“Without passion there might be no errors, but without passion there would certainly be no history.” - C. V. Wedgwood

Edo, Japan: Genroku Year 4

Kaede and Takeshi were sparring in the practice room of the dojo. Each held a wooden bokken, a practice sword, and sweat dripped from both of their brows. The determined expressions on both of their faces might have made a casual onlooker worry as to the seriousness of the fight, but the two combatants knew better.

Kaede tested her husband with a feint, but he knew her too well to take the bait. Instead, he whirled away on agile feet and dropped back into a defensive position. She followed with an elegant oblique cut, this one serious, which Takeshi parried with ease. She turned his counter-attack as well and the two faced off again, stances mirroring one another.

Suddenly, Takeshi leapt forward with a quick strike aimed for Kaede’s head. She started to move her sword to block the attack, but saw him change the blade’s direction at the last second and instead dodged to the side, bringing her own weapon in line with Takeshi’s stomach.

Her husband released his sword with one hand and caught the attack with the hilt of his bokken. His free hand reached out to give her a good, solid shove. Had her balance been off in the slightest, she would have fallen, but of course, it wasn’t. Freeing a hand of her own, she locked Takeshi’s wrist in a bind and dropped back, using the weight of her body and her superior strength to send him sprawling across the hard, bamboo floor. They both rolled with the impact, but Kaede did not relinquish her hold on Takeshi’s wrist and she was soon perched on top of her husband’s back with his left arm twisted and locked behind him.

“Do you surrender?” she whispered into his ear.

“You cheated,” he complained teasingly.

Kaede twisted his arm a little harder and smiled impishly when he winced a little at the pressure. “Whatever do you mean?”

“We agreed to not do any more throws after you sent me through the wall last week,” he reminded her.

The memory made Kaede chuckle. “You insulted my stances. You deserved it.”

Takeshi laughed as well. “That might be so, but you still cheated.”

With a final tweak of his trapped wrist, Kaede released him and started to stand. Before she could possibly react, Takeshi wrapped one of his legs behind her knee and sent her sprawling with a whooping laugh. She found herself flat on her back, with her husband propped up over her, looking very pleased with himself. She could have escaped easily enough, but she didn’t really want to. “Now you’re cheating,” she said, voice husky.

“What? Just because you know I’m about to…”

The sound of a discreet cough sent to two rolling away from one another, faces flushed with more than just embarrassment. Kaede’s eyes darkened with irritation at the disapproving look in her watcher’s eyes. Yes, he had walked in on them in a compromising situation, but this dojo was her home as much as it was her training ground. It was a set up that required a little more flexibility from her watcher, but he would not accommodate that. Ichiro acted as if her relationship with Takeshi was akin to high treason.

“Takeshi, I need for you to cover one of my meetings again this evening at the usual location. The man is named Hideaki, and he is an unusually thin, mousy-looking samurai. He will be very hard to miss. Kaede, please come to the library. I would like to discuss the Orochi matter with you.” He turned and left without even waiting to see if they would obey his commands. The watcher’s casual arrogance had irritated Kaede since she had been chosen, but it grated more harshly with each passing year.

Takeshi walked to her side and laid a calming hand on her shoulder. “Think of it as a kata, dearest. We all have to go through certain motions. I promise to make it up to you when I return.” Kaede turned so that her face was pressed into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. He tucked her head under his chin and held her close. “The faster we go, the faster we’ll get back. You know all he’ll want you to do is listen to his ingenious plan and nod at appropriate intervals.” That earned a laugh, muffled against his thick training shirt.

Kaede hugged him as tightly as she dared and stepped back. “Tonight then?”

Takeshi reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Tonight.”

*****

As expected, Ichiro simply listed the details of his plan while Kaede stood impassively and nodded idiotically. She disagreed with many of his points, but saying so would change nothing and only prolong the amount of time she had to stand in the library, listening to her watcher ramble. After what felt like an eternity, he dismissed her and Kaede only waited until she was out of Ichiro’s direct line of sight before turning and fleeing to the room she shared with her husband.

She was not sure how long she would have until Takeshi returned, and she wanted to be ready. She washed herself from a basin of water she had brought from the kitchen by one of Ichiro’s servants. After drying her hair, she set to combing it. Her face was distorted in her silver hand mirror, but she managed to get the blue-black mass combed thoroughly and braided. Make-up tended to be rather silly in her line of work, but she did dab on a little perfume: white plums, a gift from her mother when she left home so many years ago.

It was a fine line she walked. She was a warrior, with all of the skills and philosophy that went along with that title, but she was also a woman in a society governed by men. After being chosen, she had been removed from her father’s estate and the strict rules of formal society in the shogun’s court. This had given her the flexibility a slayer needed in her actions, manner, and dress, but in many ways the people around her still did not treat her as an equal.

Ichiro did not respect her opinions or recognize her growing knowledge regarding strategy and demonic lore. He also did not allow her to keep in contact with her family or friends, pointing out that it would put them in danger, but he still kept a house full of servants and acquaintances of his own. She often felt like a prisoner in the dojo. Kimiko, who was in charge of the dojo’s upkeep, turned her nose up at what she saw as Kaede’s inappropriate behavior. Even the monks and martial arts masters who visited the dojo with scrolls, exercise regimens, and arcane advice either ignored her completely or tried to act as if she was a rather slow boy. Through it all, Kaede tried to play along and follow their ever shifting rules, but the falsehood that was her life was tiresome. In fact, she only felt like she could truly be herself around Takeshi. His company kept her sane.

She hummed to herself, a wordless tune she remembered from childhood, while she straightened up the room. When she went to fix her bedding, Kaede saw a folded piece of paper resting on her pillow. One of the servants must have placed it there while she had been meeting with Ichiro. Curious, she picked up the letter and unfolded it.

*****

Sunnydale, California: 1999

“Giles, can’t we talk about this later? I think my head is about to explode. And slayer brains on the carpet? You know that’ll stain.” Buffy was sprawled across the couch again, nursing a glass of water while her watcher paced the living room, mumbling and gesturing excitedly.

“But Buffy, to have the extra thoughts and experiences of another slayer on hand? Why, this could be instrumental to winning future battles, particularly this situation with Orochi!” The slayer had not seen her watcher this energized since he had been asked to present a paper at the Annual Proceedings of the Watcher’s Council meeting the summer before. His enthusiasm just made her feel that much more tired.

“I could write everything down in a diary or something,” she suggested wearily. Even though the idea distressingly resembled homework, she was desperate to escape the watcher’s questions and find a little peace and quiet so that she could sort out the mess in her head.

“Yes, yes. I suppose that could work, but I would like to start planning what we’re going to do about Orochi as soon as possible.”

“Giles, we don’t know where to find these commando guys. Spike can’t remember how to get back in. We don’t even know where to start looking!”

The door of Giles’ apartment swung open to reveal a scowling vampire and a nervous witch, loaded down with shopping bags. Spike’s face was dark and angry when he spoke. “That’s not exactly true, now is it, slayer?”

*****

“This can’t be happening.”

Willow awkwardly patted Buffy on the back in an attempt to comfort the slayer. The two were sitting on Giles’ back porch, avoiding the watcher and vampire who were still yelling at each other inside. “Maybe Spike made a mistake,” she offered hopefully.

Buffy’s miserable look silenced that line of reasoning. “He just seemed so… normal.” The slayer looked at her best friend pleadingly. “I really suck at this whole dating thing, don’t I?”

“Well, one of your exes does go all fangy on occasion, and this one apparently has some interesting extracurricular activities, but at least they never turned all hairy and had to maintain a private kennel. And, hey! Look at Xander’s track record!” The fact that Willow was willing to joke, even obliquely, about her relationship with Oz, drew the slayer out of her self pity.

“We are quite the trio, aren’t we?” Buffy asked with a tremulous smile.

“I like to think of it as us being particularly open minded.”

“It’s just, what if I was some kind of secret mission, or special project, or whatever? What if he never…?” Buffy voice started to tremble with impending tears.

“Don’t be silly. He does care for you. It’s just that you guys have a pretty serious conflict of interest.”

Buffy wiped her eyes and looked up at the redheaded witch. “So much for ‘normal,’ huh?”

Willow’s face turned serious. “Buffy, can I ask you something?”

“Fire away.”

“Are you crying over Riley, or are you crying over the idea of Riley?”

The question hit Buffy like a ton of bricks. She wanted to answer Willow, wanted to defend her emotions, but she couldn’t. Willow’s spell, Kaede’s words, even her own off-hand comment, uttered right before Spike had stumbled back into her life, haunted the slayer.

I like my evil like I like my men. Evil.

But Spike wasn’t really the poster-boy for evil anymore, was he? Buffy had the sneaking suspicion that Giles’ resident vampire could have escaped and caused all sorts of mayhem if he had really wanted to. And now he was kind of helping her fight one of the baddies. Again. She just didn’t know what to think anymore.

When her silence stretched out for over a minute, Willow patted her on the shoulder again. “Not to ruin the introspective moment, but don’t you think we should go break up the guys before Spike breaks too much of Giles’ furniture and we have to clean vamp dust out of the air filters?”

When the witch’s words were followed by a resounding smash of broken glass, Buffy sighed gustily and pulled herself to her feet. “Vamps!” she groused.

Willow’s eyes twinkled. “Can’t live with ‘em,” she quipped.

Can’t live without ‘em.

The thought was strangely comforting.