Author: Judy/Beatle Spike
Title: Molly Harris: From Runaway to Slayer?
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for Molly and Seth Harris and Judy.
Feedback: For the love of God, YES!!!
Notes: Follows "Her Eyes Have Changed".
Dedication: To Emma for all the wonderful feedback she's been giving me.
I hate them. I hate the people who killed my mother. A man with a divine exterior and a woman with raven hair. They may have been beautiful, but on the interior they were monsters. Mom always said that vampires were not real, that they were only fantasy. If they are only fantasy, then why did I see her blood on their mouths?
Me and Seth were sent to live with Aunt Willow and Uncle Oz after that. We were only twelve then. They were nice, but somehow we didn't feel totally welcome there. I mean, they had kids of their own. In fact, there were five, ranging from ages three to fourteen. I'm totally sure that an additional two was quite a burden. But I never heard anyone complain. Oz taught me how to play guitar; in fact, he even gave me his first guitar, an acoustic. Willow would help me with my homework no matter what she was doing. We were accepted by all the kids--except Annemarie.
Annemarie was twelve, the same as us, and very beautiful. Already she had filled out, and she turned heads with her red hair and green eyes. Annemarie hated us. She did everything she could to make our stay as unpleasant as possible. Not even Willow, who could be as wrathful as God when she got angry (which was rare), couldn't do anything about her. Annemarie was so awful that Seth and me tried to run away after six months there. We had gotten as far as the bus station on the very outer limits of Sunnydale when the cops caught up with us. We had cut school to try and score tickets.
"Are you Seth and Margaret Harris?" the grizzled old man said to us.
The guy flipped open a notepad and read our decriptions: "One blonde-haired, blue eyed female, about 5'1" and one brunette, brown-eyed male, about 5'5". Sounds about right for you two."
Seth lowered his eyes to the ground and complied as the cop took us each by one arm, but I kicked and screamed. "You can't make me go back there! I won't go! *Please*!"
I'm absolutely positive everyone in the terminal heard me, but I didn't care at that time. There was no way in hell I was going to go back to that torture. The cop won. We went back.
The policeman pounded on the door. "I got yer kids!" he shouted. "They're okay."
Easy for you to say.
The house was eerily quiet. "Hey! Are you in there?" The cop yelled again.
No answer. Finally he knocked the door off its hinges. I got a feeling that welled deep inside of me: one of uncontrollable fear. I had reason to feel that way.
The baby of the family, John, was sprawled across the floor in front of the fireplace. A pool of blood surrounded him. Next to him was his older sister Sarah, who was ten. She had put up a fight; even my untrained eye could see that. I was deeply afraid of going into the kitchen, but I did so anyway.
I flipped on the light and screamed. The oldest child, Jeffery, was hanging from an electrical cord from the ceiling. His skin was blue, his mouth open in a last desperate attempt for air. Seth came running.
"Oh, my God," he said quietly. Then he turned to me. "Who could have done this?"
"I know who it was," I said bitterly. "It was the same people that killed Mom. The vampires."
"It couldn't have been. Remember Mom said that there was no such thing as vampires?"
I reluctantly agreed. "Yeah, I guess it was some sicko." But deep inside I didn't believe myself.
The two of us crept upstairs, leaving the officer to examine the three bodies left there.
Seth immediately said, "The younger girls' room. If everyone was here when they got in, then the killers didn't spare anyone."
He tiptoed into the room that Sarah and Olivia shared--and gagged. The frailly built little girl that I loved was lying in a pool of her own blood and vomit, like her siblings John and Sarah. I was terrified to go into the room that Annemarie and I shared. I flicked on the lamp on my dresser--and saw nothing. She must have gotten away. Thank god for that. At least someone survived.
Seth turned to me, eyes wide. "Oh, no, Molly. What about Willow and Oz?"
A sickening feeling rose at the pit of my stomach. I tried unsuccessfully to push it down. I couldn't help myself. I threw up all over the pale yellow carpet.
Then I composed myself and carefully walked into their room. It looked normal--until I saw what was on the king-sized bed. Willow was streched out on it, her customary fuzzy sweater (my mother once told me that she wore those even in high school) and jeans saturated in blood. Sprawled out next to her was Oz, his bowling shirt torn. He wasn't bleeding, but he was covered in his wife's blood. I looked over at him, because he wasn't moving. Oz was, in fact, very still.
I leaned over my aunt's corpse and studied Oz. I couldn't see any marks or anything like that. What had killed him? Had he perhaps had a heart attack?
Seth breathed, "Molly, look!" "At what?" "At his neck."
"Oh my god."
There, on Oz's neck, were two distinct bite marks that oozed with blood. My heart plummeted, for I knew exactly who did it: the sweet-faced man and the dark-haired lady who had killed my mother the very same way.
"That's it. We're outta here," said my brother decisively. "Get your stuff, if you want to, and we're getting the hell out."
I ran to my room to fill a duffel bag with the posessions that I held most dear: a trophy for ice-skating my mother had won when she was young, the diary she kept until the day she died, my favorite book "To Kill A Mockingbird", and some clothes; two T-shirts, a pair of skintight jeans, a sweater, and my tennis shoes. On my back I slung the acoustic that Oz had given me.
Seth met me at the front door. He also held a duffel bag that I knew was filled with things that had belonged to our father and some clothes. My brother favored jeans and plaid shirts, like Dad. Mom always said how amazing it was that Seth looked just like him and that I looked just like her.
"Where are we going?" I asked my brother.
"I don't know. Anywhere but Sunnydale."
"We're gonna need provisions."
"Oh, yeah? And where are we gonna get them?"
"I know where. Follow me."
Instinctively I turned the corner to head to our old house. It had been boarded up since Mom's death. I knew exactly what we needed.
"Mol, we can't go in there!"
"Whatsa matter?" I sneered. "Ya scared?"
"No. But, it just doesn't feel right..." Seth let his voice trail off.
"I don't care. She's gone, and I'm going in."
I proceeded to do so. It was amazing; nothing had been touched. I headed upstairs to my old room. My trunk was still there. I had dreams sometimes of a blonde-haired girl who was a few years older than me who would open the false bottom to this very trunk. Pulling out long, pointy stakes and holy water, she would climb out of her window and into the night. Sometimes the man who killed her was there, but he had a kind, compassionate face. They would kiss a lot, especially after cheating death. And once---once I had a dream about them fulfilling their sexual desires together. I never ever told anyone about these dreams.
I carefully flipped open the secret switch in the bottom of the trunk the way I had seen my dream-girl do. The stakes, holy water, and other goodies were still there, as was a velvet box, like the kind jewelry came in. I pulled out a particularly deadly-looking stake and the name came to me alomst instantly: Mr. Pointy. As I recalled from my dreams, it had belonged to a girl named Kendra, who had dark skin and a Carribean accent. The dark-haired lady killed her, too. Then, to be on the safe side, I pulled out another two stakes, three vials of holy water, twin daggers, a pair of spiked brass knuckles, and a bulb of garlic. It was rather dry but was still pungent. I stuffed these items into my duffel bag.
I went downstairs to find Seth standing there, string at a picture that had fallen off the wall.
"Look," he said. "That boy could be me, and Molly, that girl could double for you and I wouldn't even know it."
"And there's Aunt Willow, and Oz, too. And a girl I've never heard Mom talk about. But she was obviously fashionable in her day." p> "Who's the geezer? He looks like he stepped out of an edition of 'Stuffy Old Guys' Vogue'."
We both laughed at the tweed suit and odd-looking glasses that the older man was wearing. Seth put the picture in his bag and then, with the money we had been saving up, we went to Maryland. So here I am, three years later, working as a whore on Baltimore Street.
It's an awful job; in fact I hate it. But it pays money, and money is what we need. Seth pays the bills for the tiny apartment we live in when I'm not pleasuring rich old men and he's not at work saying, "You want fries with that?"
My mother would die of shame if she could see what I've been doing for the past few years. And I'm ashamed of myself for being what I am: a common, low-down, trashy ho. And I looked at myself in the mirror the other day, I mean really looked, and I hated what I saw. My eyes are harder than irradiated diamonds, when they used to be soft and kind. In fact, my whole face is hard.
While making a trip to the store today I encountered an old man. I figured that since he was well-dressed and staring at me in that odd way, he wanted to take advantage of my services.
But instead, he said to me in this frail British voice, "Buffy?"
"Sorry," I tried to do my best imitation of a game-show host. "But you do win this lovely loaf of bread. I'm Molly. And you are...?"
"I am Rupert Giles. And I must speak to you alone. Immediately."
I glanced around for Tony, my pimp. He was nowhere in sight, thank God.
"All right. Hold on a sec, while I get the stuff on my shopping list. Seth'll kill me if I don't get it."
Mr. Giles waited patiently while I filled the shopping list order. Then I said, "Why don't we go back to my apartment? It will be much quieter there, and no one will be able to hear us."
"All right. And you look like you need some rest. I bet you've had a very hard life."
We went back to my run-down apartment and I put on a pot of tea. I figured that since he was British, Mr. Giles would want some. "Molly--"
"My full name is Margaret Angela Harris. If you want to call me Margaret. It doesn't matter, really, but I thought you'd want to know."
"Margaret, you've been chosen."
"To be the Slayer."
"In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer." He said it as if he had recited it many times. "But first, before I say any more about being a Slayer, I want you to tell me everything, including why you and your brother--Seth is his name, is it not?--ran away from Sunnydale."
I told him. Everything, from my mother's death to living with Willow and Oz and their deaths, and what I was doing on Baltimore St. as a whore. I even told Mr. Giles about my dreams.
He smiled sadly. "You're dreaming of your mother, the best Slayer who ever lived. And my favorite Slayer, out of all of the ones I've ever worked with."
"What do you mean, 'worked with'?"
"I am a Watcher. A Watcher trains the Slayer, looks out for her, is almost like her father. Of course, the Council didn't allow that part in until the year 1999. I loved Buffy like a daughter, and it got me temporarily fired after I saved her life."
"Saved her life?"
"Yes. When--if--a Slayer reaches her eighteenth birthday, she is given a test. A few days before her birthday, the Watcher injects her with an herbal muscle relaxant. The Slayer is powerless for about a week. She is to fight a very powerful, very dangerous demon using her smarts. Before your mother, the Slayer was never told about the test. But I was very afraid for her, and so told her. After she almost died."
"Oh, my God. I had a dream about that. A crazy vampire almost killed her and her mother."
"Yes," said Mr. Giles. He looked sad.
"If it's too hard for you to talk about her, then you don't have to."
"No, no. It's all right. I suppose I should be the one saying that to you."
I changed the subject. "So, you said I have to go where?"
"You must come to Sunnydale. It's where all the demons and supernatural beings converge, a mystical center of the world."
The name came to me. "Boca del Infierno. The Hellmouth."
"Well, I guess I've gotta go to Sunnydale then. Kill all the baddies, go to school, lay low. Be a normal girl, instead of a...you know."
"You'll never be totally normal, although I do encourage keeping up the facade. It will be hard at first, but as time passes, you will find keeping the appearance of a 'normal' girl will become easier."
"I happen to be a *very* good liar. I'm quite practiced at it."
Mr. Giles got all flustered at this remark. "Um...uh, do you want to get started training?"
"Sure." We stayed in the apartment all afternoon. He taught me some basic fighting moves. After I mastered those, we went on to more advanced techniques. Seth got a real shock when he came in and saw us sparring.
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted. "Get off her, you pervert!"
Before Seth could demolish my Watcher, I stopped him. "Don't. We're training."
"Training? What for?"
"So Molly is like this vampire killer or something?"
"Slayer," Mr. Giles and I said simultaneously.
"And not just vampires," I said. "Demons and zombies and ghosts."
"Oh, my." My Watcher grinned a bit pompously at his own pop-culture reference. "I had better be going. Shall I meet the two of you tomorrow at eight o'clock?"
"Sure," I said. As Mr. Giles went to leave, I said, "Mr. Giles?"
He turned around. "Yes?"
As he had promised, my Watcher met Seth and me at eight o'clock with tickets to Sunnydale, California. You can bet I wasn't too thrilled, for I had no desire to see the town that held so many horrible memories.
But we went. In a few short hours, Seth and I were at our hometown.
"Okay, what do we do now?" I asked as I grabbed my duffel bag, the very one I had left Sunnydale with, from the carousel.
"I am going to hail us a taxi to Sunnydale High School."
"The high school? What for?"
"Because the books we need are there. Apparently, a semi-local vampire and his girlfriend are planning something."
Seth said sarcastically, "Lemme guess: you were born with the inability to state details."
"All right. The vampires, Spike and Judy, are planning a Midsummer Night's ritual. The last attempt failed, and it can only be performed at this particular date, on this particular year. We must stop them."
I asked, "Who the hell are Spike and Judy?"
"Well, Spike was known as 'William the Bloody'. You can't miss him; he's got bleached blond hair and an English accent. He's rather thin, also. Judy, the last time I saw her, had long light brown hair and grey eyes. She was a Slayer, like you, but she died at the hands of Drusilla, an insane and very dangerous vampire. Fortunately, we haven't heard anything about her for years, so I'm assuming she is dead. I hope to God she is."
"Ew. God, that is really morbid."
"I'm sorry, Margaret, but when you're a Slayer, there are many things that are morbid. You will see people die, not to mention that you will see some very dead people. Every night you will run the risk of being killed."
My brother said skeptically, "Judy must not have been a very good Slayer if she let herself be killed."
"She was a very good Slayer, Seth. As good as your mother. Drusilla would have killed her if Angel--a vampire with a soul--hadn't turned her. She was dying."
"Shut up!" I screamed. "Just shut up! I am so tired of this!"
"What do you mean, Margaret?"
"Stop talking about my mother. I'm sick of hearing about her. Do you fucking expect me to *be* her? 'Cause I think you want me to be her. But I'm me. Molly Harris. Not Buffy Summers."
I turned and ran out. I couldn't take it anymore. My mother's face plagued me everywhere I went. Finally I turned into an alley to catch my breath.
"Molly?" I heard a familiar voice say.
"Yup. Where have you been all these years?"
I looked at Willow's daughter. She looked the same as I remembered her. She hadn't gotten any taller or anything. It was weird. I took in her ivory-pale skin and started. Annemarie's skin had never been that pale. But still I hugged her. When I pulled away, I saw that her face had changed. Her forehead was ridged, her once-green eyes were now yellow, and her breath smelled of rotting corpses and graveyards. Annemarie was a vampire.
I didn't scream, but I said, "You're not Annemarie. You just look like her."
She smiled, revealing fangs. Sharp ones. "You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you? You'd like to believe that there's some part deep inside of me that is still good. Well, princess, it doesn't work that way. Just thought I'd let you know before I kill you. I'm mighty hungry."
I whipped out Mr. Pointy. Annemarie knocked it right out of my hand. "Oh, and by the way," she said, smiling at my horror, "Angelus wishes you well. He's the one that made me, you know. The one that killed Mom and Dad, and my family. The one who killed your mother." She grinned evilly.
"My mother? *My mother*? Christ, does everyone have some sort of *fixation* on her?" I showed no mercy. Flipping over Annemarie's head, I landed softly on my feet, like a cat, and snatched up Mr. Pointy. I deftly jammed it into her cold, dead heart. Annemarie exploded into dust. I had slayed my first vampire.
"Oh, my God," I said. I slid down the brick wall onto the ground and started to cry.
I don't know how long I sat there, sobbing as if my heart were broken. I suppose it was. I had had to kill someone I knew and loved--okay, maybe not loved, but my hatred for her had waned over the years.
"Hey, are you okay?" I heard a male voice ask me.
I raised my swollen, red eyes to the man standing in front of me. He had dark, thick hair and brown eyes. The man looked really familiar, although I couldn't place it.
I wiped a hand across my eyes and said, "Yeah, I'm fine."
"You know, it's dangerous to be out by yourself at this time of night."
"Well...there are all kinds of muggers and...stuff," he finished lamely. There was something about his eyes, a quality to them that reminded me of my brother.
"Who are you, anyway?"
"Al Harris. I'm a lawyer here."
"I'm Molly Harris. I'm...a student here, at Sunnydale High School."
He squinted at me. "Do I know you? You look just like my wife. My late wife, that is."
"I'm sorry to hear about your wife."
"She died three years ago. She was actually my ex-wife."
My mom was divorced, too. I haven't seen my dad in...gosh, I don't know how long. She talked about him a lot, though. He had kind of a weird name, but he gave it up during college."
Al looked at me like I'd just said that I lived in a gutter and I was hooked on crack. Which, for all he knew, I was. "Do you know his name?" he asked quietly.
"Xander. That was his name, I think. Are you sure that you aren't, like, related to me or something? 'Cause you look *really* familiar."
"Oh my God. *I'm* Xander Harris! I--you're--I mean--"
"Dammit, I knew there was something that wigged me about you! Where the hell have you been?"
"Me?" Al stammered. "I've been...lawyering."
"I can't believe you. You've been in Sunnydale for all this time, and you never even called! Not once!"
"I tried. I really did, Molly. Two years ago I looked up your number and dialed, but the operator said that there was no such number."
"Well, could *that* have been because Angelus killed Mom and the police disconnected everything?"
"Angelus?" Al started swearing. Then he stopped, those brown eyes filled with curiosity. "How do you know about him?"
"Well, when you're the Slayer, you sorta have to know those things. Luckily, I found that our dear friend Judy dusted him. Bravo, I say!"
"The Slayer? I should have known. How long have you been the Slayer?"
"About two days. The last one died, I was called, yadda yadda, yadda. I dusted my first vamp tonight. Of course, it was someone I knew, which made it *soooo* much more fun!"
"Did your mother keep in touch with Willow and Oz? I...I knew them in high school. Well, Oz, anyway. I knew Willow since before kindergarten."
"I'm sorry, Al. Angelus killed them two and a half years ago. If you live in Sunnydale, I should think you'd know about it."
"I've been in New York for the past few years. I do techincally live here, but...I can't believe it! Willow was my best friend for twenty years." Tears were rolling down his face, and he made no effort to stop them.
I put my arm arounf him and let him cry until he was exhausted. Then he regained his lawyer's composure and said, "I had better go. If Giles is still alive, tell him...tell him that Xander says hi."
"And, Molly, be careful."
I walked forever, it seemed, trying to find my way to Sunnydale High School. A figure wearing a long duster stepped out from the shadows and said, "Hello, cutie."
I reached into my coat, prepared to whip out Mr. Pointy.
"Now, now," said the British voice, "there's no need to be scared." As he moved closer into the light from the street lamp, his delicate, fine features and almost-white hair were illuminated.
"Yeh. That's me." He studied me. Then he said, "You know, you look just like your mother."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot."
"And it seems you've inherited her tendency towards sarcasm. Also her slaying abilites."
"No, you've got that part wrong. I didn't 'inherit' her slaying abilities. I became the Slayer after the last one was killed."
"I watched you kill Annemarie tonight. Good for you. I hated that bitch. I couldn't believe it when you said to your absentee father that you'd only been the Slayer for two days. I hope, though, that you won't attempt to kill me or Judy. And to see that you don't, I'm going to screw you until you forget I'm a vampire."
I was appalled. "Hell, no! I won't dust you; you don't need to screw me to ensure that."
"I already knew that, luv. But I still want to."
For some reason, I was attracted to him. And, God help me, I did have sex with Spike. I fell in love with him then and there, on that dark street.
~The End (For Now)~