This Is Your Life

by Globalfruitbat

Pairing: Dru/Kennedy
Rating: R
Summary: Kennedy's life after season seven changes, and she meets someone new.

Wake up, roll over, stretch. Kick whoever else is in bed with you out of bed. Wait for them to leave, then get up and find your pants. Maybe eat something, maybe not.

Then find the others and go find something to kill.

This is you, Kennedy. This is your life.

What a whole hell of a lot you're doing with it too.

Kennedy hadn't planned to end up like this: some beat-down, worn out demon bounty hunter. She'd had much bigger plans for her life. Everyone had had bigger plans for her life. Kennedy was the strong one, the winner.

Even if she hadn't become The Slayer (capital T, capital S), she was going to do great things. Go to college, something Ivy League, maybe be an Olympic… something. Anything. Kennedy was a medal winner.

Then Sunnydale happened, and it looked like things were going to be even better. Kennedy played at being all strong, tough, lone wolf, but she'd found out that she really did play well with others.

Buffy and Faith may not have been able to work side by side, but for Kennedy, and Vi, and Rhona, and Chao An, it had come as easily as breathing, as fighting.

Maybe because they had all been Chosen at the same time. Maybe it was the spell, but whenever Kennedy was fighting alongside one of the first wave Slayers, she didn't have to worry about who was on her left or her right — she just knew. She could tell who was fighting what, who needed help.

It was like they were her sister, but more. Like they were her, just — split up, and amplified, and… spread around. All over the world sometimes, she could feel them. Not every Slayer, not all the ones who had been made at the end of Sunnydale. Just the ones who'd actually been there.

And maybe that's what had led her here, to this jungle, this place where Kennedy was pretty sure she was going to die. She couldn't leave, couldn't leave her sisters. And she's come here because she had nowhere else left to be.

At first, they'd all thought this… sense, or whatever, that the first wave Slayers had was going to be a major asset. And it was — for them. But for the Scoobies, Buffy, Faith, it wasn't so much. They didn't have a way in anymore.

Willow. Willow didn't have a way in anymore, and she couldn't deal with it. Kennedy would go off in her head, making sure Amalie, the Danish slayer who'd slept in front of the Summers' fireplace and had always finished the Bran Flakes, was going to be ok in her fight. And if it looked like things were going wrong, Kennedy would ask Willow to pop her over there.

"Just this time, baby, I promise. I just can't leave her out there alone, I can feel it, and they're going to beat her. Please, Willow."

And Willow would send her, and when Kennedy would get home, three weeks, or five days or nine hours later, Willow would have pulled away a little more.

She started spending more time in England with Buffy, and Kennedy started spending way more time in the field.

Until one day, the fight got too hard, and Kennedy just stayed. She figured this was one of the Hellmouths that had opened in the aftermath of Sunnydale. Something about valve pressure and the balance of good and evil. Kennedy didn't really care why, she just knew that there were a lot more of them. And the Council didn't know where they all were, or how big they were. But it seemed like the ratio was about five Hellmouths per Slayer.

Or, sometimes, five-in-one. Like this one here. Kennedy just hadn't flown home one day.

One day five years ago. She'd just stayed, and Willow hadn't come to her. She hadn't even tried to find out if Kennedy was coming back.

Kennedy hadn't tried very hard to find out if everything was ok on Willow's end, it had to be said. It wasn't like Willow had been living in a bubble or anything. She'd been just as involved in the fight as any of them, in her own way.

But Kennedy had got here, and there was something about this place that pulled her to stay. And now she couldn't leave.

She'd been found.

Three years ago, Drusilla had shown up. Kennedy hadn't known who she was, of course. No one had thought to let the new kids know some of the enemies that might have got away. There weren't many that Buffy had let get away, but Kennedy still figured that they could have made time for a refresher course.

They'd told her about Angel and Darla, and really, after that, after the way they'd both tried to do good, how could Kennedy be blamed for not thinking that Dru's story of turning to the good side was just a crock of shit? Dru'd said she'd know Angel and Darla and Spike. They'd all tried.

And out here, Kennedy was learning fast about the need for second chances. So she'd let Dru in to her life.

Six months later, Kennedy had scars on her neck, and her shoulders, and her arms. And she couldn't let Dru go.

But she couldn't stay and so she killed her. Kennedy staked Dru after six months of loving her harder than she'd ever fought. She couldn't brat Dru into doing what she wanted, because… well, Dru didn't understand her if she tried to be cute. Or annoying.

Dru was more self-involved than Kennedy, and Kennedy found it incredibly irresistible. She knew fairly soon that Dru wasn't on any side but her own, but she'd excused it away. Buffy had done this twice. Angel had tried to bring Darla back. Everyone had forgiven Willow.

But it wasn't the same thing, not at all. And when Kennedy found Dru in the shelter with the little girls dead all around her, she almost killed herself after she ended Drusilla.

She'd brought her back to the village; she'd made the other Slayers give her a pass. And it didn't make sense. Kennedy would never have done this before.

She'd never messed up before, ever. She was headed for big things. And she ended up here, fighting a fight in a country she didn't even know the name of, a fight she would never, ever win.

It's not long till dusk. There's still a chance that someone might come to stop this. But they don't. They let you go, every night. They let you and your sister Slayers go closer and closer to the edge. And every few weeks, there's a few more girls coming in. You don't ask how they get here, just when they're needed. They just show up, and one or two end up sharing your bed.

You fight, you fuck, you sleep. There's a tattoo on your back, they ask what it means. You won't tell them.

And soon, you're going to die.

- fin -

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