Secret Slasha — The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha — The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

By Lexus
For Raaven

I never once believed in fate, destiny or 'true love' before Jenny, and in the truest of ironies my belief was cemented the day she died.

I remember...Tears drawing red lines down Buffy's face as she slumped against the wall, and hazel eyes (her grandmother's) wide and broken and the last remnants of her innocence beginning to slip away and in her own righteously selfish way she barely mentions even that she was heading to the sight of a grave save for a few stammered words, just enough to plunge my heart into despair.

"Mum... I have to go... Mrs Calend... Giles needs me"

I knew as soon as the name left her lips what had happened. No, that's not even very true... I had been skittish all day, as if my soul knew it would be split just a little bit.

The news announced the crime in its typical sterility. Names, Faces, Dates, Times. No knowledge of who the killer was, No knowledge of the victim either. An old picture of Jennifer Calender flashed onto the screen, her eyes alight as she laughed at some long forgotten joke and I knew... deep in my heart that it was over. Later, in the coming weeks and months, I would learn the name and face of her murderer as my daughter's lover and as I prosecuted him openly for breaking Buffy's heart, alone I would grieve her death.

Jennifer Calender would always remain a mystery to me. The good fairy who swept in for those short weeks to make a life just a little bit sweeter, better, more open. Her life would always remain untalked about between us, short of her attraction to Mr Giles and her post at the high school, I knew nothing, left to piece together images and fantasies with strange scents and vague comments. She knew as much as there was to know about me, which was not that much more then I knew of her, she accepted the formal introductions and explanations politely but apparently with out much thought.

She showed me her world though, a world past dirty dishes and Tupperware girls nights. A world which was spontaneous and charming and which revolving around loud energetic football games and quiet secret meetings in each other's beds. Her chocolate eyes flashed in amusement as she watched me sample spicy chicken feet in hidden Chinese dives and sushi from the expensive Japanese sushi joint in the good part of town. Her slim hands would cover mine as I made faces of disgust or intrigue and she would kiss me, partly to share the tastes in my mouth, and party because it was the right thing to do.

Those shared moments, squeezed sadly into a few short weeks, seemed to stand away from time, to exist completely alone.

I met her first on the day of the nefarious gas leak. Immediately I was drawn to her brash tone and her full lips, always quicker to smile then to frown, and my body responded; wetness pooling between my legs at her slightly promiscuous jokes and body language, my heart opening as if it could sense that she could bring something real.

It could have only been fate, which brought together one dark, secretive woman and the fair, matronly mother of two. The two personalities, in such fierce contrast, blossomed together created the sparks of passion and perhaps even... love? From one meeting, to a kiss, to more secret meetings, to love making, to what... the sense of kindredness which was beginning to sprout before her demise. Our affair was an affair of the night, there 0where no calls, no eye contact, no acknowledgement when the sun hung in the sky but as dusk approached and the darkness of night quelled inside creatures souls, our love bloomed. Our bodies melding together as we taught each other different lessons every night. Yes, The nights where ours, when Buffy had disappeared and Dawnie lay asleep in her bed we would belong only to ourselves not to the clichés that tied us down. Nothing was as pure and as clear as her touch, lithe fingers trancing the curve of my breast, thighs rubbing against swollen sexes, mouths and tongues melding as one. Her nails would dig into my forearms as she climaxed leaving half moon crescent as my only reminder upon her departure.

As my daughter learnt the harsh truths of love and coming of age, I too verged on epiphany. By teaching me to live she made me see all the beauty and the freedom I had lost before. It may have begun as loneliness and boredom between two aging woman, but the most exquisite of experiences can be found in the darkest of clouds. Passion in Grief, Lust in Anger, Pleasure in pain. She taught me many lessons in those few short weeks, and when she died...

I forgot them all

It's funny, I remember the moments of her death with an icy clarity but the days and weeks afterwards became an indistinguishable blur of resignation, that my life would never hold such simple magic again. I could have continued her legacy alone but my weary soul never saw the point, maybe the tranquillity of those weeks had been broken and the venom of cowardice had began to contaminate my goals and dreams. It's true, she did teach me about fate, destiny and true love and we may never have become the thing that is so closely aligned with magic and providence but perhaps given time...

We would have been.

Isn't that what love is; not just the stolen kisses and moonlights, but isn't love about becoming someone you never knew was inside and liking that person, isn't it finding more beauty in the world, in the simple touches of your hearts. Love is fragile, and not easy but god If had remembered the best bits, had enough strength to keep her memory close to me...

I don't know. No one knows.

In truth I would still probably be here. Darkness weaving in, ghosts coming out to play. I can see the light and I know I have to go there but my limbs are so tired.

I'm so tired.

What I want to know is if the greatest lessons are learnt in death, or learnt in life and just realised in the great departure. With her death my belief became solid, but it is mine, just before everything ends that it is realised that belief is nothing with out the one thing Jenny had forgotten to teach me.


Faith that magic would still exist, that she would still exist, if I kept belief close. So now the light is getting closer and I'm wondering if she'll be waiting on the other side and realising probably not.

I visited her grave once after she died, and as I laid a bunch of white lilies on the ground and I retreated down the stone shod path away, and as I walk down the darkened path of death now. I say goodbye.

Maybe that's my trouble. Maybe the idea is we have to fight.

I guess I'll never know.