Yup, it's an "as if" rather than a "like."

And damn, does it rock.

The subjunctive always gets the better of me. It's my Achilles heel.

The "were" is right, but the "like" should be "as though" or "as if"

Yep. This is the right one. And it's fixed.

Spiralling down. Finally. Glad everyone's enjoying it, but man this is taking forever.

My slashfic assignment is soon ready for a second round of betas. Anyone interested in doing a quick and dirty beta? I'll send it out later tonight.

So my "Willow, the Vampire Slayer" drabble kept shouting at me and telling me it HAD to be a story, and I made the mistake of listening.

For four hours, while I was supposed to be working.

It's at 2,200 words now which I *think* is chapter one, and I have a sense of what will happen next -- I just need a break, and to assure myself I'm staying somewhat true to Willow's voice.

Is it okay if I post it?

Post away!

Gulp

Coming of Age

Setting: AU after Prophecy Girl
Summary: After the Master drowns Buffy, things start to get interesting for Willow.

Xander cried harder for her than he did for Jesse. He thought losing Buffy was his fault, no matter how often I told him No, no one could have gotten there in time, you tried, at least you found her body, at least Angel killed the Master . . . At Buffy's funeral, he gripped my hand so hard that all of our fingers turned white.

After the service, we stopped to talk to Mrs. Summers, who was very pale in her black dress. She was standing next to a handsome man in his forties; from photos, I guessed he was Buffy's father.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Summers, Mr. Summers. Buffy was a wonderful friend to me."

"Me too. Wonderful friend," Xander added. I could tell he couldn't say any more.

"Thank you, Willow. I just wish she hadn't … maybe if I'd kept a closer eye on her…" Mrs. Summers was about to break down in sobs.

It was Mr. Summers who comforted her. "Joyce, there was nothing we could have done. After she hit 15, Buffy was going to do pretty much what she wanted. I'm sorry we lost her, but we can't blame ourselves." He turned towards us. "And thank you for coming, both of you." He smiled apologetically, and we moved on.

I heard Giles and Ms. Calendar talking to Mrs. Summers as we walked off; they were saying what a wonderful student she was, not giving any hint they knew her in any way beyond that.

I glanced around for Angel, but if he was listening from the shade of a tree or mausoleum, he didn't want anyone to know.

The next day, he turned up on my doorstep. I was about to invite him in, but he gestured not to bother.

"I can't stay here, Will."

"Why not?"

"I tried the whole living with people thing. Look what happened. I'm going to go somewhere where I can be alone, make sure no one else gets hurt."

"Okay…" You idiot! a voice in my head screamed. We ALL miss Buffy, we ALL feel guilty … and this town needs you more than ever now that the Slayer's gone. I stood there, unable to speak.

He shoved a black velvet bag into my hand. "This is some of Buffy's stuff she left at my place. I thought you and Xander might want it."

I looked inside the bag. Nothing much; a vial of holy water, two silver crosses, a tube of lip gloss, a stake. When I looked back up, he was gone.

But the bag inspired Xander and I. For the next several weeks, we flailed through attempted patrols. Only luck and the sure knowledge of the land we had honed as children playing hide-and-go-seek in cemeteries kept us alive. Despite this, Xander was all bravado, certain we could kill the vampires, sure we had to.

Me? I was all thumbs. Or at least I was at first. I'd never been an athlete – I got kicked out of ballet class in second grade for grand jetéing into other students once too often – but things seemed to be getting easier for me. I could spot vampires more easily; I found the hearts in a single stroke.

I started dreaming about patrolling, vampires, Slaying. Usually I was myself; sometimes, I was someone else, wearing clothes and hairstyles from other decades, other countries. Always, I was being attacked by vampires and fighting them off.

Then one night, I had a dream about Buffy. I'd been having them since she died; for the first week, I woke up screaming every night from a dream where she was sitting next to me in class, joking one second, disintegrating into a skeleton the next.

But this one was different. It was night, and we were walking through Fairmont Meadows Cemetery, on the edge of town. We weren't alone – people I knew from school were all around, laughing, eating ice cream, oblivious to the vampires that slinked between them in full game face. Harmony Kendall was bitten and drained barely a yard from us. Her friend Aura watched the whole thing like a more boring than usual music video before turning to wave at Cordelia Chase. Another vampire lunged towards me before Buffy waved a stake at him and said, "Shoo." He went to find someone else to feed on, and Buffy looked directly at me, her eyes serious.

"You're different, you know."

"Different how?"

Buffy smiled. "You're exactly like me." She pressed a stake into my hand, cool and sharp.

"Exactly like you? How? Buffy, I –" She faded away with the rest of the graveyard before I could finish my question.

I woke up, my heart pounding.

That night, the stake felt as natural to my fingers as a computer keyboard. I killed five vampires while Xander stared on, open-mouthed and damp-eyed.

After the last vamp fled the graveyard, I practically bounced over to the tree he had crouched behind. "Xander! Did you see that! With the stake and the branch and the high kick! And the – and the fun! That was fun!," I babbled.

A half-smile crept over Xander's face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You did look good. Um … want some ice cream?"

I realized I was hungry. Really hungry. "Yeah, thanks, but – I figured it out! I got five vamps! I can help protect Sunnydale! Isn't that awesome?"

"It's … something else." His tone was light, but I could tell he wasn't really happy.

He had brought me down from my cloud. "Yeah, uh-huh …what's wrong? You look all sad."

"It's just, seeing you out there … you looked like Buffy. I've lost two friends in the last four months; I don't want you to get hurt."

"What? I'm less likely to get hurt now than I was when we were just sort of bumbling around graveyards."

"I know, Will." He smiled, for real. "I just don't wanna see my girl get hurt."

His girl! Yay! I grinned. "Okay. Now, how about the ice cream?"

The next day, I went to Giles' apartment.

"Mr. Giles?" I called as I knocked on the door. He answered in a T-shirt and sweat pants, looking as though he hadn't slept much lately.

"Willow? What are you doing here?" I hadn't talked to him since I called to let him know Angel had left town, and even then, our conversation had been short, strained.

"Mr. Giles, I – I think something's up." I drew a breath. "I think I might have kind of … inherited Buffy's powers."

"Inherited Buffy's powers? What do you mean? Come, sit down," he said, gesturing me to a couch.

"Well, last night Xander and I were patrolling, and-"

"You and Xander patrolling? Willow, that's dangerous, you shouldn't-"

"I know, we just … we thought it would be what Buffy wanted." I rubbed the beads of my necklace.

"I understand that, but please, don't do it again. Now, what were you going to tell me?"

I swallowed, suddenly intimidated.

"I've noticed over the last few weeks that patrolling is getting easier for me – I feel like I know what I'm doing. And, and you know those dreams Buffy used to have, about killing vampires and stuff?" Giles nodded. "I'm having them too. The night before last, I had a dream where Buffy and I were patrolling together and she said I was just like her … and then she handed me a stake. And then, last night, in the graveyard-"

Giles looked at me with cool interest. "Wait. You had a dream where Buffy handed you a stake? That's – that's extraordinary."

"Huh? Why … why does that matter?"

"That's the final sign of being Called." He rose form his seat and went over to a bookshelf, finding the book he needed with ease. "Here it is, in The Slayer Concordia; 'When she is called, a new Slayer will meet her predecessor in a dream or vision, and the predecessor will give her a sign of her calling. The new Slayer is then imbued with full powers.' It's quite definite."

I scrunched my forehead. "But Buffy talked about being called a whole bunch, and she never mentioned the dream."

"Most Slayers don't remember it. They didn't know the previous Slayer, you see, so it's just a dream where a strange girl gives them something. But because you knew Buffy and lost her so recently, the dream stuck in your mind."

"So … so I'm the Slayer now? I'm Fight Girl?"

"It would, er, appear that way. But I'll need to get in touch with the Council … they keep a seer on staff who will be able to say for sure."

I nodded. "So when will we know? And what do I do until then?"

"Go home, Willow. Just relax – perhaps do some, er, stretching, or yoga if you like. Don't worry about it; If you come over tomorrow at three, I should know."

That night was a thousand years long. I tried reading a book on basic witchcraft Ms. Calendar had lent me, but it all blurred into one long spell requiring a lot of heather and plain yogurt. Finally, I fell into a fitful sleep.

The next day, I reached Giles' door at 2:57. He was smiling as he let me in.

"I've spoken to the seer. The dream was accurate. Willow, you're the slayer."

Excitement and fear hit me in equal measure. My brain ping-ponged back and forth; "I'm the Slayer! I'll fight the bad guys!," said one side of my brain. "I'm the Slayer! I'll die young!" screamed the other. The shouting match went on as Giles explained my duties, the "One girl in all the world," bit, and so on. He also told me a bit more; apparently, I'm the first Jewish Slayer since the Spanish Inquisition, and only the third Slayer in the last 500 years to have known the Slayer who came before her. "The last one was a Lakotan Indian, Spirit Horse; she was Called after her aunt was killed battling vampires," Giles explained.

I nodded. Her aunt, I thought. If she was old enough to be Called, that must mean sometimes slayers live a long time … except, it might have been one of those weird family things, where the grandma has a kid at practically the same time as her daughter … and people had kids younger then, too. So, maybe not so old. I shuddered.

"So when do we start training?" I asked, determined to be bright.

"Willow … " Giles said. "There's … one thing you have to know about that."

The hairs on my neck prickled as I turned around. I could tell from Giles's voice that this would not be good news. He stared at his lap and cleaned his glasses as he spoke.

"Willow, I … there's a tradition, you see, and … New slayers traditionally …" The motion of his hands became more frantic as he tried and discarded various sentences. Finally, he put his glasses back on and looked right at me.

"Willow, I won't be your watcher."

Doubt shot through me. When I'd pictured slaying, I'd pictured Giles at my side, training me, protecting me as he had Buffy. And look how well that went, a voice in my head added.

"But … why not?"

Giles sighed. "It's tradition. If an active watcher loses a Slayer, the Council likes us to spend a few months at headquarters. Get up to date on the new literature, try to figure out … what went wrong. It helps us as watchers to deal with each girl as an individual, rather than having our performance tainted by past … past failures." He stood up, as though that was that.

"But … no!" I said, through the lump in my throat. "You … you can't. I know you, Giles. How am I supposed to work with someone else?"

Giles picked up a book on his desk and began to leaf through it. I noticed his hands shaking. "Yes, I can see where it would come as a blow. But, Willow, it's really for the best. I believe you'll get on quite well with your new watcher."

"So you know him?" Hope glimmered in my belly. Another Giles … maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"By reputation. His father was an instructor when I was at the Watcher's Academy, very strict but not unfair. Wesley must have been nine or ten then. I never saw him, but I know his father had high hopes for him. And from what I hear, he's done quite well at his studies." "Wesley?"

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. You're lucky, in a way – you'll be his first Slayer. I'm sure he's quite modern in his methods. Like me, his cover will be employment as librarian at Sunnydale High."

"When does he get here?" And when do you leave? went unspoken.

"He'll arrive in California on the fifteenth of August. I'll work with you until then, and stay on for two weeks to give him the lay of the land, as it were."

That gave me another month with Giles. And a lot can happen in a month, I reminded myself. Maybe Giles will decide to stay on.

"Do you … do you have any questions, Willow?"

I shook my head. "No…" I tried for a smile. "It all sounds great."

Finis, for now.

Be brutally honest, please. I know it's first draft-y.