up this time mojo and end it?”
“Yes, it is, but that doesn’t mean I forget what you did, Spike.”
“Bloody hell, what did I do now?”
“You killed Riley.” She stood as tall as she could and crossed her arms, staring down the line of her un-broken nose, thank you very much. Patented Slayer Judgment was being passed, and she wanted him to know it.
“Uh, didn’t lay a hand on the boy. I seem to recall it was his own stupidity that—”
“No, you stole the doctor,” she said. Spike opened his mouth to retort something, but she talked over him. “The first time we lived this day. No one else remembers it, but I do. I know how you tried to get your chip out, and that little stunt cost Riley his life. The first time. If you ever, ever pull anything like that again… I’ll end you.”
Here it was—the stalemate. The mutual glaring that she knew very well. How many times had they faced off? How many times had she stood, waiting, ready, for him to attack? She watched his face, waiting for the tell. The twitch, the giveaway.
It never came. Instead, he raised his chin like he was acknowledging a point. “Alright,” he said slowly. “I’ll play along. Won’t bogart the doc, but I want something out of this, Slayer.”
“You’re getting out of the time loop.”
“No, something more than that.”
Wary, but knowing she had no choice but to at least entertain his demands, she asked, “What is it?”
Spike tilted his head at her again, eyes narrowed as if pondering something. Buffy was almost worried about what he was going to demand. He had to know her limits by now, right? Her lines in the sand. Things she wouldn’t do. Not ever. Then he said, “How’s about we get out of this hell-loop first, then I’ll ask. Until then, let’s go, ugh, God help me, save the day.”
That was… unexpected. But workable. She wasn’t held to anything. Not yet. She could handle that.
“Alright,” she agreed. It wasn’t much. Only Spike. But she wasn’t alone in this horrible loop anymore. She had backup. Selfish, evil backup, but backup nonetheless. If anything, at least they wouldn't have the same conversations over and over. How terrible was it that the prospect had her almost giddy with relief? Not that she’d let him know that. Ever. “I guess I’ll see you today, Spike,” she quipped.
He snorted, this time actually slightly amused. “See you today, Slayer.”