Fic: Mining for Gold (5/5) "R" Willow/Buffy

["Blitzgal" <xencall@xxxxxxxxx>]

Author: Blitzgal
Title: Mining for Gold
Rating: R
Pairings: Willow/Buffy
Contact: xencall@xxxxxxxxx
Website: http://undaunted.deadtime.net

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 
nor the universe in which they reside. I do, however, own this 
particular story, as well as Meg and Giselle.

Distribution: Feel free as long as you keep my contact information 
intact. Other websites may post this fiction if they let me know 
where and how to find it.

Summary: This is the story of Giselle Arceneaux, a French slayer of 
the late nineteenth century who heads for the Alaskan territories 
during the height of the gold rush in 1897.

Finished at last! Please read and feed; let me know what you 
think.

* * *

Part Five

Miss Reginald glared at Meg angrily. "Give me that," she hissed. 
Striding across the room, she snatched the journal out of Meg's 
hands. "This is my property. How dare you look through my personal 
belongings?"

Her gaze drifted over Meg's shoulder toward the closed trunk on the 
other side of the bed. Meg forced herself to maintain her bland 
expression and not reveal her knowledge of the situation.

"What test?" Meg repeated. "What monstrous task will you force 
Giselle to perform?"

Martha stared at her as though she were crazed. "I'm sure I have 
absolutely no idea what you're talking about," she said.

Rolling her eyes, Meg retorted, "Please. I know all about Giselle 
being the Slayer. My girl Libby and I were set upon just the other 
afternoon."

"And Giselle simply volunteered this information to you?" Martha 
wondered.

"She has no idea what's going on," Meg continued. "You've kept your 
plan a secret from her. Is this your way of getting revenge?"

She made sure not to mention the fact that she'd witnessed Martha 
doctoring Giselle's tea. If the Englishwoman knew she'd replaced the 
concoction with water, she might find her way to a fresh batch. Meg 
guessed that the effects of this liquid would wear off eventually, 
just as it had slowly increased in potency over the course of two 
days.

"Revenge?" Martha scoffed. "Whatever for?"

"Giselle was chosen. You merely watch from the sidelines."

To her surprise, Martha started laughing. "You think I am jealous of 
Giselle's abilities?" she wondered. Amused, she added, "I take my 
duties as Watcher very seriously, young lady. My father's family has 
been a part of the Watcher's Council for the past two centuries. I 
never anticipated any other vocation."

"So you don't want to be a Slayer," Meg mused.

"I cannot be a Slayer," Martha corrected. "I have not even the 
potential of one day being called."

"What is the test?" Meg asked.

Giving her a stern look, Miss Reginald carefully placed her journal 
in a dresser drawer before turning to face Meg once more. "A Slayer 
is called by the age of sixteen," she explained. "The duty is both 
sacred and dangerous. If she is able to survive her first two years, 
she must pass one final test of her abilities. She must face a 
single opponent without the benefits of her strength or her skills. 
She must defeat this opponent alone. If she survives, she has proven 
her abilities beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"If she survives?" Meg sputtered. "What sort of barbaric test is 
that?"

Martha frowned. "If you cared to read the earlier portions of my 
journal, you would have realized that Giselle has faced for more 
dangerous creatures than a single vampire. When she was chosen, the 
particular perils of her duty were made very clear to her. Giselle 
understands that she will likely not reach the age of twenty. This 
is a burden she must bear. She has no other choice. 

"Now if you please, Mrs. Glass. This is truly none of your 
business. I have attempted to make the importance of these 
circumstances very clear to you only so that you will allow me to 
perform my duty as Giselle's Watcher. You must not tell Miss 
Arceneaux about the test. It will invalidate the proceedings and may 
jeopardize her relationship with the Council."

"That was a pretty speech," Meg commented. "But it doesn't change 
the fact that you are sending your friend to her death. I hope you 
can live with that."

Meg stalked out of the room before Martha had an opportunity to 
reply. She felt a responsibility to tell Giselle what she'd 
discovered, but couldn't help but wonder what that might do to her 
future. Giselle had to face these people-she had to be able to 
interact with them. At some level, Meg already understood that even 
though she wasn't entirely clear what a Watcher's Council actually 
was. If she told Giselle about the test, and invalidated the 
proceedings as Martha said, what if Giselle would lose her powers? 
Would the Frenchwoman forgive her for that betrayal?

Shaking her head, Meg hurried toward the opposite end of the 
hallway. Libby was still busy cleaning Mr. Weeks's room. Quickly 
entering his quarters, Meg closed the door behind her. Libby glanced 
up from her chores. Expertly smoothing the corners of the bed-sheet, 
she sent Meg a quizzical look.

"I have to tell you something," Meg said, her voice hushed. "You 
can't tell anyone else. But I need help, and you're the only one 
that I trust."

Standing straight, Libby's brow cleared as she smiled broadly and 
nodded.

* * *

For the next two days, Meg kept herself busy. She was never a good 
liar, and she knew that if she spent any time alone with Giselle 
she'd have no choice but to reveal the secret to her. It was her 
hope that Martha intended to drag out her preparations for several 
more days. That should give Giselle the time to begin recovering 
from whatever drug she'd ingested. Perhaps her strength would be 
back before the test was to commence. 

In the meantime, she had Libby listening to everything that Martha 
said. As she assumed, the Englishwoman barely gave the serving girl 
any mind. Servants were invisible-not worth an iota of attention or 
concern. She would be much freer with her words than she would have 
been if Meg were in the room.

After dinner one quiet afternoon, Meg was busy washing dishes when 
Libby hurried into the kitchen. Out of breath, the small woman only 
shook her head when Meg turned to hear what she had to say. When she 
finally calmed down, Libby said, "Miss Reginald is taking her to see 
the ice floes this evening."

"The ice floes," Meg repeated.

Although January was the darkest month of the year, the large lake 
would not entirely freeze over until February at the earliest. And 
as that winter had been relatively mild, the lake had yet to form a 
solid layer of ice at all. In consequence, it was a very dangerous 
time of year to venture out onto the water. When the floes were more 
stable a person could traverse the lake on foot, jumping from piece 
to piece without much fear of the ice suddenly falling out beneath 
him. But at this time of year, Meg wouldn't recommend anyone go out 
there, let alone someone without any experience.

"That's the test," she whispered to herself. Libby cocked her head 
in confusion. "Survive the vampire, and the ice. Or use the ice 
against the vampire." Meg shook her head. "Either way, I fear the 
environment is as important a part of this challenge as the enemy 
himself."

"What should we do?" Libby asked.

"We won't do anything," Meg said sternly. "I, however, will follow 
them out to the lake tonight. We'll have to send our provisions on 
ahead. There's a boathouse near the docks on the eastern shore-
that's as good a place as any."

Libby was crestfallen. Sighing, Meg explained, "I won't put you in 
danger. You've already helped me so much. I couldn't have done this 
without you."

Her flattery managed to appease the other woman. "Mr. Weeks might 
accompany me to the boathouse this afternoon," she offered.

"Why don't you ask Charles Wright?" Meg asked. "He'd planned on 
taking a few men out to ground the boats. I'd feel much safer if you 
had more than one chaperone."

"You are very brave, to try and help a new friend," Libby said.

Meg snorted. "I'm stupid," she argued. "For once, I think Paul is 
right. But it's true. Giselle is my friend, and I'm not about to 
let her go into a dangerous situation on her own. You should go on 
ahead, now. I want you safe in this house by five o'clock."

Nodding, Libby bustled out of the room. Meg returned her attention 
to the dishes. It was difficult, maintaining this monotonous routine 
while there was so much to be done. But there was little else for 
her to do until tonight.

"There you are," a familiar voice chirped behind her.

Meg dropped a plate into the water and twisted around in 
surprise. "Giselle," she said.

The blonde woman leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed 
before her chest. "I think you are avoiding me," she said.

Meg smiled. "You're stronger now," she said.

Shrugging, Giselle dropped her arms and took several steps into the 
room. "A little," she agreed. "I'm not back to my full 
capabilities, but I'm finally mending."

"Good," Meg responded. "I thought you needed a rest."

"Is that why I haven't seen you for two days?" Giselle smiled. "I 
thought perhaps you didn't like me anymore."

She was joking, but Meg spotted a glint of uncertainty in her eyes. 
Drying her hands on her apron, Meg shook her head. "No," she 
said. "That will never happen."

"Good," Giselle echoed. "I'll have to work this evening, but I was 
thinking we should have a late supper tomorrow night. After the 
guests have retired?"

"I think that would be wonderful," Meg agreed. Standing before 
Giselle, she was suddenly struck with guilt over the secret she'd 
been keeping. She opened her mouth to say something more when Miss 
Reginald breezed into the kitchen.

"Miss Arceneaux," she said sharply. "You were supposed to be 
napping."

"Oh, Martha," Giselle sighed. "I am merely expressing my gratitude 
for the lovely dinner today."

"I'm sure Mrs. Glass is very happy to know you've appreciated the 
meal," Martha spoke. Her stern gaze fell upon Meg before sweeping 
appraisingly across her charge's face. "Now shall I accompany you 
upstairs?"

Nodding, Giselle cast one more smile in Meg's direction before 
allowing herself to be taken by the elbow and lead out of the room. 
Meg sighed after they were gone. She could have ended the charade in 
an instant. Now she'd have to fulfill her responsibilities in a much 
more dangerous way. She clenched her hands into fists. Giselle 
wasn't the only one who'd be tested that evening.

* * *

Meg was just creeping down the back stairs when she was stopped by 
her husband's drunken shouts. He staggered out of the kitchen, his 
dark hair flaring around his head like an unkempt halo.

"Where is that wench?" he demanded.

Staying in the shadows, Meg responded, "Whom do you mean?"

She feared he would notice that she was wearing his clothing. 
Thankfully he was far too gone to even pay attention.

"Libby!" he snapped. "I'm hungry."

"Isn't she upstairs in her room?" Meg asked. The faint stirrings of 
alarm lazily circled her belly. She hadn't seen the woman since 
early afternoon.

"I came down here looking for her," he muttered. "Fat cow isn't 
anywhere to be found. I want something to eat."

"I'll make you something," Meg assured. "As soon as I come back."

"Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously.

Meg waved toward the back door, in the direction of the outhouses. 
He merely grunted in response and stumbled into the kitchen once 
more. Breathing deeply, Meg clutched the wooden cross in her hand. 
She wanted to run upstairs and make sure Libby had returned, but she 
was afraid she'd lose Giselle and Martha. Sending a quick prayer to 
her friend's safety, she continued down the stairs and hurried 
outside.

She was met by no one as she raced toward the lake. Reaching the 
boathouse, Meg quickly gazed across the quiet water. She couldn't 
see anyone on the ice, but did note a pair of footprints heading west 
along the shore. They'd be easy enough to follow. She ducked inside 
the boathouse in order to prepare.

Though there was one small window in the rear of the small building, 
the darkness inside was nearly complete. Meg cast about for the 
items Libby had left behind. When her hands fell upon the metal 
pail, she jerked them back as though they'd been burned. It wouldn't 
do to spill the contents before they needed them. Finally, she found 
the lantern she'd been looking for.

Well accustomed to darkness, Meg easily lit the lantern with the 
matches she'd stashed in her pocket. On the floor before her lay 
their battered gray milk-pail, a length of rope, and several 
sharpened pieces of wood. As she knelt to retrieve the objects, she 
heard a faint flutter of movement to her right.

Meg automatically raised the cross as she flung herself back against 
the wall. The creature standing in the shadows hissed ineffectually 
at her, his yellow eyes gleaming.

"What are you doing here?" Meg demanded.

Bartlett shrugged. "Saw your girl here earlier," he said. "I 
figured someone would be along again shortly."

"What did you do to Libby?" Meg asked.

Bartlett smiled and shook his head. "Didn't do a thing," he assured 
her. "Didn't have to. Deed's already been done."

Meg frowned. "What are you babbling about?"

"This is a big night for the Slayer," he said. "And her Watcher. 
Every hunter knows...in order to lure your prey, you've got to have 
bait."

As his meaning dawned on her, Meg's eyes widened in horror. "Martha 
took her. But why are you here instead of chasing after Giselle?"

He laughed. "You think I'm the one they wanted?" he asked. "Honey, 
I'm just a little fish in a big pond. The Watchers have their sights 
on a much bigger prize."

"Oh, God," Meg gasped. "You were just pretending, weren't you? 
Renato's been here the whole time. And Martha knew it."

"The redhead's smart," Bartlett said to no one in particular.

When he took a step toward her, Meg raised the cross even 
higher. "You stay right where you are," she ordered. "I'm going 
after them. I suggest you stay out of the way."

He shook his head at her. "You're not the Slayer," he said. "You 
don't stand a chance. That doesn't mean I won't enjoy watching."

Meg knew he'd let her go. The biggest show was further along the 
lake. To take her now wouldn't be any fun for him. Leaning forward 
to grab her provisions, she raced out of the boathouse. Using the 
lantern to light her way, she followed the footprints the women had 
left behind and silently cursed Martha.

* * *

The Watcher woman was the first person Meg saw as she hurried along 
the shoreline. The lantern bounced against her legs on her right 
side and the contents of the pail sloshed dangerously on her left. 
She was careful not to spill the precious liquid as she ran.

When Martha turned to face her, Meg quickly lowered her burden to the 
ground and continued her approach. The older woman raised her hands 
to ward her off. But Meg was fueled by rage at that point, and as 
she pounced, Martha lost her balance to go sprawling back into the 
snow.

"You bitch," Meg snarled. She managed to throw one punch. Her fist 
crashed into the Watcher woman's jaw just as Martha grabbed her by 
the wrists and threw her off.

The Watcher was much stronger than she thought. Meg could feel it in 
her sturdy grip. Not many women were able to toss other people 
around without any leverage. Sitting back in the snow, Meg fought to 
catch her breath.

"Where is Libby?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Glass?" a quiet voice murmured in the darkness.

Meg lurched to her feet. She hadn't even noticed the other figure 
huddled against the snow. Libby had a blanket thrown across her 
shoulders to ward off the chill. She didn't appear to be any worse 
for wear. After quickly ascertaining that her friend was uninjured, 
Meg returned her attention to the Watcher. Martha stood nearby, 
watching them warily.

"You left Libby out here on her own, and then had Bartlett lure his 
master here," Meg accused. "The Watcher's Council is so honorable to 
make deals with vampires."

Martha shook her head. "You should not have gotten involved in 
this," she hissed. "It's almost over now."

Meg followed her gaze across the ice. She took a deep breath when 
she realized that Giselle was out amongst the sheets of floating ice 
that barely covered the frigid water. As she watched, a large figure 
leapt from one ice floe to another. He landed near Giselle and 
nearly dislodged her from her perch as the ice wavered dangerously 
under his weight.

"Renato," Meg breathed. It was difficult to see so far in the 
distance, but she'd wondered what a centuries old vampire looked like.

The two figures struggled for several moments before the larger 
suddenly flew backwards. He just barely caught himself before 
sliding into the water.

"She is doing very well," Martha said, her voice bright with pride.

"Much better since the drugs are nearly out of her system," Meg spat.

Martha turned on her in surprise. "What have you done?"

Meg clenched her hands into fists. "You are the most evil person I 
have ever met," she avowed. "Not even Paul could match your 
duplicity."

"These are the standards of the test," Martha snarled. "It has been 
so for a thousand years. How dare you meddle in something that is 
none of your concern?"

"Giselle is my concern," Meg returned. "You are supposed to be her 
friend."

"Friend?" Martha laughed. "It is not my place to be her friend. My 
duty is to prepare her for the struggles ahead. And that is what I'm 
doing."

"Meg!" Libby cried.

The girl's use of her Christian name made Meg stop in surprise. 
Staring out across the ice, she saw the large vampire standing very 
still at the edge of an ice floe. In the darkness he suddenly seemed 
less corporeal, less solid. Meg realized that Giselle had managed to 
kill him. Her heart rose gratefully in her chest.

But before the master vampire vanished forever, he managed to turn 
toward Giselle, who still stood nearby. Meg couldn't see exactly 
what happened, but suddenly the Slayer lurched backwards sharply. 
The shove was powerful enough to send her spinning across the ice. 
Giselle teetered on the edge of the ice floe for one eternal instant 
before plunging over the side and disappearing into the water.

* * *

Stunned, Meg fell to her knees. Staring at the spot where Giselle 
had fallen, she silently willed her lover to break the surface. But 
so much time had passed. There was no way she'd survive this long. 
Martha continued to make her way across the ice floes, trying to 
reach her Slayer. Meg didn't much care whether the woman made it or 
not. In her eyes, this was all Martha's fault.

Libby gasped at her side, and Meg became aware of masculine laughter 
sounding behind them. Slowly turning, she saw Bartlett standing 
nearby.

"I couldn't have planned this any better," he crowed. "Two birds, 
one stone."

As he turned his attention to them, his face shifted into its 
vampiric form. "And now for dessert."

"Libby," Meg murmured. "The pail."

The woman hesitated in confusion until Meg gestured beside them. 
Finally understanding, Libby grasped the handle and lifted the pail 
out of the snow. Bartlett stared at her in amusement.

"What will you do, little bird-" he started, then halted when she 
threw the pail's contents on him. He froze in place a moment, 
fearful, until he realized that nothing was happening. "That's not 
holy water," he scoffed.

Meg rose to her feet, her lantern in hand. She watched as his brain 
finally caught up with his nose and he recognized the scent of the 
liquid covering him.

"I know," she replied, then threw the lantern against his body.

The glass shattered and he was engulfed in a matter of moments. 
Screaming, Bartlett frantically batted at the flames. But the 
kerosene did its job. He didn't have the opportunity to extinguish 
the fire. A moment later, he burst into a fiery dust cloud.

Libby stared at the dying embers in amazement. "It worked," she said.

"Yes," Meg replied mournfully. "But too late."

Libby turned to watch Martha continue her bitter path across the 
ice. She suddenly gasped and pointed. "Look," she urged, pulling 
Meg's arm.

Following her gaze, Meg saw something pale floating in the water near 
the shoreline. "My God," she whispered. "Call Martha back."

"Mrs. Glass?" Libby asked in confusion.

"Call Martha back and tell her to run for help," Meg elaborated. She 
squeezed Libby's arm. "Do not tell her anything else."

Understanding at last, Libby nodded and hurried out onto the ice. As 
Meg stared at the body of her lover beneath the water, she resisted 
the urge to jump in after her. Long before her mother met her father 
and journeyed with him to the Alaskan frontier, she'd worked 
alongside her own mother as a midwife in New England. Far from 
merely delivering babies, local midwives served as medical 
practitioners for rural villages. 

She'd told Meg once of the man they dragged out of a frozen river. 
How Meg's grandmother had massaged the water from his lungs and urged 
his heart to beat again. How he'd been dead for nearly an hour when 
he'd been revived. The water had protected him, she'd explained to 
young Meg. It was so cold that his body was protected from damage. 
As long as the victim wasn't exposed for too long, there was a chance 
to bring him back. Meg could only pray that she had her mother's 
strength tonight.

* * *

March 15, 1897

The fog finally lifted as they approached the shoreline. Leaning 
over the balustrade, Meg gasped when she saw the gray clouds part to 
reveal the San Francisco shoreline. The city was far more massive 
than she'd ever imagine. And so modern-she'd never seen such a 
sophisticated community.

"It's wonderful," Meg shouted over the wind.

Beside her, a blonde woman clutched her hat to her head. "I told 
you," she replied. "Just wait until we land. Then you'll really see 
what this city is all about."

Meg quickly threw her arms around her lover's waist. Her giddiness 
was shared by the other passengers, who also gaped at the metropolis 
ahead of them. Several of those standing nearby smiled at them, 
clearly assuming the two women to be related somehow.

"You're free," Meg told her.

"Free," Giselle agreed.

Meg reached into the folds of her skirt to retrieve her most recent 
correspondence with Mr. Weeks. According to him, Martha Reginald had 
returned to England, claiming to have pressing business there. 
Giselle assumed this meant that another Slayer had been called--that 
her death, no matter how brief, had been enough to pass the duties on 
to the next girl.

"I wonder where she is," Meg had wondered at the time. "The new 
Slayer."

Giselle had utilized her all-purpose casual shrug. "It is no longer 
my concern," she'd replied.

The Frenchwoman pretended to be unscathed by her Watcher's betrayal, 
but Meg knew that her silence on the subject spoke volumes. Even if 
the Council had performed this test for a thousand years as Martha 
claimed, it didn't change the fact that it was barbaric, and rather 
inhuman. But Giselle refused to speak about it further. To her 
mind, Martha Reginald was no longer an appropriate topic of 
discussion.

Now, as the ship began to dock, Giselle turned to Meg and 
commented, "You never mentioned what Mr. Weeks had to say about Paul."

It was Meg's turn to shrug. "He wasn't able to keep up with 
maintenance and the other chores. He had to sell the house."

Giselle chuckled. "He likely had several debts to repay," she 
mused. "Now that he no longer has your piggybank beneath the 
floorboards to cover his drinking habits."

Meg stared across the water. This was just the first of many future 
destinations, according to Giselle. The Frenchwoman promised to show 
her the world. Although her official duties had ended, Giselle still 
maintained the strength and purpose she'd once had. While Meg knew 
Giselle truly wanted her to see the great cities of the world, she 
understood that the blonde woman was still driven by the same 
desires. Giselle hunted nearly every night, and was as adept at 
killing vampires as she'd ever been. There would never be a time 
when she was comfortable leaving the fight in the hands of other 
Slayers.

"Mrs. Glass?" a timid voice asked at Meg's elbow.

Glancing to her left, Meg smiled when she saw that Libby had finally 
ventured out of their cabin. "Come to see the view at last?" she 
asked.

"This is San Francisco?" Libby wondered. When they both nodded, she 
sniffed dismissively. "I thought it would be bigger."

Meg took her friend's hand in her left, and draped her right arm 
about Giselle's waist. "It's just the beginning," she promised them.

The End