I’m so glad I’m not clean-up guy here any longer.

I’ve been doing the undercover thing or, as I like to call it, earning rent money. Giles suspected there were a few demons making the Sunnydale’s bowling alley their home away from hell, and so I volunteered to do some snooping.

Of course that was before I knew that they ate brains, sucked bone marrow and nibbled on toes. Well, the toe nibbling hasn’t been documented, but they sound like that type of fiend. But by then, I’d been getting a steady paycheck and even a little demon drool wasn’t that much of a deterrent.

Until tonight.

Tonight, when I showed up for work, I found about five…what was left of five human bodies strewn about the lanes. Which is really bad for the wax, but no one thought to ask me about the choice in redecorating.

I’d rushed off to call Buffy, Giles and the gang, and they showed up. Magic, weapons, and really sharp wits, all ready to kick some demon ass. Only it wasn’t working out that way. It was more working out the way where we were losing. Giles was struggling to fight two of them, barely able to get enough distance for his sword to do any damage.

Buffy had decapitated one, getting a strike in the process, but there were still more that kept coming from the underground hole that was where the snack bar used to be. I had a distinct feeling that, even if they were still serving french fries, I wouldn’t be wanting any. Because these guys are ugly. Not scary like Cordelia on a bad hair day, but downright ugly.

Deep purple gashes that lacerate their bulbous green chests that were roughly as broad as a recliner. Their legs are short and squat, which makes ‘em harder to get the drop on. They’re low to the ground, better center of gravity.

I sigh and try to bring my mind back to the battle. I’m fighting one of the smaller guys, fending him off with a sword and a battle-axe. I’m holding my own, he’s not that good of a fighter and my hand-to-hand memories seem to be coming back. Maybe it’s the training I’ve been doing. Maybe it’s just the will to survive. You have to have a lot of that in Sunnydale.

I move back slightly and stumble over a loose pin that’s spun out from the lane. I fall to the ground, letting the axe drop from my hand, so that I can support the sword with both. The demon launches forward, assuming I’m down for the count. He keeps assuming it until the sword slices through the center of his chest cavity, right where Giles promised that their hearts would be.

He’s like dead weight now and I’m struggling to get him off of me, struggling to roll over and get my sword so that I can help someone else. Giles maybe, or Buffy. Or…

A scream wrenches the air and I find the strength deep inside me. I know that voice, that sound. I know it better than my own. Willow’s in trouble.

Dripping with blood and other oozy stuff I had no desire to identify, I slip and slide my way toward Willow. She’s fighting the biggest demon of all, I think. He looks like a tree. A really, really pissed off tree with sharp, serrated claws for limbs. Claws that are reaching for my Willow.

I slide to a stop, dumbfounded by the thought, even in the heat of battle. My Willow. How long has it been since I’ve thought of her that way? Since Oz? I start forward again, hefting the sword and the axe I managed to pick up again. She’s struggling against the creature and I’m almost there when another sound splits the muted silence.

Anya’s closer to me that Willow is, battling a demon the same size. Damn, how many heavy hitters do these bastards have, anyway? I realize that I have two choices. I hate choices. I hate being the one who chooses what hangs in the balance. I hate everything about this moment, except for the two women involved.

They both scream again and I know I have to choose. I can save one. I can let another die. Anya’s marginally closer. I know I can save her. I know that I can make it in time to kill the demon that’s got his hand wrapped around her throat and is about to decapitate her. I can make it to Anya and I can save her life.

So why am I running toward Willow?

The sword slices cleanly through its stump-like neck, the sickening sound of severed flesh and bone not enough to block the sound of Anya’s last scream, her death knell. The sound of the demon’s body falling lifelessly to the floor can’t take away from the gut-wrenching sob that leaves my body as I rush to catch Willow before she falls.

I gather her in my arms my best friend, my everything and try not to turn my face to the lane just a few feet, and a lifetime, away. The demon is wrestling with Buffy now, Giles quickly hurrying over to help now that all the other bad guys seem to be gone. At her feet, Buffy’s feet, lies the body…the dead body of my girlfriend. My lover.

Anya.