Re: FIC; The Centre Cannot Hold(1/?) PG-13

["frank_8281" <frank_8281@xxxxxxxxx>]

This going to be GOOD! B.



--- In buffywantswillow@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx, Kirayoshi@H... wrote:
> I have a weird muse.  I promised myself that I'd concentrate on my 
Buffy/Gargoyles crossover, but instead this story rather loudly 
insisted that I write it.  A crossover between Buffy and The 
Pretender.  Enjoy.
> Disclaimers; Joss and Mutant Enemy created the Buffy stuff for 20th 
Century Fox.  The Pretender is owned by NBC and TNT right now, to the 
best of my knowledge.
> Rating; PG-13 to R
>
> Spoilers; This is an Alternate Universe, set just after "Goodbye 
Iowa".  In the Pretender universe, it takes place after the TNT 
Pretender movie "Island of the Haunted".
> Author's note; Rather than bog down the plotline with a generic 
subplot about Buffy and Willow finding themselves and each other, I'm 
writing them as already together as the story starts.  And Tara's not 
in this story.  In this universe, she's already got a girl, she's 
happy, she and Willow are friends, let's just leave her alone.  'Kay? 
> Distribution; Ask first. I've got a big enough ego, I'm likely to 
say yes.
> Feedback; It's the cherry on the cake of my writing.  JDMeans@a...
>
> Summary; He's not a Watcher, but he knows more about what's going 
on in Sunnydale than even the Council.  His name is Jarod.
> The Centre Cannot Hold
> by Kirayoshi
>
> Chapter One
> Turning and Turning
>
> Oh-oh, yes I'm the great pretender
> Pretending that I'm doing well
> My need is such I pretend too much
> I'm lonely but no one can tell
>
> Oh-oh, yes I'm the great pretender
> Adrift in a world of my own
> I've played the game but to my real shame
> You've left me to grieve all alone
>
> Too real is this feeling of make-believe
> Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal
>
> Yes I'm the great pretender
> Just laughin' and gay like a clown
> I seem to be what I'm not, you see
> I'm wearing my heart like a crown
> Pretending that you're still around
>
> 	--The Platters
> 	  "The Great Pretender"
>
> Sacremento, California
>
> Why do I even bother?
>
> The thought ran unbidden in her head for the thousandth time as 
she, Sydney, Broots and a pair of sweepers burst into the hotel 
room.  Before even entering the room, her ever-present Smith and 
Wesson .44 cocked and ready, Miss Parker knew what she would find; a 
red notebook, some sort of esoteric clue, an immaculately cleaned 
hotel room and no sign of the quarry.
> Sure enough, set upon a twin bed whose sheets were tucked in so 
smartly she could have bounced a quarter off of the bed was a 
handsome wooden chest, the familiar red notebook leaning against 
it.  "Miss Parker," the sweeper on her left said sternly, "I'd advise 
caution.  Maybe we should get a hazmat team to look at that chest."
> "Please," Miss Parker rolled her eyes as she approached the 
box.  "He is many things, most of them annoying, but he's no 
killer."  She grabbed the notebook, and glanced at the newspaper 
clipping sandwiched inside the pages; "SLUMLORD CHARGED WITH RUNNING 
SLAVE LABOR RING".  She skimmed down the story, reading how a 
tenement manager had forced the immigrants who had lived in his run-
down building to work at slave wages in conditions that could 
charitably be described as appalling, until the police found him in 
his own sweatshop, chained to a sewing machine table.  Typical, she 
thought.  As always, he was fighting for the innocents, against those 
in power.  She then reached for the box and felt the warm smoothly 
polished maple as she lifted the lid.  She scowled as she saw the 
chest's contents; a crude wooden stake and a cellular phone.  
> Two seconds after she caught sight of the phone it started to 
ring.  "His sense of the theatrical is as strong as ever," Sydney 
observed, his voice carrying a faint edge of paternal pride.  Miss 
Parker shot him a glower that would curdle milk at ten paces and 
grabbed the cellular from the chest.  
> "Broots," she barked at the balding computer expert, "front and 
center."
> "I'm all over it," Broots answered, anticipating Miss Parker's 
orders before she could give them.  Broots pulled his laptop computer 
out of his backpack, and connected an audio jack from the laptop to 
the cellular.  
> Miss Parker opened the phone and held it up to her porcelain 
face.  "What now, Jarod?" she barked into the phone.
> "Welcome to the Hotel California!" the familiar voice of her prey 
announced from his end of the connection. "Such a lovely place, such 
a lovely face."
> Miss Parker scowled into the phone.  "I'm surprised, Jarod.  After 
six years away from the Centre, I figure you would have discovered 
the Eagles long before now."
> "Actually," Jarod replied in cheerful tones, "I discovered them my 
first year outside.  I just never had the opportunity to spring that 
song on you until today."
> Miss Parker shook her head in dismay.  "Just cut to the chase, 
Jarod," she growled.  "What's the game this time?"
> "The game?" Jarod quizzed knowingly.  "It's the same ol' game we've 
played since day one; I run, you chase.    And I for one am getting 
tired of it.  Aren't you?"
> "We play the roles we're given, Jarod."
>
> "No, Miss Parker," Jarod answered, his tone less playful and more 
serious.  "You follow the orders you were given.  I play the roles I 
see fit.  I'll only return to the Centre on my terms.  I just wanted 
to warn you."
> "Warn me?" Miss Parker's eyebrow raised.
>
> "There's a storm coming, Miss Parker.  One hell of a storm.  And 
there's going to be fallout.  If I were you, I'd seek cover."
> Miss Parker pondered his words for a second before she continued 
the line of argument.  "Are you saying I'm in danger?"
> "I'm saying that you're as much a prisoner of the Centre as I was," 
Jarod answered.  "You, Sydney, Broots, you're all prisoners.  But you 
have always held the keys to your cages in your hands.  You can 
escape the lies, the deceits, the labyrinth of ploys and counter-
ploys, any time you want.  All you have to do is show some 
initiative."  
> "You realize," Miss Parker intoned, "that even a cellular call can 
be traced."
> "I do realize that," Miss Parker could envision Jarod's smile as he 
spoke.  "And you'll probably find my phone.  But, as the Eagles put 
it, I'm already gone."  The phone crackled for a second as the line 
went dead.
> Jarod tossed the cellular he was using into a nearby trashcan and 
strolled away, toward a waiting motorcycle.  He smiled inwardly, 
imagining Miss Parker chewing bricks at having lost him again.  He 
was always of two minds regarding the constant game he played with 
Miss Parker.  On the one hand, he had no intention of letting Miss 
Parker or anyone else drag him back to the Centre as a prisoner.  On 
the other hand, he knew Miss Parker.  She was one of his few friends 
growing up under the Centre's care.  He knew that her iron bitch act 
was just that, an act.  For a brief moment last month when they were 
trapped in an Irish convent during that terrible storm, she let her 
guard down and let herself be herself in front of Jarod.
> But he couldn't let whatever affection he felt for Miss Parker 
deter him from his mission.  The Centre was on the move, he knew that 
much.  He knew from the last time he hacked the Centre's mainframe 
that large amounts of Centre funds and manpower were recently 
diverted to a small town in California, specifically to a quasi-
military organization currently located there.  The more he read 
about this so-called Initiative, the more he disbelieved.  He had to 
see this Initiative in action for himself.
> So he secretly visited the small California town of Sunnydale.  
>
> He assumed the identity of Jarod Oswald, a security officer on the 
campus of U. C. Sunnydale, and patrolled the campus at night.  He 
maintained his anonymity and observed the nocturnal activity on 
campus.  What he saw chilled his blood more thoroughly as anything he 
had ever witnessed.  He saw men and women with yellow eyes, ridged 
bony faces and fangs, people who attacked and murdered the 
unsuspecting for their blood.  The only word that could apply 
was 'vampire'.
> He saw members of this Initiative, camouflage-clad soldiers who 
fought these monsters, collaring them and carting them off into 
trucks, presumably for interment or efficient destruction.  As much 
as he loathed the idea of needless killing, Jarod was forced to 
accept that these monsters were not anything that could be called 
human.
> He saw more than just these vampires.  He saw monsters, demons with 
ram's horns curling from their foreheads and murder in their coal-
black hearts.  He felt the panic shared by the rest of the town when, 
a few weeks ago, he had inexplicably lost his voice for one 
terrifying day.  
> All these things he witnessed firsthand.
>
> And he witnessed one more thing.
>
> One night, shortly before he left to deal with the slave-ring in 
Sacramento, he strolled toward a campus espresso stand for a cup of 
coffee.  As he walked, he found his attention drawn to the scenery 
around him; the turning colors of the leaves, the deep purples and 
reds of the dusk sky.  In one split-second, he neglected to pay 
attention to his immediate surroundings.  One second was all it took 
for a vampire to attack him.  He held his own defensively, 
remembering the fighting skills he taught himself during a past 
Pretend as a martial arts instructor.  But his opponent's attacks 
were relentless.  His arms scraped harshly as they raked his flesh.  
And he was tiring, while his opponent wasn't.  Jarod knew it was only 
a matter of time before either a miracle occurred or the vampire 
butchered him.
> Fortunately for Jarod, the former happened.  A miracle, in the form 
of a small blond young woman flew over his head, colliding with his 
attacker and sending the beast sprawling gracelessly on the 
sidewalk.  "Get away!" the blond shouted, and Jarod complied, quickly 
ducking behind a park bench.  From the vantage point behind the 
bench, Jarod witnessed as his rescuer faced off against the monster.  
Before the battle began, the vampire spat out one word; "Slayer!"
> The battle was incredibly lop-sided.  The young woman knew exactly 
where to hit, where to kick, and when to close in for the kill.  
Within seconds, she flipped the vampire onto his back, ground her 
knee into his gut to pin him down, and drove a wooden stake into his 
heart.  The vampire exploded in a shower of ash and dust, which the 
young woman dusted off of her cargo pants as she stood up again.  
Jarod was able to disappear from behind the bench before the woman 
could see him.  But the memory of the strange battle lingered with 
him.
> During some off-moments as he was compiling the case against the 
slumlord, Jarod attempted to learn more about this 'slayer'.  His web-
searches tended to be fruitless; he uncovered hundreds of fan sites 
for a heavy-metal hair band, several survivalist organizations and a 
few fetishist sites that caused him to blush crimson.
> It was only when he hacked into the Centre computers again 
(utilizing a 'backdoor' he had secretly installed into Sydney's 
office computer years ago that the fatherly psychiatrist had 
neglected to uninstall) that his searches bore fruit.  The Centre 
evidently had certain connections to an organization in England 
called The Council of Watchers.  Once he knew where to look, the 
information he required practically fell into his lap.  
> He downloaded file after file, pages of ancient tomes scanned into 
computer data or entered as text.  He discovered the strange, sad 
destiny of the Slayer.  The one girl in the entire world who was 
destined to fight against the dark forces in the world unto the 
moment of her death.  
> Jarod gasped in horror as he read how one Slayer in every hundred 
ever lived to see her twenty-fifth birthday.  He shook with rage as 
he learned the details of the Cruciamentum.  And he cheered quietly 
when he read about the woman who saved his life, the current Slayer, 
Buffy Anne Summers.  He read the journals of Senior Watcher Quentin 
Travers, and his impressions of her attitude, his detailing of her 
numerous offenses against the Council.  "You go girl," he whispered.
> The more he read about Travers' distaste for Buffy Summers, the 
more Jarod liked her.  Here was a girl who didn't suffer fools 
gladly, who refused to say "Yessir, how high?" when men in power 
said "Jump."  She defended the weak against those who prey on the 
weak every night of her life.  In Jarod's eyes, she was a kindred 
spirit.
> Once his business in Sacramento was concluded, he began the process 
of assimilating this information.  In a non-descript hotel somewhere 
off of Interstate 5, he finished his exhaustive research on the 
Slayer and the Watchers.  He absorbed every word, reading and re-
reading every file until he could recite chapter and verse of the 
Watcher's Handbook.  Within a week, he was ready.  He knew all he 
needed to know to create a new persona, a new Pretend.  
> He pulled a Pez dispenser out of his pocket and pulled back the 
plastic snowman head, popping a small orange-flavored candy into his 
mouth as he regarded his slightly altered appearance in the mirror; 
the navy blue cable-knit sweater, a faint dusting of gray in his hair 
and a pair of what the optometrist had called 'John Lennon' 
glasses.  "Showtime," he said to his reflection.
> <<>>
>
> Willow opened her eyes lazily, stretching like a languid cat on her 
side of the bed (technically her dorm bed, before she and Buffy 
pushed the beds together last week) to greet the morning.  Her right 
arm strayed toward the other side of the bed, only to feel a still-
warm indentation where her lover should have been.  "Buffy?" she 
called out as she sat up, her heartbeat increasing its tempo as a 
thousand possibilities flashed before her mind's eye.
> Before Willow could spring out of her bed to begin searching for 
Buffy, the door to their dorm opened, and the errant Slayer entered, 
precariously balancing a box of donuts and two grande mochas. Placing 
her parcels on the desk, she turned her head toward the bed, only to 
be greeted by Willow's most impenetrable scowl.  "Oh, hi Willow," 
Buffy smiled, walking toward the bed and leaning forward to kiss 
Willow's lips.  Before the desired contact, Willow growled slightly, 
causing Buffy to back away.
> "Sorry, babe," Buffy spoke, slightly mollified.  "I should have 
left a post-it or something, I know, my bad.  I thought I could sneak 
out, grab some donuts and mochas and get back before you wake."
> "Buffy," Willow shook her head in dismay, "you know very well that 
I rarely sleep in past eight."
> "That's why I set my alarm for seven," Buffy explained.  "I just 
wanted to surprise you.  Y'know, do something nice, breakfast in 
bed.  I mean, that's what couples do, isn't it?"
> Willow's scowl slowly softened into a lover's smile, and she patted 
the side of the bed, motioning for Buffy to sit next to her.  "Yeah, 
it is actually.  Book of Love, chapter 3, paragraph 12.  'Breakfast 
in bed is always a good idea'."
> "Is there an actual book?" Buffy quizzed as she sat next to Willow 
and handed her a mocha, kissing the tip of her nose.  "I'd hate to 
think I've been winging it all this time."
> "Don't worry, honey," Willow cuddled up to Buffy.  Her free hand 
slowly traced lazy designs on Buffy's neck, causing the blond to lean 
into her hand, relishing the electric touch of her fingers.  "You're 
doing fine so far.  I'm happier now than I've been in a very long 
time."
> "Me too," Buffy smiled joyously, taking a sip of her mocha, and 
reaching for the donut box.  She took a chocolate cream-filled donut 
and held it in front of Willow's face.  Willow opened her mouth 
eagerly, and Buffy fed the donut to Willow.  "I'm just afraid of 
screwing things up.  I mean, this is definitely a first for me."
> Willow arched an eyebrow teasingly, "You mean the part about us 
being a gay couple?  That's a first for me too, y'know."
> "No, not that," Buffy answered quickly, only to see Willow glower 
teasingly at her.  "Is there something you'd like to share with the 
class, Miss Summers?" she purred.
> "No, no, that's not what I meant," Buffy backpedaled furiously, 
cringing slightly as Willow chuckled throatily.  "I mean, yeah the 
having-sex-with-a-girl thing is new.  And, may I add before I get 
kicked off the bed, better than I've ever had with a guy.  But what's 
really new for me is, well, after sex.  The cuddling, the pillow 
talk, the whole thing about still being together after the deed is 
first done.  I never had that before.  I mean, first Angel, then 
Parker.  Both over as soon as they started really."
> Willow sensed Buffy's gradual mood-shift, and cupped Buffy's chin 
with the knuckle of her forefinger, lifting Buffy's head so it was 
level with her own.  It pained her to see Buffy grappling with her 
insecurities, and she instinctively felt the need to assuage her 
lover.  "Hey, I'm not going anywhere, Buffy," Willow vowed 
gently.  "I'm here with you now.  And it's not because Oz bailed, and 
it's not because Tara was already spoken for, and it's not because we 
were lonely and on the rebound.  It's because you hold the key to my 
heart.  You're my everything, Buffy.  I love you."  Willow leaned in 
slowly, claiming Buffy's lips with her own in a gentle kiss, sweet 
and loving in and of itself, but with a promise of passion.  "And I 
plan on reminding you of that fact every day."
> "I love you too, Willow," Buffy breathed, amazed as always at the 
truth of her statement.  "You're the world to me.  Just promise me 
that you'll let me get used to this whole relationship idea.  It's 
uncharted waters for me, but I'm liking it so far."
> "Me too, Buffy," Willow smiled.  She glanced into Buffy's eyes, 
still sensing the sadness within.  "Is there something else, Buffy?"
> Buffy nodded solemnly.  "I just got word from Graham," she 
answered.  "The good news is that Riley's expected to make a full 
recovery from ADAM's attack.  The bad news is that, once he recovers, 
he'll be asking for me."
> "And you want to let him down easy," Willow sighed knowingly.
>
> "I don't want to hurt him," Buffy admitted.  "But you're the one I 
love, not him.  I can't lie to him anymore.  I have to tell him about 
us."
> "I understand," Willow answered warmly.  "Don't worry 'bout it, 
babe.  He'll recover from it."
> "I hope," Buffy agreed.  She was still apprehensive about telling 
Riley about her new relationship with Willow, but she had no regrets 
about how things turned out.  When she learned that Riley, under the 
influence of the drugs that the Initiative had been force-feeding 
him, had attacked Willow, whatever affection she felt for him had 
disappeared.  Once she realized how much her relationship with Riley, 
and her involvement with the Initiative, had hurt her best friend, 
she vowed to make it up to Willow.  The night after her first 
confrontation with ADAM, she and Willow went to the Bronze together, 
and for the first time in months opened their hearts to each other.  
> Buffy wasn't certain when and how it happened, but when Willow 
asked her to dance she couldn't refuse.  Their closeness on the dance-
floor felt natural, and she heard her heartbeat against Willow's, 
amplified by the music from the stage.  Willow's eyes stared intently 
into Buffy's, hooded with desire, radiating fire.  Buffy found 
herself falling into those emerald irises, feeling Willow's heat and 
sharing it.  "I want to kiss you so bad," she whispered hotly into 
Willow's ear.
> "Good," Willow purred, leaning closer against Buffy, feeling every 
inch of the Slayer's muscular body.  "I thought I was the only one.  
The question is, what are you gonna do about it?"
> Buffy was amazed that Willow would dare her so openly.  Amazement 
gave way to desire as she saw the expression of pure adoration on 
Willow's face.  "Dorm," she stated.  "Now."  Willow nodded rapidly, a 
canary-swallowing grin plastered on her face.
> The fifteen minutes it took Buffy and Willow to run to their dorm 
were the longest fifteen minutes in Buffy's life.  It took all of her 
willpower to keep herself from ravishing Willow in the Bronze parking 
lot, in the campus plaza and in front of their dorm room.  The second 
the two girls entered the dorm, Buffy intended to attack Willow, 
claming the redhead's lips with her own.  But before she could even 
flick on the light switch, Willow threw her body on top of Buffy's, 
knocking her to the floor as she rained kisses on her cheeks, nose 
and lips.  Buffy didn't remember exactly how and when her clothing 
was divested, but she was more interested in the warm, clinging, 
naked body that caressed every square inch of her skin, bringing her 
to ever higher plateaus of ecstasy.
> The next morning, Buffy and Willow moved their two beds together 
and spent most of the day in their shared bed, exploring their newly 
defined relationship.  For the following week, they had lived alone 
in their own private world, what Willow called 'their honeymoon 
period'.  But now, the honeymoon was coming to an end.
> "I have to tell him," Buffy told Willow.  "I can't keep this from 
Riley.  He deserves to know the truth."
> Willow placed her mocha on her nightstand, and held Buffy gently in 
her arms.  "You're right.  We shouldn't keep this from the others.  
Tomorrow, when we visit Giles and figure out what's going on with 
ADAM, we should tell them."
> Buffy nodded ruefully.  "You're right, Will.  Given my track record 
with keeping secrets, I should know better than to keep this, keep 
us, a secret."
> "Yeah," Willow smiled warmly.  "But it was nice while it lasted, 
y'know?  It was like I had something that was truly unique.  
Something that was, well, mine."
> "I am, you know," Buffy assured Willow, placing a lingering kiss on 
the wiccan's lips.  "Yours."   She kissed her again, then again, each 
grin more urgent and passionate than the last.  Willow gave in to her 
lovers kisses, and molded her body to Buffy, her arms wrapped around 
the Slayer's shoulders, her lips fused to Buffy's in a searing kiss.  
Buffy responded to Willow's mounting passion with her own and the two 
young lovers fell back onto the bed, their hands fumbling to remove 
pajamas and caressing flesh.
> Their mochas grew cold, but they didn't mind.
>
> <<>>
>
> Rupert Giles had just returned from his morning constitutional and 
was preparing for breakfast.  As he turned on the burner under his 
tea kettle and cracked some eggs in a bowl, he took a moment to revel 
in the fact that his unwanted houseguest had finally departed.  
Spike, still helpless from that chip the Initiative had installed in 
his brain ("I'm amazed they could find it," Giles could almost hear 
Xander quip), had finally worn out his welcome with his constant 
complaining; either the stereo was too loud, the guest room was too 
drafty or his microwaved blood packets weren't warm enough.  Giles 
finally grew fed up with Spike's constant bellyaching and booted him 
out of his house two nights ago, and Willow was more than happy to 
perform an 'uninvite' ritual to keep Spike away for good.
> Giles reveled in the silence as he prepared a hot cup of Earl Grey 
to go with his Spanish omelet.  He needed the quiet to concentrate.  
ADAM, the nightmarish offspring of demon and technology summoned into 
being by the late, unlamented Maggie Walsh, was biding his time, 
learning, growing, evolving.  But he and Buffy both knew that ADAM 
would make his move, and soon.  And no doubt Sunnydale, if not the 
world, would suffer if he succeeded.  They needed strategies against 
this new threat, and quickly.
> Giles decided that perhaps some music would aid in his cognitive 
processes.  He pulled an old guitar out of the hallway closet and 
located some sheet music he had recently purchased of Eric 
Clapton's "Let it Rain".  As he began to tune his guitar strings, he 
heard a knock at the door.  Placing the guitar on the sofa for the 
time being, Giles answered the door.
> A tall young man with wavy brown hair and deeply chiseled features 
stood on his porch, a knowing smile on his face.  "Pardon me, sir," 
the young man said.  "I'm looking for a Rupert Giles."
> "You found him," Giles answered levelly.
>
> The young man's smile grew wider. "Wow," he breathed, "this is an 
honor, sir.  I've read so much about your history with the Council-"
> "Please come in," Giles said hurriedly, grabbing the young man's 
arm and dragging him quickly into his house.  As he shut the door, he 
said, "Be careful, man!  The general populous does not know about the 
Council, or the Hellmouth or vampires, and I'd prefer to keep it that 
way!"
> "I apologize," the young man answered.  "I was just excited at 
meeting you for the first time.  Especially after reading Mr. 
Travers' journal entries."
> Giles harrumphed sardonically. "Somehow I doubt that.  I didn't 
think Quentin though so highly of me."
> "Actually he doesn't," the younger man answered.  "But I don't 
think that highly of him.  And any man he regards that poorly is a 
man I want on my side."
> "Ah," Giles answered, slightly flummoxed. "I'm sure there's a 
compliment in there somewhere.  Uh, I assume that you are a Watcher, 
Mr..."
> "Oh, sorry," the young man smiled, extending his hand.  "I forgot 
to introduce myself.  Jarod Witherspoon, formerly of the Watchers' 
Council, at your service."
>  
>
> "Friends are the DNA of society.  They are the basic building 
blocks of life.  If you have a couple of good ones, treasure them 
like gold.  There's nothing better.  Ever look at that MCI ad they 
have, "Friends and Family"?  Who do they mention first?  Your friends 
help you carry the big weight in life.  That big burden we've all got 
called, 'What the Hell am I doing?'"  
>   --Jerry Seinfeld


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Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
                     'Choices'

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