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Cordelia did not often admit to failure, or mistakes, or wrongdoing — it wasn’t part of her growth mindset — but as she began to sprint in earnest, she had to give it to Buffy: maybe she was just as important as the legends and Xander and Willow and Giles said she was. Like, Cordelia remembered Sunnydale before Buffy — and sure, it had its share of disappearances, but nothing compared to this: the streets crawling with fang-faces with no attempt at secrecy. That was the weird thing with Buffy — Sunnydale was more dangerous when she was around, but also — it was safer.
Safer than this, anyway. Even if it was fucking humiliating running from vamped out Xander Harris and stupid Willow Rosenberg.
She needed to find Buffy. She needed Buffy here. She needed to stop the spell or reverse it or find Giles or find that Anya girl or —
A hand shot up to her throat and found cool glass, meaning yes, the necklace was still here. Cordelia could do this. She just needed Giles. Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut just for a moment, breathed hard. Don’t think about what’s following.
Another hand at her throat, cooler than her own fingers, cooler than the chain of the amulet. Not Willow laughed nastily and Cordelia bit down on her lip. Now. She forced her elbow back into Willow’s gut, trying to break the lock around her neck. It didn’t matter. Willow was strong. Willow was here, her hair falling onto Cordelia’s neck and making her shiver.
Willow inhaled. Cordelia stopped breathing.
Then all the sound of the dark alley sucked itself out of existence and then exploded. Something landed on Cordelia’s neck, and she gasped.
“Hey,” someone said behind her.
Cordelia turned. The girl was blonde and short and dressed like she got stabbed for a living.
“Do you know the way to the high school?” Buffy Summers asked.
-o-
“It’s you!” Cordelia gasped. She wrinkled her brow. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m out past curfew. Just tell me where the high school is.” Her eyes swept over Cordelia — the blue, the lace, the dress. “You’re not dressed like a townie.”
“I’m not from here,” Cordelia growled out, brushing vampire dust off her shoulders. “I mean, I am. But I’m from the normal world that isn’t crawling with fangy losers.” She huffed. “I am happy to see you even if you’re not Buffy.”
Buffy frowned at her. “How’d you know my name?”
“You’re not the right Buffy,” Cordelia amended. “But maybe you and Giles can throw something together, save-the-day? Slayer-Watcher reunion?”
“That’s the idea. Who are you?”
“That’s not important right now! We need to get you to Giles. More importantly, we need to get me to Giles.” Cordelia turned and struggled to read the street signs. God, they made everything so dark in this stupid universe.
Hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, bringing Cordelia face to face with Not Buffy. Something long and sharp had cut open Buffy’s lips a long time ago.
“Hold on, blue. You think I’m gonna let some random civilian who knows my name and the fact that I’m a slayer go?”
“I mean, no, we were gonna go together. You can hold me hostage if it makes you feel better.” Cordelia stared Buffy down. “I’ve had a lot of experience being a hostage, no thanks to you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know the Other you, the right you. But I think it’s my fault everything is shit and we need to find Giles to make it right again.” Cordelia pointed at the necklace. “ This must be magic, cause some — very suspicious, in hindsight — girl gave me this and asked me what I wanted and I wished for Buffy Summers never coming to Sunnydale.” Cordelia threw up her hands. “This is what I got, and it fucking blows.”
“So we’re not friends, I’m guessing,” Buffy said, wrinkling her nose.
“As if.” Cordelia felt the chilling feeling rise up again. Buffy’s hands were so fucking warm. “You ruined my life with your freakshow. I just wanted some peace but apparently you’re so goddamn special that without you we all have to hide under our beds in case an idiot with a bad haircut and too many floral shirts gets the munchies!”
Buffy blinked. “Who?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” Buffy took one hand off Cordelia and picked up Anya’s necklace. Her knuckles brushed the bare skin under Cordelia’s collarbone.
“So this is the magic McMuffin? Doesn’t look much like a genie lamp.” Buffy still kept Cordelia close, one hand gripping her elbow with far more strength than regular Buffy had ever used on her.
“MacGuffin,” muttered Cordelia. “Can you let go?”
“I’m gonna take this,” said Buffy, and once again turned her around, shoving her down a little and forcing her to bend at the waist. Then it was Buffy’s hands at her neck, warm and fast like the agonizing spray of a too-hot shower before you can turn the heat down. Buffy pushed aside Cordelia’s hair and unhooked the chain from her neck. Then everything was gone. Cordelia straightened up, looked behind her and saw Buffy examining the gem.
“You know, eight times out of the ten the way you reverse a spell is by crushing the arcane focus.” Her gaze met Cordelia’s, and she smirked — mischievous, detached. “Might send you right back.”
“Hold on,” Cordelia said. “You don’t know that.”
“I do know you’re too soft for this world, and you’re a liability. Either I crush this and you’re out of my hair, or it does nothing and I have to babysit you until we get to the Watcher’s so you don’t get totally impaled.” She tilted her head toward downtown, the distant sounds of vampiric roars. “I’m already late.”
Cordelia felt the whole world blur and burn. “I’ve been impaled, you idiot!” She snatched Buffy’s hand and pressed it to her incision, “You have no idea what I’ve gone through because of you. You think you’re so much better than everyone else when really you’re too busy moping over your dead love life to pay attention to anything real. And you sit with them and you want to talk but I don’t need you — I’ve never wanted anything to do with you!”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Buffy, and pulled Cordelia down by her neck. Then warmth was everywhere. Buffy pressed her lips against hers and every feeling in her body lit up, all the parts that made Cordelia so angry. So Cordelia raised her hands up to Buffy’s head, forcing her even closer, making her taste tongue and teeth and the bitterness, the sweetness. The raised bump of Buffy’s lip scar tickled her face, making everything seem hotter, more important, more alive. Was this how she was supposed to feel?
Buffy let go of her, pulled back just far enough to show Cordelia her obnoxious smirk and her hand, her fingers curled around the blue-green jewel of Anya’s necklace. Her fingernails were painted with a metallic color, like a mirror.
“Sorry, honey,” Buffy said, smiling, and crushed the jewel one-handed.
One second of outrage. Then Cordelia saw white, and laughed.